Chapter 4
Monday morning.
Like always, I was up at six and in the kitchen.
I made blackened fish, plus Bouillabaisse.
I left the lunchbox at her desk, and at 8:40, Emily walked in right on schedule.
But today, instead of flashing me her usual smile and sitting down, Emily paused by her desk.
She pulled a paper bag out of her backpack and placed it on my desk.
"What's this?" I asked.
"It's for you," Emily said.
I opened it up.
Inside was a pair of fork, super finely made.
"Alex, your fork is old," she said.
Yeah, my fork was old, but it was just the one that came with my lunchbox. I never thought about getting a new one.
"How much did it cost? I'll send you the money," I said.
"No need," Emily replied, shaking her head as she sat down and booted up her laptop.
She said it so naturally, like it was just a tiny thing not even worth talking about.
I picked up the fork and examined them closely.
They felt solid in my hand, with a nice heft to them.
I didn't really know what the fork cost, but just from the way it was made, it had to cost a pretty penny.
Wait a minute.
Wasn't she supposed to be strapped for cash?
And she went and bought this fancy fork?
I flipped it over to check the bottom. No brand logo, but the finish and the texture were way too good for some street stall junk.
"Ben," I called out.
"Yeah?" Ben replied.
"Any idea how much this fork costs?" I asked.
Ben pulled out his phone and did a quick search. "Depends on the quality. They can range from a few bucks to a few hundred. This one..." He took a closer look. "Hand-carved? Easily over one hundred."
One hundred dollars.
She couldn't even afford milk shake, but she spent one hundred dollars on a fork for me?
I frowned.
Something felt off.
But I didn't overthink it. Maybe she'd been saving up for a while, or maybe she snagged a discount online. Who doesn't treat themselves once in a while?
Life went on.
July.
It was scorching hot.
The office AC was cranked down to 68°F, but I still ended up sweating through my shirt just walking from home to the subway.
One day at lunch, Emily suddenly asked, "Alex, have you ever thought about learning to make desserts?"
"Nope," I replied.
"Why not?" she asked.
"It's way too much hassle," I said. "Cooking is just chopping stuff up and tossing it in a pan, but desserts? You gotta measure everything and keep an eye on the temperature. I just don't have the patience for that."
Emily ducked her head and scooped up some rice. "But what if I want some?" she asked.
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth.
I looked up at her.
Emily was staring right back at me, dead serious, not a hint of a joke on her face.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Caramel pudding," Emily replied.
"I'll see what I can do," I said.
That night, I watched three tutorial videos and ordered some pudding molds and caramel sauce.
The next day at lunch, there was a small glass cup next to her lunchbox, with a serving of caramel pudding inside, still jiggling a little.
The moment she saw it, she lit up from head to toe.
It wasn't an exaggeration. Her eyes sparkled, her back straightened, and her lips curled into a smile she couldn't hide.
"Is this for me?" Emily asked.
"Yeah. First time making it, so I have no idea if it's any good," I said.
She couldn't wait to grab the spoon and take a bite.
The pudding wobbled on her spoon before she popped it in her mouth.
She closed her eyes.
She was quiet for a couple seconds.
Then she opened her eyes and looked at me, her expression completely serious. "Alex Carter."
It was the first time she'd ever called me by my full name.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Can you make this for me every week?" she asked.
"Sure," I said.
I agreed.
I had no idea why I agreed so quickly.
Maybe it was because she called me by my full name.
Or maybe it was just the way she looked at me.
Whatever.
It was just making pudding.
But from that week on, things started to feel a little different.
She started texting me.
Not the kind of messages where she'd tag me in a work group chat. These were private messages on WhatsApp.
Wednesday, 9:30 PM.
Emily texted me: [Alex, can you make red bean rice cakes for me next week? I saw a recipe online.]
Friday, 6:00 PM.
Emily texted me: [The fish was really good today, but I think it could be a bit sweeter.]
Sunday, 10:00 AM.
Emily texted me: [Alex, what are you up to?]
I couldn't stop looking at that last message.
She'd never texted me on a weekend before. This was a first.
I replied: [Just at the supermarket, grabbing stuff for next week.]
She replied instantly: [Can you pick up a bottle of yogurt for me? I'll pay you back on Monday.]
I asked: [Don't you usually not drink these?]
She replied : ["I just felt like having one today.]
I tossed a bottle of yogurt into my cart.
An older lady nearby glanced at me, then at my phone screen, and shot me a sly, knowing grin, like she totally got what was going on.
I flipped my phone over, screen down.