The Family Recipe

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Paulina

The moment Paulina stepped off the tarmac at San Jose International Airport, she heard a deluge of complaints in Vietnamese coming from all directions, set against the backdrop of billboards advertising cloud storage spaces from tech start-ups. Vietnamese folks complaining about food, traffic, lines, anything and everything. The noise made her homesick in a weird way, despite swapping one diasporic city for another. It was the same, yet different.

Paulina, I wish I had fought for your mother more. I’m hoping you’ll find that fighting spirit for the both of us in San Jose.

Unlike her sisters, Duc’s words to her didn’t have as much of a chokehold on her; her father in general had little to no effect on her. Paulina had always been good at compartmentalizing. Trauma in one box, family in another locked box, and pleasure in the other box. She didn’t need the money as much as she knew her sisters did, but Paulina had always been competitive, and she would not sit out her father’s inheritance game.

Paulina went straight to her assigned Duc’s Sandwiches shop and immediately began strategizing. She had the self-awareness to know she didn’t have any hard skills and she also didn’t enjoy labor of any kind—manual or mental. The only skill she had was knowing how to wield her beauty. She had her mother to thank for passing on this type of ethereal beauty. Had she been born back in the Middle Ages, she would have been burned at the stake for the spell she put over men.

Out of the five Tr?n children, Paulina was the most like their mother, Evelyn—both physically and in mannerisms. Everyone knew it. Especially Duc. Which was why she suspected he sent her to San Jose—because it was rumored to be the place that kick-started the end of Evelyn and Duc’s marriage. It was ironic because the Bay Area was also where her ex ended up. Did her father know that? Perhaps he sent her here to punish her for siding with their mother.

Paulina was in and out of her store quickly, no more than five minutes. She popped her head in, gave a quick look around, realized what she had to do, saw one or two customers lingering, and two workers asleep behind the counter. She walked up to them, introduced herself, and immediately fired them. One woman began to cry and protest, but Paulina said it wasn’t personal, it was business. She walked right out of the store and headed to her hotel.

She had never been to San Jose before, San Francisco plenty of times, but rarely did she have any reason to be in the South Bay. Most of her clients worked in tech, which brought her out to the West Coast occasionally. But she preferred her clients to fly to her, wherever she was in the world—whether it was Toronto one day, Montréal the next, or Santa Fe for a weekend. But despite their shortcomings, she knew that the tech guys were her secret weapon. Because if there was one thing she knew she needed to do, it was to upgrade the outdated sandwich shop to match modern society.

Paulina went into the hotel lobby’s bathroom, locked a stall, tossed her bags open, and changed immediately from a day to night outfit—a slinky dress with a high slit, paired with a tweed blazer tossed casually over her shoulders. She knew how to hide all the best parts of her, and how to save the reveal until she was able to seal the deal. She quickly brushed her teeth, tousled her hair, spritzed her signature perfume, and reapplied her lip liner at the sink. Her reflection stared back at her: twenty-eight years old, high cheekbones, a cavernous collarbone, and yet none the wiser. Behind her, women of all ages, shapes, and colors came and went in a rush. Some, teeming with envy, gave her the once-over, many ignored her, and a small group admired her beauty. Paulina continued standing still, staring at herself in the mirror, wondering if she should just walk away from it all and disappear. Only one thing—one person—was stopping her from buying a one-way ticket out of the city. Before she made any drastic decisions, she wanted to go and see him first. So, she got back inside her rental car and headed straight into the city.

Either Oliver was early, or she was late. She was hoping for the former. But the truth was always the latter. Because by the time Paulina crossed the invisible border into San Francisco from South Bay, she knew she was very late. It was the kind of late that could only come with someone so beautiful that things like other people’s time were merely suggestions. Paulina wended through the hills until she found herself in the center of the city, in the gentrifying hub of the Mission District. The clock on the dashboard taunted her, chastising her for being late. Her usual cryptic demeanor faltered as she remembered who was waiting for her at the end of the winding road. Would he be irritated at her tardiness? No, he wouldn’t. He’d find it charming, like he always did. Though they hadn’t spoken to each other in almost three years, the thought of going another year without speaking made her skittish. She zoomed past taquerias wedged between modern new American restaurants and coffee shops crammed with tech workers working late into the night, hoping to discover the next American gold rush.

She swore she wouldn’t crack first and come to this city to seek him out or run back into his arms. At least not until one of them changed. She knew it was futile, neither would change for the other. Her father never changed when her mother asked, and her mother hadn’t changed when her father asked. It was already coded in her genetic makeup to never change for anyone. But unlike her siblings, she didn’t blame her parents for making her this way. She thanked them.

Paulina parked illegally, blocking a row of white electric cars. Despite the valet yelling at her, she opened the car door, extended a long leg, and stepped out into the cold, making yet another grand entrance on an ordinary Tuesday night. The valet was instantly silenced and even began apologizing to her. The infamous rolling fogs of San Francisco crept up her bare legs, causing a shiver to run down her spine. The summers here were brittle and cold, the polar opposite of Houston summers, and she felt sorry for the city and what they were missing out on: long nights smoking brisket, rubbed with five-spice and fish sauce, with her old friends, pretending to cheer on the Texans while convincing themselves that they’d make the Super Bowl this year; and nights so warm, you could sit outside on a lawn chair in a bikini, reading a great book, accompanied by the hum of the cicadas. She was surprised she was so homesick, but she always overly romanticized the idea of home whenever she traveled and knew it wasn’t rooted in reality. Just like how she romanticized Oliver.

Her long legs carried her up the tiled steps; men in hoodies with unremarkable tech logos parted for her like the Red Sea. No matter how hard they tried to get her to make eye contact, she only had tunnel vision for the man whose back was turned to her, who sat by himself at the bar. His silhouette grew bigger as she came closer to him, and her heart began beating faster. Paulina had seen it all. She’d traveled far and wide, dined at the finest restaurants, partied in caves, survived alcohol poisoning and an overdose at a 72-hour club in Berlin, but nothing could come close to the thrill of smelling his cologne on her pillow.

New money plagued the city, but this wasn’t new. It plagued every city she ever lived in. It was an airborne disease. From Toronto to London to Atlanta, she had seen cities succumb to the same style, catering to only the rich and unattainable.

Rich and unattainable. That summed up Oliver perfectly. Even from behind he was still the handsomest man in the room. He was also the only man left in San Francisco casually wearing a suit on a Tuesday night while everyone else donned white sneakers and Patagonia vests.

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath, and felt a momentary loss of confidence. She was terrified for him to turn around and see that she hadn’t changed at all. That she was still the same Paulina Tr?n who walked away when he had asked her to stay. That she was still the same Paulina Tr?n when it was her turn to ask him to stay, and he had walked away. The cycle was vicious and toxic between the two of them, and neither could escape the vortex.

“Chen?” she said as she tapped Oliver’s shoulder lightly. He slowly turned around, his scotch glass hanging between the rim of his index and middle finger. His hair was slicked back, curled quietly, like a whisper.

“Oliver freakin’ Chen,” she said again with more authority, this time with a smile. His dark brown eyes flashed at her, as if he was acknowledging all their dirty little secrets. There was at least a decade’s worth of a dance between them, and yet they still couldn’t figure out who was leading. “Still the same pretentious snob as always. I take it that’s a heavy pour of Lagavulin in that glass you’re holding?”

“Pauly,” he responded with a laugh, and raised his glass toward her. Even after all these years, his laugh still made her nervous. “Still the same asshole as always. I take it you broke a few hearts getting here? I estimate it’s only twenty feet from the parking lot to here, so you must have broken at least four.”

“I heard a few shatter when I walked into the bar.”

“Ah, those poor souls. I should have sent a public service warning the minute I knew you were in town,” he said, winking at her. His voice was full of jest, but it was a bit more off than normal, more serious, and Paulina could tell things weren’t the same between them. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear my own heart break from three thousand miles away. All those unreturned calls and texts, and now you’re suddenly alive and well in front of me.”

The tips of Paulina’s ears turned red and she ignored his last comment. “May I sit?” She gestured to the velvet barstool next to him.

“Even if I said no, would that stop you?”

Paulina rolled her eyes, shrugged off her tweed coat, and unveiled her slinky dress, which clung to her in all the coquettish ways. This was her pulling the curtain back before the show began. She knew how to create a moment between them. She waited for Oliver to compliment her, to look at her with hunger in his eyes like he had done three years before, and every year before that when they would meet up once a month anywhere around the world. She waited and waited. But he didn’t even turn to look at her. Instead, an awkward lull hovered over them, his eyes still forward, as if he was too busy studying all the alcohol bottles that lined the bottom shelf. Surprised, Paulina tugged her dress down, cleared her throat, and sat next to him. She flagged the bartender and said she’d have the same as Oliver.

“You hate whiskey,” he said, still not making eye contact. “Why do you do things you hate?”

“You know I always drink whiskey when I’m around you. I like copying you,” she teased, her voice dropping into a kittenish tone. Her two fingers slowly danced across the bar until they came to rest on his elbow. She flicked her heavy lashes up toward him and pouted.

He rolled his eyes, immune to her advances, and brought his whiskey to his lips. “So, how can I help you, Pauly? Why did you ask me to meet you here?”

This wasn’t the tone of voice she was used to. Especially not from him. “Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice resuming her normal tenor. Slightly defensive, she pretended to also focus on the alcohol shelves in front of her. “Did I catch you at a bad time? I thought everything was good between us. I mean… not good good but not bad bad .”

He shrugged. “Look, I have to be home before midnight tonight. How can I help you?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had other plans tonight,” she said, trying to mask her disappointment. “Who’s waiting at home for you?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Her voice caught in her throat. There was no way Oliver had a girlfriend, did he? Impossible. A wife ? Even more impossible. He was more of a commitment-phobe than she was. But it’d been three years that had passed between them. A mountain of unresponded-to messages lay between them. Cities could have fallen and resurrected during that time.

“No,” she said, resigned. “I don’t.”

“Okay, so, how can I help you?”

Oliver used the same voice with her that he used to speak to his clients over the phone. It was professional yet polite, curt yet attentive. He had a gentle way with words, careful to never judge anyone’s ideas, but one word from him could end dreams. Paulina tried to not let her disappointment show again, but her mind began to spiral.

“I need a favor,” she said slowly as the bartender placed a glass in front of her. She dipped a finger in, lightly skimming the top, and brought it to her lips to taste, her face curling from disgust. She wanted to spit it out. Oliver was right; she did hate whiskey.

“You need me to hide a dead body?” he asked, raising one brow. He actually looked serious, which only made Paulina want him more.

“That might be easier than what I’m about to ask,” she teased. “I need you to help me bring an outdated sandwich shop down in San Jose into the twenty-first century. I need the whole shebang: mobile delivery app, fast checkout, maybe throw in a few robots to make the sandwiches. People here love those gimmicks. Isn’t there a robot that serves you coffee somewhere downtown? Yeah, I’m going to need a whole crew of those.”

Oliver released a chortle, then a guffaw, and then he laughed uproariously. When he saw how serious Paulina looked, intrigue settled in. “A sandwich shop? Why? You, Paulina Tr?n, transitioning to the food industry? Actually, any industry that has a paper trail?”

“Do you really want to know the reason why?” she asked huffily. “It’s a long story anyway. Do you even care?”

He sipped from his glass quietly. “No.”

“Okay then.”

After a long pause, he shifted his head and finally met her eyes. The eye contact was brutal. She remembered explicitly telling him never to look her in the eyes during sex, all those years ago—she had lied and said it was the number one rule with her. But the truth was she just didn’t want to look into his eyes.

“How long are you here for, Pauly?”

“A year, I think. Hopefully less, depending on things.”

“Well, okay then,” he said, tilting the rest of the Lagavulin into his mouth until it was all gone, every last drop accounted for. “Whatever you need, you know I’m here for you.”

A small smile escaped her lips. He still cared enough . There was hope, albeit the tiniest sliver of it. It was a small win, and contrary to what her siblings thought of her and her lifestyle, Paulina hadn’t had a small win in a very long time, and it meant more to her than the money.

His phone lit up, vibrating on the counter, and she caught a glimpse of a name. Esther . There’s an Esther in his life now. Esther sounded hot. Maybe even Korean. A hot Korean woman was the stuff of nightmares for her. “I have to get going,” Oliver said suddenly, eyeing his phone screen and quickly shutting it off before she could read what the message said. “Text me where to meet you tomorrow and we’ll figure out your weird sandwich robots. Annnnd I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

With that, he quickly got up and straightened out the creases in his pants. She could sense a hesitation, ever so slight, as he hovered. He always kissed her on the forehead before leaving, but they hadn’t been intimate since… well since three years ago. Instead, he roughly patted her back, his hand brushing against her bare skin, and then just like that he was gone.

She could still feel the reverberations of the phantom touch of his hand. It felt so good, addicting even. Paulina didn’t know what to feel. The money was important to her, sure, but she didn’t need it. Though she had only begun the fight to win the inheritance money, she had an uncomfortable feeling that her year in the Bay Area would soon become a different kind of fight.