Chapter Eight #3
The kitchen of Courtney’s Cookies and Cupcakes was as adorable and inviting as the rest of the café.
She played up the Parisian theme that called back to her training, painting pink-and-green Eiffel Towers on the walls with little couples, families, and travelers painted in different poses beneath the towers.
But as cutesy as it all was, I saw how serious Court took this business, and her goal to make it a success.
The kitchen was spotless. The work schedule posted on the wall had her slotted in at five a.m. almost every morning, and the internet search that brought me to this place, revealed a business that had hundreds of fabulous reviews.
No, she didn’t become the journalist she always talked about being, but she was doing just fine to me.
“Your life imploded, but from the ashes you built something beautiful,” I heard myself say. “That’s what I want, but how and when to start? I want to go back to school, but obviously I’m not going to enroll as Soo Min. That’s taking the fraud too far.”
Courtney hummed. “I was never sure, but did you get your high school diploma, or did the expulsion snatch that from you?”
I shook my head. “I took on those extra classes and credits to get into Yale, so I was a semester ahead. All of my final grades and exams were in. All my credits were complete. I still got my diploma, but when the teachers who gave me recommendations called Yale to tell them why they were rescinding them...”
“They revoked your acceptance,” she finished.
“Yep. And me being a dummy, I never applied for scholarships because Omma promised my college fund would cover wherever I wanted to go.”
“Plus, I know Colin’s mom sent letters to every college on the East Coast, telling them about the ‘prank’ gone wrong.”
My whisk started beating the batter a little too hard. “Yes, she did. So, I had the grades and the diploma, but no money, no recommendations, and no college that would take me even if I had them. After three years of rejections, I gave up.”
“Well, it’s been ten years now. People don’t hold the memory of others’ tragedies for that long.
Admissions staff don’t stay in the same position or job for that long.
” She saved the batter from me, beginning the process of marrying it to their crusty, cookie husbands.
“I bet you could apply—as you—and get in.
“Do you still want to be a lawyer?”
“You know, I don’t think so.” I leaned against the table, folding my arms. “Back then, I wanted to be a lawyer because...” Visions of the hallway floated through my mind, carrying the whisper of laughing children, stockinged feet, and unending screams. “Because I thought it was the best and most important job in the world for helping people in need. That’s the kind of simplistic thinking you get from a kid.
“But now, after everything I’ve been through, I know you can help people in so many ways. And... uh... there’s something I’ve been thinking about... wanting to do... maybe— But it’s probably a terrible idea,” I said quickly. “No one would go for it.”
Courtney arched her brow at me. “Knowing you, it’s a great idea, so spill it already.”
I cracked a smile. “Okay, but promise to tell me if you hate it. Don’t fluff me up.”
She crossed her heart and threw away the key, getting another giggle out of me.
“Okay,” I breathed, plucking up the shattered bits of my courage.
“When Omma threw me out, I was two weeks away from my eighteenth birthday. Two weeks from being an adult, and not qualifying for any of the protections or help that would apply to abandoned minors—and that’s exactly what the shelter workers told me.
“All the things that a youth shelter would’ve done for me or helped me with, would evaporate in only a few days, so there wasn’t much point.
That left me with only the adult shelters that weren’t focused on mental health or education.
It was all about helping me get a job, get a place to live, and then get out.
“Not that the staff weren’t all nice and helpful people,” I added. “But all of a sudden, I had to be completely independent immediately when a few weeks before, I couldn’t be trusted to go to the bathroom without permission and a hall pass.”
Courtney snorted, bobbing her head in agreement.
“To me, I was still a kid clinging to all my privileged dreams of Ivy League colleges, summering in Europe, and interning at a prestigious law firm. All I knew to do was to keep trying to make those dreams come true. I had no idea how to transition from all of that to sleeping in my car and trying to explain to managers why they should hire me and my lack of experience over dozens of qualified applicants. But,” I cried, voice rising, “because my mother happened to expel me from her womb eighteen years prior, I was expected to just magically figure it all out!”
“Preach, baby.”
“Now, after all this time, that idea just seems more and more ridiculous.” I was gaining steam and nothing was slowing me down.
“Society expects our parents to prepare for every possibility and every outcome. Putting aside the fact that literally no one can do that because some things just have to be lived—we’ve also got the parents that just flat-out refuse to.
“Omma and Appa did very little that amounted to actual parenting of me and Sue. The nannies raised us. The groundskeeper taught us how to ride bikes. Our friends played with us. Our teachers taught us. Our tutors helped us with homework. Our chef showed us how to make Korean food. And our Korean tutors and extended family taught us our culture and traditions! Can you even comprehend that, Court? Our parents outsourced teaching us their heritage!”
“I can believe that of your parents for sure,” she mumbled. “Sorry if that’s a bitchy thing to say.”
“It’s not bitchy if it’s true! But how is being raised by people being paid to do a job, and don’t give a shit about you outside of it, supposed to prepare you for the real world?”
“It doesn’t.”
“How do two cold and neglectful parents provide the stability a new adult can build their life on?”
“They don’t,” Courtney said.
“Exactly. That’s why I’ve always felt we’ve needed something more.
Something for the eighteen-year-old who gets thrown out onto the street because their sister is a psychopath who ripped her future away, but oh well, she’s an adult now and figure it the fuck out on her own,” I said.
“Something for the college dropout who runs away because the emotional load got too heavy for their mental health to carry.
“Something for the foster kid who had to take a job working for a drug dealer because, even though his foster parents are good people, not even the money from the state is enough to pay for his care and the care of his sisters. And they certainly won’t have enough to keep housing him after he ages out of the system.
“Who cares about those people? Who’s helping them? Who still wants to see them make their dreams come true?”
“Well, that’s easy.” Courtney smiled at me. “Sarang Kim does.”
A silly blush crept up my cheeks. “I told you, it probably won’t work, but I’d like to offer something better for people who are lost and just need a little help.
We’ve got all of these different programs run by all of these different organizations.
The youth center run by the local high school.
The food pantry run by the local church.
The housing voucher program run by the government.
The shelter run by the local charity. And all with different rules and requirements for who they’ll help and how.
“Wouldn’t it be great to have access to all of these resources in one place with all of it freely given without having to prove you deserve it?”
She paused in her baking to face me. “I mean... yeah, that would be great, but how would that work?”
“I want to build a community—a real one. With rent-free units, food pantries with fresh produce, tutors for wherever you are in your education, job assistance, language programs, on-site and free daycare, on-call doctors and psychiatrists, affordable medical care and prescriptions at a heavy discount, and community shuttles that’ll get everyone around town for free.
“All of that, but no curfews that lock someone out into the cold just because the buses stopped running and they had to walk three miles from work. No stuffing thirty people into a tiny room with ten bunk beds. No living on canned food and ramen because it’s too hard and expensive to source fresh, organic fruits and vegetables. ”
“All of that sounds amazing, Sarah, but how would you fund this paradise?”
“Annnd that’s where the dream stops,” I sang, slumping over the metal surface.
“The money to make it happen. Maybe if I were more like Sue was, I could figure out how to take my dream from fantasy to reality. She was the creative one. She was the persuasive one. She was the ruthless one who could forge ahead without considering anyone else’s thoughts or opinions.
She was the one who could turn an idea into a successful business. ”
“Successful business?” Courtney picked up her tray of strawberry cheesecake cookies and carried them to the oven. “What are you talking about?”
“SueNation.” I started picking up the whisk, mixing bowl, and cookie scoops. “She told me all about how she and her business were the headliners at last year’s Lantana Street Fair. Took great pleasure in telling me about it, now that I mention it.”
A strange noise sounded behind me.
I dropped the scoops in the sink, spinning to blink at a doubled-over, wheezing, knee-slapping, guffawing Courtney.
“She told you... she was... headliner!? Aha!” she cried, almost toppling into the oven. “Hera help her, Sarah, your sister wasn’t just a liar. She was deranged! How can anyone sane rewrite history like that with a straight face!”
“Uhh...” I blinked. “What?”
“My love, SueNation was a bust. A disaster. A complete catastrophe!”
“Come again?”