Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
M
y midterm exam results came in while we were driving back from NYC the next morning. I slapped Mia on the arm, waking her up from her drooly slumber.
She squinted at me. “Shit, I was having a good dream too! What? Is it time to eat?”
I pointed to my phone perched on the car mount. “You need to click on the link. My grades came in and I can’t pull over right now to check. Sorry about waking you up, but you know, it’s urgent.”
Mia sighed and shifted her seat into an upright position. After grabbing my phone and clicking around, she squealed. “Well, hot damn! You got an A. TWO As. Wait, you didn’t tell me you took stats AND computer science! I thought you were dropping one and adding the other?”
I beamed. “And I have my influencer culture class paper due at the end of the term, but I’ve gotten high marks so far. I added stats because it was an easier class for me, but didn’t drop CS. I figured I had the time and wanted to prove to myself that I could still learn something after all.”
She tapped her head twice with her index finger. “That’s smart. Was it more expensive to add extra classes?”
I shrugged. “I worked out the finances, but I figured if stats is more of a sure thing grade-wise, it would help me hedge if my CS grade is terrible. And in the Global Audience and Influencer Culture class I’m actually learning a lot that might help me build an audience for my books.”
Mia said, “It’s exciting news. Two As! Too bad there aren’t a lot of people you can tell right now.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
My fingers rolled in a 1-2-3-4 count on the steering wheel.
Mia put the phone back on the cradle. “You want to text Jake, don’t you?”
“No.”
Maybe.
“Of course not.”
Okay, yes. I wanted to see if I was still at the top of the class.
She paused when she noticed my phone light up. “Well, well, well, Jakey just sent you a message saying he was proud of you. Where are you guys at right now? Fighting? Having I-hate-you-but-DAMN-you’re-hot sex? Should I send him a middle finger emoji, or the eggplant one?”
I narrowed my eyes and shot her an exasperated look, which she ignored because she was busy swirling her index finger next to my cheek and laughing. “You’re blushing! Anyway, the good news is he texted first, so he’s thinking about you. When you told me he was back at Carlthorpe, I was rooting for a Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez second chance, happy, healthy reunion. And now with him texting you, I’m feeling it. Instead of Bennifer, you can be Jily . . . or Lacob.”
“You can go back to sleep now,” I deadpanned. “In fact, I insist.”
After some more teasing, she shifted her seat upright and switched the conversation to more serious matters. “I’ve been uploading photos to your social media account and asked your in-house publicist to send photos from your event, which I just shared publicly. You had a great turnout. Can you believe your mom showed up to the virtual part of the event? And lots of people are commenting about how you revealed more about your next project and they can’t wait to see what your next book is about!”
“I can’t wait to see what my next book is about,” I scoffed.
Mia shot me a WTF look that I could see in my peripheral view. “You
still
don’t know what your book is going to be about? I thought you got an extension and it was due in a few weeks.”
I stared hard at the road. “It was supposed to be about getting your dream job, but c’mon, look at me now. I’ve regressed so much the last few months and one of my only job prospects right now is an internship, and it’s a long shot. Who wants to hear about a loser thirty-something going back to college to finish her degree?”
“Oh my God, are you kidding? This is what people LOVE to hear about! Trust me, I’m a PR person. This is exactly the kind of story everyone loves. No one gives a shit about the O’Haras. Okay, well, certain people do, I’ll give you that, there will always be people obsessed with the rich and famous. But you have a unique story that rarely happens to people but is oddly relatable, and you are absolutely killing it.
It’s about resilience and perseverance. Humility and grace. You have two As on your midterms in math and CS classes at Carlthorpe, which was recently ranked number one in most studious universities, beating out all the Ivies and engineering programs. It’s a nerdy school, Lily, and you’re doing great . . . maybe even better than you did ten years ago. That’s something.”
I pursed my lips, fighting a smile. “Wow, the way you’re talking me up, you almost make me want to believe in myself too.” We both laughed. “I had to clear my calendar of virtual book events, podcasts, and guest blogs so I could study, and felt a ton of guilt for saying no to things, but I’m glad it’s paying off.”
She clapped her hands together. “I think we should go out and celebrate. You’re a STEMINATOR now.”
“Stop.”
“STEMINIST?” she asked.
“No.”
“STEM-ALICIOUS?”
“Oh my God, quit it!” I smirked. “Fine, let’s go celebrate, but no frat parties please.”
“Great! I’ll text Beth. Should I invite . . . Jake? I bet your mom would want to come.”
Hell no.
“I want this celebration to be easy. Like French fries, nachos, and sangria at home easy. Not ex-boyfriend-turned-teaching-assistant, turned-friend-with-benefits, turned-back-to-TA messy. I’m discovering this thing Jake and I have is the opposite of no strings attached. It’s littered with booby traps, landmines, tripwires, hand grenades, and even those hidden
snares that string people up by the ankle and hang them upside down from tall trees.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Mia said.
I shot back, “No, dramatic would be including an elaborate trapping pit, the kind that’s camouflaged with branches and leaves.”
She muttered, “Okay, so no Jake. And obviously no parents. How about your other friends, the ones from the frat party?”
I took the Hill Avenue exit, the main drag leading to Carlthorpe. After four hours of driving, we would be back to our idyllic campus life in a matter of minutes. “I like them, but let’s just keep it simple and low-key, I don’t want to celebrate if my friends didn’t get good grades on their exams.”
She nodded, agreeing with me for once. “I have some downtime, just wrapped up two big projects and am ramping up on another one soon. I’ll go grocery shopping and we can make a feast.”
“As long as there’s wine, I’m in.”
She reclined her chair. “With me, there will always be wine, you know that.”
I smiled. “And that’s why I love you.”
* * *
B
ECAUSE IT WAS
my celebration night, Mia and Beth kept me out of the kitchen while they prepared dinner. It was a good thing too, because when I peeked in, every single pot and
pan was either being used or in the sink. They refused any help when I offered to cook or clean, so I took a seat in front of the TV and asked Siri on my phone to flip a coin. Heads was baking shows. Tails was true crime.
“It’s tails,” Siri confirmed.
I picked a new-release, small-town serial-killer documentary and yelled, “I’m pressing play on the latest murder show!” but then hit the pause button when the title
Slaughtertown, USA
appeared and my friends still hadn’t made an appearance. But whatever they were doing in there, it was making our cozy apartment smell like heaven, with savory aromas of onion, garlic, and sesame oil, accompanied by notes of confectionary sweetness from vanilla, brown butter, and chocolate. Feeling guilty when I heard all the banging and clanking of metal, I patiently waited for them while sipping Syrah and researching the internship program offered by Solv Technologies. I discovered that the cofounder, an anthro major, graduated from Carlthorpe a few years behind me. Well, I guess technically I was a few years behind
him
now.
Was it depressing that my very best job prospect at the moment was for an internship at a company where the CEO was three years younger? Maybe more than a little. And the fact that it was currently my
only
job prospect made me chug my remaining half glass of wine. I examined the bottle. Two-thirds left. I’d need to pace myself.
Before I returned to Carlthorpe, Solv Technologies was a company I never had on my radar, because it was rumored that they allowed only a certain caliber of candidates to interview.
Ones who had all the checkboxes ticked and the right pedigree. Without any tech industry experience, my candidacy would have been an immediate “no” without so much as a phone screen. The CS course I was taking wasn’t a weeder class for hard-core engineering students, but with a professor on their board who was well known for working with large tech companies and teaching coding curricula designed for real-world experiences, it was a great way to find graduates who shared the same programming philosophy to place in roles throughout the company. It was revolutionary really, and pretty cool that I was one of the students vying for a position.
I looked at my glass and swirled the burgundy elixir. When did I pour more wine?
“Whoooooo’s ready for a feast?” Mia popped her head into the room and waved for me to come into the kitchen.
Carrying the wineglass in one hand and the bottle in the other, I migrated over to my friends, where a multicourse banquet awaited me. On the center island was a wide array of my favorite Korean foods, including my favorite banchan. Mia always laughed at how simple my tastes were when it came to the side dishes: most of them needed only sesame oil, garlic, and salt. So what if I was a proud Basic Banchan Bitch?
“I went shopping this morning and bought a bunch of ingredients and marinated meat from the new Asian market an hour away. I made only the bean sprouts, spinach, anchovies, and sesame leaves. Oh, and the rice. I made that too.” With potholder mittens, Mia pulled a pot off the stove and placed it on a trivet next to the sink. Steam spilled out as
she lifted the heavy top. It was galbi-jjim! “I bought it from the Galleria Market, the marinade was a little too sweet so I added soy sauce, sesame oil, and a dash of garlic powder to balance it more.”
It smelled like heaven. Everything did.
Beth pointed to the oven. “The chocolate gooey cake is almost done. I still need to wait a few minutes before I frost it.”
Mia handed me a paper plate. “Let’s pretend we’re at Old Country Buffet, but Asian style, with homemade Korean food and fewer senior citizens.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with older folks.” Beth put her hands on her hips. “Especially ones like my nana, who still sends me twenty-dollar bills inside a birthday card every year.”
“Bless the nanas who give us crisp bills from the bank,” I said, holding up my wineglass.
The timer dinged and Beth rushed to the oven. Even when she made something simple, like sugar cookies or a vanilla sheet cake, there was artistry and finesse in the final execution, so you knew she had a culinary gift. It wasn’t just someone reading recipes off the side of a box. Beth made everything her own, whereas I, on the other hand, made lumpy, nonuniform desserts that looked like a toddler using brown Play-Doh had decided to create something ambitious. I admired Beth. She had developed and refined her culinary skills by the tender age of twenty-two.
“I made a ganache that will pair nicely with chocolate hazelnut mousse,” Beth said.
My jaw hung open. “So you’re telling me that you took everything good about Nutella and put it into a cake? Thank you!”
Mia smacked her lips. “I can’t wait!”
We started with the savory part of the Korean bacchanalian feast. I walked alongside the kitchen counter and island, taking heaping spoonfuls of beef, glass noodles, and marinated vegetables, leaving some space for the stir-fried anchovies. One thing I missed about living in NYC was easy access to ethnic food. One noticeable shortcoming about the Carlthorpe neighborhood was that, even though the population had become more diverse over ten years, there was only one Korean restaurant. It was open for lunch but closed for dinner and was currently shuttered for minor renovation. But honestly, the food wasn’t even that good, so I hardly ever went there, even when I was desperate for a comfort meal.
Mia handed me a gift bag once I took a seat at the table. “Beth and I never agree on shirt slogans, but this is one we both liked.”
It was a black fitted ladies T-shirt with the words H
OT
G
IRLS
C
ODE
in white letters. I put it on over my long-sleeve waffle Henley and modeled it for them, twirling and then stumbling, losing my balance.
Beth, who rarely said anything mean, petty, or catty, mumbled into her wineglass, “Clumsy girls code too, I guess,” and we all laughed.
I tried the beef short ribs first. “Mia! They’re so tender.”
She smiled. “Right? It took a while but they finally got to that falling-off-the-bone texture.”
Beth disappeared into the kitchen a few minutes later. I thought she’d gone to get seconds, but she came out with a
shiny, chocolatey square cake and put it down in the center of the table.
“It’s too pretty to eat,” I said. “The ganache came out perfect.”
She beamed. “I have some good news too. Not as exciting as acing CS and stats exams, but I have some job interviews lined up, in case I don’t get into grad school. Two consulting, one paralegal, and one nonprofit.”
“Congratulations!” Mia and I cheered in unison.
I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be a senior who wasn’t on a premed, pre-law, or academia track. None of my friends my senior year had known what job they wanted after college, especially those like me who had a hard time choosing a major. Some people glamorize the transition from college and adulthood, like it’s a milestone where people can’t wait to rip their training wheels off and go riding on their own. Yes, adulthood can be a beautiful thing. But for some people, it’s less about choices and more about circumstances. They settle. They take the only job they were offered. They take a less exciting job because the coveted positions were too competitive or the pay and benefits were worse. Sometimes the training wheels accidentally pop off too early and the person pedaling can’t break or steer straight. Cars honk. People yell. And the bike ends up in a ditch.
The whiff of fragrant hazelnut cream brought my wandering mind back into focus. Beth had cut a few slices of cake and placed the corner piece in front of me.
Mia moaned, “Oh my God, this cake is better than sex.”
I was going to say, “Way to ruin it for me, Mia,” but was it really ruining anything with a comment like that? I loaded the tip of my fork with fluffy hazelnut and chocolate goodness, then opened my mouth and took a bite.
Wow. “Mia’s right. This is maybe even better than my midterm news,” I marveled.
Beth’s eyes rounded when she took a bite. “This is my best attempt yet. Go me!”
After we finished our desserts, I asked, “Do either of you think there’s any downside to applying for the internship at Solv? The professor sent me a link to set up the phone screen for a recruiter!”
Mia took a swig of wine. “What does Jakey say?”
“I haven’t talked to him for a while.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me. “Hmmmmm. He would be the perfect one to ask.”
I nodded. “He would be, but I don’t want any special treatment now that he’s my TA again.” No need to cause more messiness between us. Once I’d discovered that he’d gotten back with his high school sweetheart, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was keeping me around on the sidelines as someone he could date until someone better came around.
Mia said, “I texted with him. He was polite but super short. Maybe he’s moved on to something else.”
Or someone else. Like his re-ex girlfriend.
I sipped the remaining wine from my glass. Maybe it was time to move past this, to finally close the book on the Jake and Lily saga. For both of our sakes.
Beth said, “Well, I think you should interview. There’s no harm in trying something new. Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
Mia tipped her glass at me. “Your peppy roommate makes a good point. I heard this quote the other day: ‘The most difficult decisions are those that shape your future.’”
I nodded. “That’s true. Where’d you get that from?”
“A Panda Express fortune cookie. But it’s relevant. If you got the job, I hear they have really good free lunch offerings at Solv.”
I’d made worse decisions for reasons dumber than free lunch. “Great! I’ll apply tomorrow, when I’m not drunk.”
Mia laughed. “You always were my smart friend.” She stood from her chair and brought over another bottle of wine. “We’re switching to Pinot. I like it better and it’s a screw-top.” Within seconds, we all had full wineglasses again, and we migrated over to the TV to unpause the serial-killer show.
Great food. Caring friends. Interesting conversation. And murder documentaries.
What more could I want in life?