A Taste for Love Read online

  What did he just say? Someone please come pick my jaw up off the floor.

  Ben grins triumphantly. “Thank you.”

  I peer at Grace. She’s normally the first to call this stuff out, but her lips are sealed tonight. Ben shifts in his seat so he’s facing her.

  “So, do you guys go to school nearby?”

  Grace brightens. “We’re seniors at Salvis Academy.”

  “Me too! But I’ve only been enrolled since spring break,” Ben says.

  “Wait, really? But I haven’t seen you around school.”

  He squirms in his chair, glancing over at James.

  “Well, uh, I’m not on campus much. Since it was so late in the year, my mom talked the school into letting me take my classes online. I only needed a couple to graduate, but she thought it would be good for me to come down before I start college in the fall.”

  That’s a first. The teachers at Salvis are sticklers for attending classes. Ben’s family must be super important if Principal Miller made an exception for him. I frown as something else occurs to me and I turn to James.

  “Is that why I ran into you in the parking lot this morning? You’re also doing online classes at Salvis?”

  All three heads swivel my way. Grace’s eyes widen, and I give her a quick nod.

  James sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “No. I graduated early.”

  “So you were what . . . feeling nostalgic?” I retort.

  Grace kicks me under the table. I bite back a moan as she cocks her head.

  “I left my wallet at his house,” Ben explains. “I asked him to bring it to me.”

  “What have you been up to since graduation then, James?” Grace asks.

  “I’ve been working at my dad’s consulting firm.”

  “James has always been the smarter of the two of us,” Ben teases. “Though I’m way more charming.”

  A dumpster full of rotten eggs would be more appealing than James, but I keep that to myself.

  “Well, it’s nice to officially meet you,” I say instead. “Now that I know your name.”

  James shrugs. “It didn’t come up before.”

  “Really?” My eyes narrow into slits. “Because I remember specifically asking—”

  Grace aims a warning glance at me before turning to give Ben a melting smile. “I hope to see you on campus sometime.”

  “You will,” he answers, winking. “Salvis seems quite nice.”

  James snorts. “It’s not nearly as well-maintained as Superbia. The campus is small, and they’re only the tenth best academy in Texas.”

  “What’s Superbia?” Grace asks.

  “Oh! Superbia Preparatory in Manhattan. That’s the school James and I went to.”

  “Really?” Grace gestures at me. “Liza’s sister, Jeannie, lives there. Liza’s going to visit her for a few days after graduation.”

  Ben leans forward. “You have a sister?”

  “Oh, um, yeah. She’s finishing up her sophomore year at NYU,” I answer.

  “She’s also a model,” Grace volunteers. “A really successful one.”

  I suppress a groan. Did she really have to say that? People always act so shocked—as if the thought of me being related to someone hot blows their mind. James looks over at me in that moment. His steady stare is unnerving, his blank expression making it hard to tell what he’s thinking. Thankfully, the server rolls our meals over on a metal tray. He arranges the small side dishes in the center of the table before transferring our individual plates.

  “Sopa is coming,” he tells us in a mix of English and Spanish.

  “Gracias,” I reply with a polite smile.

  “You speak Spanish?” Ben asks.

  “Only a little. I took it for a couple of years back in elementary school. It was my parents’ idea.”

  The same server comes by to deliver their dishes. My head jerks over to James when he starts conversing with him in Spanish. All I catch are a few words, but it’s enough to tell he’s fluent. The man’s eyes light up, and they chat for several minutes before the server excuses himself. James turns back to face us, and Ben laughs.

  “Show-off.”

  I have another word for it. Grace kicks me a second time under the table and shakes her head imperceptibly. She knows me too well. I shove a bite of seaweed into my open mouth to keep it busy. It isn’t until Grace nearly spits out the first sip of her soup that I remember my prank. She glowers at me.

  “Sorry,” I mouth.

  Grace pushes it aside and moves to her entree. Little of it gets eaten, because she and Ben keep up steady conversation. As for me, I’m happy to focus on the delicious flavors of my meal. James appears equally content with picking at his plate. When the checks arrive, Ben swipes ours off our table and insists on paying.

  “No, I can’t let you do that,” I protest, trying to grab it. “We barely know each other.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to change that,” he says, looking directly at Grace.

  She turns about eight shades of red. James, on the other hand, is a bit green in the face. I can’t say I disagree with him on this one. The idea of spending more time in his presence turns my stomach.

  Since I have yet to fully master arguing over a check, I allow Ben to pay on one condition.

  “You have to let us treat you next time.”

  Ben looks at James for help, but he tips his head to the side.

  “She’s got a point. We both know you’ve been taken advantage of in the past.”

  I’m tempted to punch him in the face for the implication, but his words convince Ben to grudgingly agree.

  “Fine, but it can’t be more than what I paid today. That wouldn’t be fair.”

  I square my shoulders. “Deal.”

  James, Grace, and I head toward the door while Ben pays at the counter. Once he’s done, we walk out together. Ben gestures at the parking lot.

  “Where are you two parked?”

  “I’m in the garage,” Grace tells him.

  I point toward Boba Life. “I’m just down that way.”

  “Then we’ll walk you both,” he asserts, offering Grace his elbow.

  James opens his mouth, presumably to complain, but one look from his cousin and he snaps his jaw shut. Ben’s lips arch into another stunning smile.

  “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 7

  Mom’s been trying to “fix” me since day one. According to her, it’s Dad’s fault I’m stubborn and strong-willed. If he weren’t so permissive, I wouldn’t be so wild. Meanwhile, I hate the fact she’s nice to everyone but me. In public, she’s the perfect mother—kind, patient, and encouraging. At home, she’s strict to a fault and more opinionated than a top food critic.

  Her words roll off my back now, but it was harder when I was little. I still remember the loud conversation she had with our neighbor when we went to buy my first bra. I begged her to stop, cheeks aflame, but she just tipped her head in my direction with a smirk.

  “See? So moody and she’s barely twelve. She’s such a handful.”

  The news of my plain white underwear traveled like wildfire though Chinatown, and by the following weekend, people I’d never met were congratulating me. I tried complaining to Jeannie, but she only chided me.

  “You know Mom didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just proud of how mature you’re becoming.”

  At fourteen, I hated everything about myself. I dreamed of being petite and delicate like the rest of my friends, but I was a raccoon in a panda cub world. Mom was no help then either, peering at me over her glasses as she complained about my weight.

  “You need to stop eating all that rice, Liza. You don’t have Jeannie’s metabolism.”

  Other kids played sports and went to the beach. She wanted me to do none of that.


  “Your skin should be as pale as the moon,” she would remind me, “and your hair black as night. This is how husbands want their wives.”

  So I curled up in my favorite chair and read book after book. Sometimes, I was swept away to the fantastical worlds of Marie Lu and Sabaa Tahir. Other times, I squealed over the sweet ships from Sandhya Menon and Jenny Han. Anything to forget my real life for a little while.

  By the time I was sixteen, I did everything to avoid going straight home after school—clubs, volunteering, even a sport or two (indoor, of course). Jeannie had moved to New York to attend college and model for one of the major agencies there. She was so excited about walking in Fashion Week. Dad and I still got along great, but he was rarely home. He didn’t trust anyone else to do the cooking and was always at the restaurant.

  That meant Mom and I spent a lot of time at home alone. I hated her daily ritual of finding something wrong with how I looked, how I acted, or what I said. I tried to prove I was a good daughter. I even got a part-time job for a while to buy my own clothes and pay for stuff with friends. I’d come home before curfew and never got anything less than an A in school. None of this mattered, though, as long as I refused to date the guys she picked for me.

  That’s why I’m not surprised to overhear Mom on the phone with Mrs. Lim when I walk in the door on Monday. Despite my hope of the contrary, she’s determined to have Reuben over for dinner. There’s a hint of desperation in her voice as she speaks.

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll make sure to avoid cooking anything with garlic that day,” she says, bobbing her head up and down. “I wouldn’t want him to end up in the hospital because of an allergic reaction.”

  Note to self: Buy a garlic necklace. A big one. Maybe two.

  Mrs. Lim says something in return, and Mom cackles before they hang up. Part of me wants to “forget” we have dinner plans, but there’s no way I’d get away with it without paying a heavier price. I try to back out of the kitchen quietly, but she catches sight of me.

  “Liza! Come here for a minute.”

  Damn it.

  I slap a blank look on my face. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” Mom says, moving over to the stove to start dinner. “I just wanted you to know Reuben will be coming over on Friday, so make sure you’re home right after school so you can get ready.”

  “Get ready?”

  “He’s going to be our guest. I don’t want you to look like you normally do.”

  I glance down at my Star Wars T-shirt and skinny jeans.

  “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

  She eyes me up and down. “I want you to wear a dress like a proper lady. And put on some makeup.”

  “I am wearing makeup!”

  Mom steps uncomfortably close to examine my skin with squinted eyes.

  She sighs. “I guess you are. Well, then, wear more.”

  I roll my eyes. “Or he can like me the way I am. Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still reading those ridiculous romance novels.” She opens one of the kitchen cabinets and pulls out a pot. “That’s not how love works in real life.”

  First she calls me picky. Now she’s dragging my taste in reading. Good thing she hasn’t found the pile of historical romances on the top shelf of my closet. I’m pretty sure she’d have an aneurysm at the number of Julia Quinn and Eloisa James books I’ve hoarded. Fed up, I twirl around to make a dramatic exit. I hear her call my name again.

  “There’s one more thing. I need you to start helping me out at the bakery more regularly. Milly is going on maternity leave,” she informs me, one hand on the refrigerator door.

  I suppress a groan. I wouldn’t mind being at the bakery if she’d stop nagging me while I’m there.

  “Why can’t you just hire someone else?”

  She pulls out some Chinese spinach and shuts the door.

  “We put out an ad, but it’s going to take time for us to find someone good.”

  I start to protest, but she puts up a hand.

  “Liza Yang, the money Dad and I make pays for the roof over your head, the car, your food, and those clothes you like so much.”

  I’m instantly wracked with guilt. Mom and Dad are often gone before I wake up and get home long after it gets dark.

  My eyes drop to the floor. “Okay, fine. But this is temporary, okay? You know I’ve got finals coming up.”

  “Your exams are weeks away,” she remarks. “That’ll be plenty of time for me to hire someone new.”

  I lean a hip against the kitchen counter. “When do you need me?”

  “Starting this Saturday.”

  I clench my fists. Why doesn’t she ever give me any advance notice?

  “I could’ve had plans, you know. What if I’d already promised to hang out with Grace or Sarah?”

  “First of all, you know you have to run that by me,” Mom reminds me as she turns the burner on. “Second, is helping your parents really less important to you than spending time with your friends?”

  She sounds genuinely hurt. I quickly backtrack.

  “Sorry, Mom. Of course not.”

  “Good.”

  I start to walk away but pause to look at her. “Anything else?”

  “Nope. That was it.”

  As I walk away, I swear I hear her whisper:

  “For now.”

  * * *

  • • • • •

  On Friday, the dreaded dinner with Reuben arrives. I drag Grace to Boba Life and hide there until Mom starts blowing up my phone. As I walk through the front door, I’m surrounded by a hurricane of activity. Water meets oil in a sizzling dance as Dad juggles multiple dishes on the stove. Mom buzzes around the room, never stopping as she cleans this counter and rearranges that shelf. Faint lines mark where carpet powder was removed by a vacuum, and the smell of fake flowers surrounds me.

  In the formal dining room, our normally barren dining table has been covered with a fancy plastic cloth, and four settings await their guests. The laundry rack Mom hangs her delicates on has disappeared, tucked away in a closet for now. Though we’re eating in there, the kitchen cabinets are shinier than I’ve ever seen them. The mess of bills and newspapers normally strewn across our breakfast table has been cleared away, and a small vase of fresh wildflowers adorns the center. The calendar on the wall has also finally made it to May after months of declaring it’s still January.

  I step fully into the kitchen, and Mom scrunches her nose at me.

  “Why are you home so late? I told you Reuben was coming over tonight.”

  “Sorry. I had to meet Grace to grab some stuff for school.”

  “You shouldn’t rely on Grace so much,” she scolds, wiping the counter one last time. “You need to be more organized. Learn to take better notes. Put reminders in your phone.”

  I say nothing. I’ve learned the hard way that interrupting Mom only earns me a longer lecture. Thankfully, she runs out of steam quickly and shoos me out of the room.

  “Go get ready, and do it fast! He’ll be here any minute. I put an outfit for you on your bed.”

  I shudder at the memories of the horrid outfits she used to put me in for picture day. Thankfully, there’s no photographic evidence, because my parents were too cheap to order the prints.

  “Mom—” I start to protest, but she cuts me off.

  “What are you waiting for? And put on some makeup, for crying out loud!”

  I grit my teeth and stomp off to my room. I’m assaulted by the sight of the over-the-top dress the moment I walk in. It reminds me of a wedding cake, with flowers protruding from every inch of the blinding white fabric. With a high neck and hemmed below my knee, it sends a very clear message.

  I’m a delicate, innocent flower. Look, but don’t touch.
/>   I want to take it into the backyard and set it on fire. Instead, I shrug out of my jeans and step into the monstrosity with the utmost reluctance. Maybe the dress will look better on. As I start to zip it, the flowers gather around my chest like puffy homing beacons, while the areas around my hips bunch and crease. I give the zipper a yank when it snags on my lower back. It doesn’t go anywhere.

  It’s too small. It’s too small!

  I quickly abandon the dress and return to my old outfit. Mom’s face turns scarlet when I walk back into the kitchen.

  “Why aren’t you changed? I told you—”

  The phone rings, interrupting her. Dad picks it up and glances at Mom.

  “It’s Mrs. Lim.”

  She takes it from him with a frown. I can’t make out what’s being said, but she’s definitely not happy. A few seconds later, Mom hangs up.

  “I’m afraid Reuben can’t make it tonight,” she informs us, dejected. “He’s sick.”

  I’d bet money it’s a serious case of I-don’t-want-to-itis. Dad clears his throat.

  “Well, since we’re not waiting for anyone, let’s sit down and eat.”

  Mom shakes her head. “I’m not really hungry. You two go ahead.”

  She walks out. He spares me a wink and leaves to go after her. The corridor between the rooms carries their conversation to me with perfect clarity as I sit down to eat.

  “It’s just a dinner, laˇo pó. It’s not anyone’s fault the boy got sick.”

  “We can’t lose this opportunity,” she tells him. “I’ll have to set something up with Mrs. Lim when he’s feeling better.”

  “Why are you so insistent on matching Liza up? She’s not even done with high school.”

  Mom tuts. “Liza doesn’t have as many options as Jeannie. She’s got too big a mouth and doesn’t listen. If we don’t start now, she’ll end up alone for the rest of her life. Don’t you want her to be taken care of when we’re gone?”

  “Don’t worry so much, lǎo pó. I’m not planning on keeling over anytime soon, and Liza’s a good girl. She’ll find someone when the time is right. Just let her be.”