[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.
[A/N] Welcome to my new project. I hope you'll enjoy reading it.
The chapter below is dedicated to my girlfriend; for her love, support, and for giving me salted caramel chocolate for my birthday.
*All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt*
(Charles M. Schulz)
Chapter One
I hate cooking.
The women in my family have always cooked. My mother is a chef. Her mother and grandmother worked in a kitchen too. We are destined to spend our lives in front of hot stoves. From the moment the slave ship brought my ancestors here; we have been dragged into the kitchen to stay there until we take our last breath.
I dislike cooking greatly, but I know it's the reason why we survived. Cooking was less vigorous than working in the cotton fields.
Over the course of time we have developed the most sensitive taste buds. I love having the different spices tickle my tongue. I enjoy tasting creamy sauces and juicy steaks with rosemary or garlic seasoning.
What I do hate is preparing the food myself. I hate to have my hair smell like fried chicken. I dislike being unable to scrub away the smell of onions from my fingers. Mom's hands have never been without Band-Aids, blisters, and burn wounds as long as I can remember. Regardless, she claims that she loves cooking. It brings her happiness. I think she does it because it's all she knows.
I am the first one in my family who has managed to break free from the job in the kitchen. My parents tried hard to convince me to become a chef. They sent me to an expensive French culinary school in London. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to stay at that awful place for over a year until I finally dared to quit. Some lucky stranger got my place instead.
My Dad never said a word about ten thousand dollars that had been wasted for nothing. He told me that I should always do what makes me happy; and my happiness is everything to him. He claims that I am my parents' greatest happiness.
When Mom got pregnant with me, my English grandmother asked Dad, if Mom and he were sure about what they were doing. She didn't like her only son marrying a black girl. She disliked the thought of him having a mixed child even more.
I am a love child. I am a child that had a pink-painted nursery two years before she was born. I have my father's green eyes and my mother's hourglass figure. My skin is both of theirs melted together into a soft caramel shade. Maybe that is what I am.
Salted caramel
I'm sweet and spicy combined together into something completely new. I can speak like a fine English lady and curse like I was raised in the gutter.
"The caramel, Alice! Give me the caramel, child."
I jump back from the stove, lifting the pan with the sizzling hot sugar lava up and carry it over to my aunt. She shakes her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval.
"You are always dreaming, child." Her fingers grab the handle of the pan. She hums while she pours the caramel over the apple pie. "This is exactly like Mamma used to make the pie. It's her recipe."
My lips mouth a no behind my aunt Sasha's back. If she knew how wrong she is. Grandma never used red apples for the pie. She always put the green ones in. There has never been hazelnut in the dough. Grandma claimed walnuts would add a better aroma to the pie.
Tears start to make my eyes water. I step closer to the other side of the kitchen, where my cousin Tanya is eagerly cutting onions. They are a good enough excuse to cry. Today is supposed to be a happy day. I don't want to ruin it for Mom and Aunt Sasha.
The opening of their little restaurant is a big thing for them. They have both worked so hard to get everything together.
"Breathe through your mouth, Alice." Mom tells me, petting my head tenderly. "That helps."
I sniff and wipe my running nose on the apron I'm wearing. This ugly cotton apron is just another reason why I detest working in the kitchen so much. Aprons are suitable clothing for old women. The thought of that instantly makes my heart cramp inside my chest.
Don't think about her; I tell myself. Like always when you are trying to avoid thoughts of her, they torture you mercilessly.
"Why do I have to be here? I am only in the way." I tell Mom, who is rearranging the parsley on a plate of mashed potatoes for the third time now. She's nervous. There is no reason for her to be. Mom's garlic mashed potatoes are divine. It's like having a comfy home and a Mediterranean garden on your tongue at the same time.
Tanya throws the onions into a bowl and puts down her knife. She grins at me. "Maybe they think you are going to write a better report on the restaurant if you've seen how much work there is behind the food."
I roll my eyes. It's not like I don't know how kitchen work is. I know how it's like to have your back and feet killing you from standing all day long; and how your eyes burn like fire when you rub them after having sliced up a chili pepper moments ago.
"Jasper is writing the report. I would be biased. It wouldn't be fair to the readers."
Irina's eyes light up as soon as I mention my co-worker. My cousin has a soft spot for him. I don't have the heart to tell her that Jasper is gay, like baby-blue cotton candy.
In the corner of the kitchen someone sighs dreamily.
"And then he wrapped his ivory skinned thighs around her ebony body and both of them—"
"Katrina! Put that shameless book away now and bring me the carrots." Aunt Sasha snaps at her youngest daughter. "I am going to burn this piece of junk when you are sleeping."
My cousin cradles the book against her chest like she's trying to protect it from her mother. "Mom, you need to read this. It's about real love!" She sighs dreamily. "White men are so romantic."
Sasha grabs the book from Kate and smacks it over her head. "Romantic! I'll give you romantic. Stop reading and go back to work. Oh and just so you know, I haven't heard of any pirate kings coming to snag away beautiful black women from their village in a while."
Kate's full mouth morphs into a wide grin. "Mom! You read it. Don't try to deny it."
"Well, I was curious in what you are sticking that nose of yours into twenty-four-seven. A mother needs to know. Esme, you can't imagine what the kid is reading. Those are naughty books. I haven't blushed as much as that in my fifty years."
Mom laughs. The fine lines around her brown eyes get a bit deeper. She and I exchange a look between confidantes in crime. "I am sure it's not as bad as you say. Don't be such a prude."
"Cynara Parker is a true romantic." Kate sighs, stirring slowly in a pot on the stove. "Mom, I am telling you it's like that woman knows my secret wishes and wrote them down."
Aunt Sasha clicks her tongue. She takes the spoon from her daughter's hand and tastes the sauce. "Yuck. Now you put too much salt into it."
She smacks Kate against the back of her head. "Stop dreaming while you are at work, girl."
Tanya giggles. Telling Kate to stop dreaming has the same effect as telling a fish not to swim, or a bird to not spread its wings and fly. I envy her. My cousin still has the naïve faith of someone whose heart hasn't been broken before.
My phone beeps. It's Jasper, texting me that he's here to do the report on my family's restaurant. I have instructed him to not write any crap, but he can't lie either. That would make us loose the credibility our loyal readers grant us.
"Mom, Jasper is here. Is the food ready?" I hate how nervous I sound. I don't know a single person who has ever disliked my mother's cooking, but still. If Jasper decides he doesn't like the homemade food being served here, it will be awkward.
My mother kisses my cheek and tells me to head outside and greet Jasper. Irina frowns. I can barely hold back from laughing. She is so cute in the way she's crushing on him.
"Hi, Heartless," He waves his hand at me and grins a lopsided smile. "I don't have to test anything you cooked. Have I?"
I make a fist and punch him against his left side. He whines. Jasper is such a pussy. I didn't even use all my strength.
"I helped because it's the first day and it means a lot to my Mom that I'm here today."
He nods, then grabs my hand to do this ridiculous hand-kissing thing. Someone told him it's sophisticated and romantic. Someone should tell him it's embarrassing and ridiculous.
"Would you like wine with your food?" I ask, pulling the chair out for him. He sits down and places his arms on the crisp white linen.
"Chardonnay, if you have some."
I nod my head, rolling my eyes when I turn my back at him. Does he think I am stupid? That bottle of white wine, his favorite, has been waiting for him in the fridge for two days now. It needs to be served at a perfectly chilled temperature.
After getting the wine for Jasper, I sit down across from him and fold my hands on the table. I look around, admiring the freshly-painted walls and the piano standing in the corner. In a couple of hours the entire restaurant will be filled with hungry guests. The day after tomorrow when the new edition of Culinary Jewels comes out, there will hopefully be even more guests.
Mom and Aunt Sasha have worked so hard on making the restaurant a beautiful place. They claim they want it to mimic my grandparents' restaurant back in Georgia. Mom did an amazing job on using old black and white pictures, of the original place, to decorate the walls.
On one of the pictures, Nana Di is standing with a flower printed apron. Her hair is big. Her smile is bigger. Mom is only a toothless five-year-old sitting on the counter next to her.
My fingertips caress the frame of the picture, wiping a bit dust away from it. If only you could wipe the dust from a dusty memory to refresh it.
"She was pretty." Jasper says, nipping on the wine. "Your grandmother was a beautiful woman. I am sorry about—"
"Oh there's your first dish." I interrupt him midsentence. Why do people who know, always feel like they need to tell me they are sorry for me about my grandmother's condition? No words of comfort are going to make a difference.
Irina's hand is quivering when she places the porcelain plate in front of the object of her desire. She stutters, trying to tell him to enjoy his meal.
He grants her a small smile and places his napkin on his lap. I wonder if he's worried about ruining his designer jeans with gravy.
Both, Irina and I keep our eyes on Jasper's mouth while he chews a small bite of the chicken casserole. He swallows slowly. Then he tries Mom's mashed potatoes and his eyes shut down. He sighs, licking the edge of his mouth.
"Do you like it?" She asks, rocking back and forth on her ballet flats. "You do like it, right?"
Jasper wipes his lips on the napkin and takes another sip from the sixty dollar wine in his glass. "It's classic with a refreshing modern twist. I like the lemongrass in the sauce. That was very creative combined with the red onions and the pink pepper."
"That was Irina's idea." I tell him. "She's going to attend a culinary school in Paris, in the fall."
He smiles. "Yeah Paris, the town of love or whatever we claim love to be."
I kick his leg underneath the table. We discussed this. I told him that he needs to tell Irina her love interest in him is fruitless. He's supposed to do it in a nice way. I care too much about my cousin to see her unhappy.
An hour later, Kate is serving strawberries filled with dark chocolate to our special guest while back in the kitchen Irina is stuffing white chocolate into her mouth. Her tears are the sullen tears of a child. It hurt her pride more than her heart when Jasper casually mentioned his boyfriend back home.
"He doesn't even look gay," She whines, breaking off another piece from the chocolate. It disappears between her lips. "Gay men are supposed to look gay, to give a warning to women to not fall in love with them."
My mother and aunt laugh. Sasha hugs her daughter and kisses her temple. "Honey, many men are going to turn you down in your life. You need to learn to suck it up and not cry over it."
She cuts a piece from the caramel crusted apple pie up and places it on a plate. "Here honey, eat something."
Irina has just eaten a diabetic causing amount of chocolate, but whatever helps her to forget Jazz, I am fine with it. My aunt's solution to every problem in the world is food. Have a broken heart? Eat something sweet to heal it up. Have a sore throat? Try some lemon-juiced chicken soup.
It's a miracle none of her four children are overweight.
"Mom, I'm going home now to check on Nana." I tell my mother, hugging her tightly. "Tell Edward I said hi when he shows up here."
My older brother and I aren't on the best of terms. He's been a dick to his girlfriend, and when I stepped up for Jessica he didn't appreciate it much. Men are morons.
I wrap two slices of the apple pie with foil and put on my jacket. After a quick goodbye to the involuntary heartbreaker, I walk outside.
Tanya follows me. "Wait, you forgot the potatoes and the chicken." She places two Tupperware boxes into my arms. I store them next to the pie on the passenger's seat.
She clears her throat, attempting to keep her loud voice low when she speaks up. "This would have been a good opportunity you know."
Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I rub my fingers up and down my lower arms to keep them from getting cold. Barely unable to keep the frown from my face, I play dumb.
"Good opportunity for what, T?"
She pulls on my hair. The movement is fast and painful. Suddenly I feel like I am a chubby seven-year-old again. My cousins have teased me my whole childhood about my hair. When I got older I discovered they were jealous. They were jealous because my hair is soft and wavy while theirs is frizzy and untamable without chemical help.
"Ouch," I cry out. "That hurt, Bitch!"
Tanya laughs, but the smile on her lips freezes within seconds. "Better a bitch than a dyke too chicken to come out."
"Shhh!" I hiss, pressing my hands against my cousin's mouth. Tanya is my best friend. She knows me better than anyone else. We are best friends because both of us have a tendency to speak our mind whether people want to hear it or not. Right now, I don't want to hear the truth though. We have been through this over and over.
"I will tell them when I'm ready." I state, sitting down in the driver's seat. My hands clench around the steering wheel. "I promise to tell them when I am ready."
"You've been saying this for years now." Tanya reproaches. "Your parents are not my mom. They will still love you."
"I know." I mumble. "I know they will accept me the way I am. I am just not ready to have this conversation with them yet."
She hugs me good-bye; while telling me again that it's time to come out to my parents. The only person in my family, who knows about my sexual preference, is Tanya. My cousin doesn't count though. If I told her I murdered someone, she would just shrug her shoulders and ask me if I need help getting rid of the corpse.
On my way back home, I hum along to the music on the radio. I've done it all wrong, I scold myself. If I had come out to Mom and Dad right after my first kiss with Leah in the ninth grade, everything would have been much easier.
I could have come out after I came back from London. My heart flutters a bit faster when the memories begin to play in my head. They are right, that people lose their restraints far away from home. In England, I spent my days with French cooking. At night I brought other kinds of French to perfection.
I never fell in love with one of my encounters. There has never been anyone who captured my feelings. At some times I thought someone had. I was wrong through.
Real love is supposed to make you feel free. It's supposed to make you grow, and bring out the best in you. It's simple. Complicated love stories are only good on paper.
My lips twitch into a smile when I remember Kate's new found obsession with Cynara Parker's smut novels. I shake my head. I wonder if she would still like them as much if she knew the truth behind them…if she knew who Cynara Parker really is.
In front of my parents' house, I turn off the radio and kill the engine. There are twenty steps from the garage to the house. I move slower with each one of them. Everything inside me resists. I move forward though, because I have to. I have to try and be strong for her.