Over the mooncake for yo.., p.1
Over the Moon(cake) for You, page 1
Over the Moon(cake) for You
Isla Chiu
Published by Isla Chiu, 2021.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
OVER THE MOON(CAKE) FOR YOU
First edition. September 20, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Isla Chiu.
ISBN: 979-8201290801
Written by Isla Chiu.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Our doom comes in the form of a corporate chain bakery
A handsome stranger comes to town
Operation Honeypot (Attempt)
Meet the grandparents and sisters
Epilogue
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Our doom comes in the form of a corporate chain bakery
I JUMP WHEN NAINAI comes screaming into the bakery. “Aiyah, we’re doomed!” she shouts.
My oldest sister Blair rolls her eyes. “Did gas prices go up again?”
Nainai scowls. “Why is gas so expensive? And why does that Elon man make his electric car so expensive?” She shakes her head. “But this is worse than high gas prices. Much worse.”
“What happened, Nainai?” I ask.
“I just found out Red Silk is going to open next door.”
“Shit,” Blair says.
I feel the color draining from my face. No wonder Nainai came screaming into the bakery. Red Silk is a huge national Chinese bakery chain. When my sisters and I went to New York, we went to a Red Silk shop out of curiosity. We tried their egg custard tarts and almost spit out our food. The egg custard tarts tasted like artificially sweet sawdust, nothing like Nainai’s heavenly tarts. Nonetheless, Red Silk is a wildly popular chain, thanks to their low prices and ubiquitous advertising.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say with more optimism than I feel. “Red Silk’s baked goods are garbage compared to yours, and our customers will see that.”
Nainai pets my cheek. “Sweet, naïve Layne. Americans don’t care about quality. They’ll just be blinded by Red Silk’s low prices.” Then she murmurs, “Maybe we should burn down the building next door.”
Blair exclaims, “We’re not going to burn down someone’s property!”
“Maybe we should burn down our bakery and collect the insurance money,” Grandma says dreamily.
“Nainai, you love this bakery,” I say. “You and Yeye have owned Peony Bakery for over 40 years.” My grandparents came to America with nothing but dreams and 200 dollars. Despite the fact that most people in Middown, Ohio would ask, “What the hell is lotus seed paste?” they opened a Chinese bakery, and slowly, the people of Middown fell in love with their lotus seed buns, egg custard tarts, mooncakes, and other baked goods.
“And you’re not going to prison for committing insurance fraud,” Blair adds.
“Who’s committing insurance fraud?” Yeye walks into the bakery with an obliviously jovial smile on his face, carrying bags of flour. Behind him, my second oldest sister Sierra strolls in with some grocery bags.
“Why are you smiling?” Nainai asks, shooting daggers at Yeye. “We’re doomed.”
Sierra dumps the grocery bags on the floor, catching her breath. “How can you, a 77-year-old man, carry those bags of flour like they’re nothing? And why do I, a young 24-year-old woman, struggle to carry a few grocery bags down a few blocks?”
“It’s because I eat a plate of plain tofu every day for breakfast,” Yeye says.
“Or it’s because you grew up working on a farm while my sisters and I had sedentary suburban childhoods,” Blair says dryly.
Yeye shakes his head. “It’s the tofu.”
Nainai groans. “Aiyah, why are you talking about tofu when we’re doomed?”
Sierra asks, “Why are we doomed? Did gas prices go up again?”
Nainai sighs. “Red Silk is opening next door.”
“Red Silk...?” Sierra widens her eyes as realization dawns on her. “Fuck, it’s that big chain bakery, right? Goddamn it, we’re already struggling to make ends meet. With competition opening next door...” She doesn’t finish her sentence; she doesn’t have to.
Nainai bursts into sobs. “What are we going to do? We can’t lose the bakery.”
“Oh, lao po...” Yeye wraps his arms around her, patting her back. “Everything will be all right. We won’t lose the bakery.”
Grandma scowls at him through her tears. “How do you know that?”
“I’ll beat up anyone who tries to walk into Red Silk,” Yeye says with a grin.
Nainai rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at her lips. “Oh, lao gong...” Then she kisses him.
“Awww,” my sisters and I say in unison. But our adoration turns into disgust when our grandparents start using tongue and making very wet, very loud noises.
“Gross, get a room!” I gag.
“What’s wrong with a husband showing his wife some affection?” Grandpa asks.
“There’s nothing wrong with that, but there’s something deeply wrong with subjecting your grandchildren to the sight of their grandparents full-on French-kissing,” Sierra says.
“Hey, if we didn’t start French-kissing, you would’ve never existed,” Nainai says.
“But seeing you make out with Grandpa makes me want to end my existence,” Blair says.
Another sigh escapes Grandma’s mouth. “How are we going to continue Peony Bakery’s existence? Maybe I should tell everyone in town that Red Silk’s cakes have salmonella...”
“We shouldn’t spread lies around,” Yeye says.
Nainai scoffs. “All’s fair in love, war, and business.”
“Is that what you’re going to say to the judge when Red Silk sues you for defamation?” Blair asks.
“But we can’t just sit back and let Red Silk put us out of business!” Nainai exclaims. “We need to scheme."
I hold my grandmother’s shoulders. “Let’s just focus on making mooncakes for now.” The Mid-Autumn Festival is coming up. Although most people in Middown, Ohio don’t celebrate the holiday like my family does, they love Nainai’s mooncakes and order them by the dozen.
She protests, “But Red Silk—”
“Isn’t open yet. And they’re not going to open for a while, right?”
“They’re planning to open in a few months, but...”
I pat her cheek. Despite her being 75 years old, she barely has any wrinkles. “So let’s just focus on the Mid-Autumn Festival. Who knows, a Mid-Autumn Festival miracle could happen and Red Silk may decide not to open in Middown after all?”
Nainai sniffs. “There’s no such thing as a Mid-Autumn Festival miracle.”
I pat her cheek again. “Oh, ye of little faith.” In spite of my words, a little ball of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. Like Sierra said, Peony Bakery is barely hanging on as it is. People love our baked goods, but every year, the already-not-large population of Middown, Ohio decreases as kids grow up and move away to cities. Any competition—especially a big chain bakery with mediocre but cheap baked goods—will cut into our meager profits.
Like a mantra, I repeat Grandpa’s words in my mind: Everything will be all right, everything will be all right, everything will be all right.
A handsome stranger comes to town
FOR THE REST OF THE day, I help my grandparents make mooncakes. After several hours of kneading dough, assembling, and baking, we treat ourselves to a mooncake each. For a moment, I admire the peony decoration on the golden pastry. Then I bite into the mooncake, closing my eyes in bliss. It’s the perfect combination of sweet and savory with the smooth lotus seed paste and salted duck egg yolks. A little melancholy enters my chest. Mooncakes were one of Mom’s favorite things. She used to joke that she’d only decided to marry Dad after he’d given her some of Nainai’s mooncakes.
This upcoming Mid-Autumn Festival will be the third time we celebrate it without my parents. Three years ago, they died in a car accident while they were on vacation in San Francisco. Because my grandparents were so consumed with grief, Blair and Sierra left college to help take care of them and the bakery. And though I got accepted into a few colleges, I decided to not enroll in any of them because I didn’t want to leave my family behind. Also, I was full of grief; I doubt that I could’ve focused on things like classes and studying.
When Nainai isn’t looking, I reach for another mooncake. But she must have eyes in the back of her head because she slaps my hand away.
“Save the mooncakes for the paying customers,” she says without looking up.
Yeye pats my head. “You can eat all the mooncakes you want on the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival.”
When we go into the lobby, Nainai asks my sisters, “How did we do today?”
“Not bad,” Blair says. “We sold more than yesterday, but I suspect that’s due to you posting all over Facebook, ‘If you care about me at all and don’t want to see me living on the streets, you’ll buy our cookies and cakes, and vow to never ever go to that evil Red Silk.’”
“That’s good marketing,” Nainai says.
"No, that’s called a guilt trip,” Blair says.
“Like I said, that’s good marketing.” Grandma lets out a breath. “I can’t wait to go home and eat some green tea ice cream.”
When Sierra and Grandpa shoot each othe
“Sorry,” Yeye and Sierra say in sheepish unison.
“I suppose I can wait till tomorrow for ice cream,” Grandma grumbles. “That is, if you don’t forget to buy it again...”
“I can go to the store now,” I say.
“Are you sure?” Sierra asks. “The store closes in like 25 minutes.”
“I’ll just run,” I reply. “I need some cardio anyway.” As I race out the door, I shout, “See you all at home later!”
I haul serious ass to the grocery store and get there 15 minutes before closing time. In my haste to get to the ice cream section, I bump into someone. I squeak, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry...” I trail off when I look up and see a ridiculously handsome man. Like, could be a contender for People’s Sexiest Man Alive handsome. He has a dazzling smile that belongs in a toothpaste commercial, sleek black hair cut like a CEO from a drama, and smoldering brown eyes that could melt a girl’s panties. He must be new in town because my family are the only Asians in Middown. Also, I would’ve remembered a face like that.
“No need to apologize,” he says.
I feel my cheeks turn pink as his gaze lingers on my face.
“I’m Tom,” he says.
“I’m Layne. Nice to meet you.”
I want to talk with him more, but the P.A. comes on and a bored-sounding teenager announces, “The store will be closing in 10 minutes. Please head to the cashier as soon as possible.”
“Excuse me, I have to go get some ice cream,” I say.
To my surprise, he follows me to the freezer section. He’s walking close to me, so I can smell his cologne, a mix of the woods and citrus.
When I’m in front of the ice cream section, I want to curse. The green tea ice cream is on the top shelf. At times like these, I really resent my being under 5 feet tall.
“Do you want something on the top shelf?” Tom asks.
I look at him. He towers over me; he has to be at least six feet. I give him a sheepish smile. “Yes, actually, could you grab a carton of green tea ice cream for me?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” I say when he gets it for me.
I wait for him to hand the carton to me, but he says, “I'll carry it for you.”
I blink. I know I'm short and not exactly the epitome of physical strength, but I'm more than capable of carrying a tub of ice cream. Before I can tell Tom that, he starts heading toward the cashier. With a sigh, I follow him.
“Hey, Layne,” Brett greets me at checkout. He and I went to high school together. Although we attended the same AP classes, we never really hung out. He was a jock, and I was the awkward Asian girl. But he's always been friendly to me. He would slap the heads of his football player friends whenever they would say shit like, “Me so horny,” to me and force them to apologize to me. Like me, he was supposed to go to college. But when he injured his knee, colleges rescinded their scholarship offers, making it financially impossible for him to go to school. So he stayed in Middown. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem bitter about it and is always flashing his All-American smile around town. Brett nods toward Tom. “Is he your cousin?”
Before I can answer, Tom tells him, “No.” I widen my eyes. Is he growling?
“Brett, this is Tom,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, Tom,” Brett says.
“Hi,” Tom says in a cold and flat voice.
What is his deal? He was polite and friendly enough to me. Why is he being so rude to Brett?
Brett winks at me, causing me to lift my eyebrows in confusion. “I really enjoyed last night,” he says in a low voice.
What is he talking about? He went into the bakery last night to buy some egg custard buns and said hi to me, but that was the extent of our interaction. “Um, what—?”
Just play along, Brett mouths. Out loud, he asks, “Just getting the ice cream tonight?”
Just as I’m about to say yes, Tom abruptly asks, “Layne, what’s your favorite candy?”
He is handsome but so strange. “Uh, I like Snickers,” I say.
Making my eyes pop out of their sockets, Tom dumps a dozen Snickers bars in front of Brett and says, “We’ll take that too.”
I am positively befuddled. My befuddlement increases tenfold when Tom takes out his wallet and pays for the ice cream and candy with his credit card.
“What...?” I’m at a loss for words.
“Have a nice night,” Brett says cheerfully as Tom grabs my hand and pulls me out of the store.
My pulse quickens under Tom’s hand. “Um, Tom...”
“Is that guy your boyfriend?”
“Huh?”
“The cashier guy—is he your boyfriend?”
I can’t help snorting. “What? Brett’s gay.” When he came out in high school, it made some stupid football players and their stupid parents freak out. They wanted the coach to kick him off the team, but Coach Taylor refused and said, “There’s no way in hell I’m kicking off the best player I have.”
Tom blinks. “Oh.”
“Wait, is that why you were so hostile to him? Because you thought he and I were dating?”
Tom flushes. “Well, um...”
I laugh. “We literally just met like 15 minutes ago.” Despite myself, I can’t help noticing how cute Tom is when he’s blushing.
“Do you want to get dinner tonight?”
I stare at him. God, he is one good-looking man. For the past few years, I’ve dated a couple of guys. They were nice and all, but I didn’t feel any sparks, so all of those relationships—if you could call a handful of dates a relationship—ended with a fizzle. But with Tom... He caresses my wrist with his thumb, and the contact nearly sends a shiver of pleasure down my back. I say, “I need to get this ice cream home to my grandma...”
“How about tomorrow night?”
The corners of my mouth curve up. “Okay.” I reach into my pocket. “Let me pay you back for the ice cream..."
He pushes my hand away. “My treat.”
With a note of regret, I say, “I need to get home before this ice cream melts.”
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“Oh, thank you, but you don’t need to do that. My house isn’t far from here.”
“You shouldn’t walk home alone at night.”
My lips twitch. “And I should get into a stranger’s car? How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“You just agreed to go on a date with me tomorrow night. And would a serial killer buy you Snickers?”
His thumb caresses my wrist again. Although I hardly know him, somehow, I feel safe with him. “Okay. But before I get into your car, you should know that my family would avenge my death.”
“Message received.”
My eyes widen when he opens the passenger door of a red Porsche. He definitely isn’t from around here. The only cars I see people drive in Middown are Toyotas and Fords.
After we climb into his car and I give him directions to my house, I ask, “So what brings you to town?”
“I’m here for business.”
A little disappointment creeps into me. Of course, he’s just here temporarily. People who drive fancy Porsches don’t stay in a small town like Middown.
“Did you grow up here?” he asks.
“Yes, born and raised.” When we arrive in front of my house, I say, “This is my place. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem.”
Just as my hand is on the door-handle, Tom asks, “So dinner tomorrow night? How does 7 o’clock sound?”
A smile appears on my face. “That sounds good.”
“May I give you my phone number?”
“Yes.” I give him my phone, and he enters his digits into it. When he hands it back to me, I see his full name on the screen. Tom Wong.
“Have a good night, Layne.”
“Have a good night, Tom.”
Shocking me, he puts a hand on the back of my head and kisses me. It’s only a second before I close my eyes and melt into his kiss. He tastes like honey and sugar. Delicious.
“See you tomorrow,” he whispers against my lips.
My heart is racing. I’ve had mediocre kisses, I’ve had fine kisses, I’ve had pleasant kisses, but I’ve never had a kiss like that. One that left me breathless and made it difficult for me to remember my name.
