Amidst The Stars

In Which Tarts Are Made

  Ling was waiting for him at the bus stop, eyes glued to her phone. "What took you so long?" She asked, not looking up from the screen.

  "The baker just got caught up in some stuff." Somehow, "I started talking to the baker's pretty younger sister after they argued over pastries and our conversation just went on longer than I expected" didn't seem like a valid excuse. Vicente showed her the bag. "But I got the pastry, and there's a bit of money left."

  Her expression lit up. "Coffee?"

  "Might as well." The bus rolled up. "Yao doesn't have to know."

  Soon, they were huddled in the corner seat of a nearby cafe, drinking one of the place's amazing concoctions. Vicente had watched as his sister poured a terrifying amount of syrup and cream into her iced coffee, convinced that just that one drink could give her diabetes. She was nibbling on a sugar cube as they chatted; it was a miracle her teeth were still intact. "Did Lucien tell you the full story of his life as a baker and a pastry chef, starting from when he was born in Nice?"

  "...what?"

  "He did that the first time I visited. I got the full details of how his younger siblings were born, the not-really scandal of his parents' divorce and remarrying, and their move from Nice to Quebec City to here. All in a prominent French accent, too." Ling took another sip of her iced coffee. "The man either has no shame at all or he's got no filter. Anyway, I asked him what the cheapest pastry he had was and he gave me this really nice briochette. It still cost so much, though. As much as two plates of Yao's char siu fan."

  A small bun cost as much as two rice dishes? But again, Boulangerie Bellecourt was in the city centre, where everything was expensive. "Did you talk to Madeline?"

  Ling furrowed her eyebrows. "Who?"

  "Lucien's sister," Vicente elaborated. "She has blonde hair she puts in a braid, and she wears glasses."

  "I know a dance teacher at the city hall who looks like that, but I've never seen someone like that at the bakery. Maybe she stays in the kitchen a lot." Ling reached for another sugar cube and bit into it with a loud crunch.

  "She was pretty nice," he said. "She didn't tell me about her life story or the history of the Boulangerie like Lucien did to you, at least."

  Ling popped the remainder of the sugar cube into her mouth and drained her glass of iced coffee. "Maybe I'll see her the next time I go there."

  By the time they'd finished their drinks, it was almost ten in the morning and the heat was growing sweltering. Vicente and Ling managed to get back to Huang's before the puff pastry thawed, and stowed it in the kitchen's refrigerator. Yao and Leon had dealt with the few customers they got in the morning well enough, and the restaurant was closed for a short time for their quick lunch. He ran around the kitchen with plates of rice and leftover vegetables while talking a mile a minute. "You better have got the puff pastry, you were gone for two hours which is way too long, thank goodness we weren't too busy this morning or Jia Long would've died of stress — "

  "Good," Leon said while shovelling a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

  Yao lightly whacked him on the head. "None of your nihilistic humour!" He sat down and took a big gulp of tea. "It's boiling outside, and I wouldn't be surprised if the puff pastry melted while you were out, and then poof, we can say goodbye to a good amount of our money."

  "Oh my goodness, Brother, calm down." Ling waved her chopsticks at him. "We got the puff pastry back safe and sound. With how you talk about it, it sounds more like your firstborn child."

  Vicente tried to turn his laugh into a cough.

  The siblings finished their lunch quickly after that and Yao tossed the dishes into the dishwasher while wetting a towel to wipe the table clean. People would be arriving at the restaurant soon, and they had to get ready.

  By the end of the day, as usual, Vicente's feet hurt from eight hours of walking around the small restaurant, and his arms were sore from carrying trays. Leon was complaining about how his back hurt, although that was probably more because he slouched all the time.

  Thankfully, he got to take a shower first instead of Ling, who had the tendency of using up all the hot water. She was in the kitchen heating up more leftovers, while Yao was passed out on the sofa. Once Vicente emerged from the shower, Leon ran past him to get in before anyone else, lamenting his aching back. Apparently working at the restaurant had made Leon age fifty years.

  The day was over before he knew it, and as exhausted as he was, he couldn't sleep. He'd be in the kitchen for the first time tomorrow, cooking alongside Yao. He'd get to see what other people thought of his desserts, and the very thought made his heart race.

...

  Vicente woke up an hour earlier than Yao the next day to get ready and headed to the restaurant to let the puff pastry defrost. The recipes for the egg tarts and buns were pinned to the wall in case he forgot, but as he'd spent most of the past week committing them to memory, he probably wouldn't need them.

  By the time Yao arrived at the kitchen, tying his hair up into a ponytail, Vicente had already laid out all his ingredients and equipment. Just to be nice, he laid out some of his older brother's, too.

  "We still have half an hour before the day starts," Yao said. "I'll go wipe the tables, and you can start making the filling for the egg tarts."

  Soon, the restaurant opened. Only a few customers showed up so early in the morning, and out of them, just one of them ordered an egg tart. By then, his first batch of egg tarts was ready. He pulled the tray out in anticipation.

  The tops of the egg tarts were supposed to be brown, and his tarts were a little too brown. In fact, some of them looked a little burnt. But there was no time to be disappointed. So Vicente eased the least burnt-looking tart out of its case, blazing-hot needles of pain pricking his fingertips, and placed it on a plate for Leon to whisk away.

  He showed up a few seconds later, nodding appreciatively at the tart. "I hope not too many people order those," Leon remarked. "I want one."

  Ling came by during the afternoon to watch him and Yao cook and gave him a thumbs-up when she saw the tray of fluffy custard buns. "One of the people who ordered those buns gave an enormous tip, and she drew a smiley-face on the receipt. We could get famous because of this."

  Vicente, who was helping Yao make a glass of milk tea, could only reply, "in our dreams, maybe."

  When the day was through and they got to eat some of the leftover sweets for desserts, Leon said the same thing. "Maybe this huge online celeb will show up and make a video about them eating your desserts, and all their fans will show up. Then we'll get rich because of them." He ripped his custard bun in half. "If I were Internet-famous, I'd totally do that."

  Yao reached for an egg tart. "As great as these are, there's no way someone famous would show up in the shady part of town and go here of all places. Why would they come to this dilapidated place run by a bunch of siblings struggling to afford rent?"

  Leon threw a crumb at him. "When you describe us like that, it makes us sound terrible. We aren't terrible. At least we don't sell fast food."

  "That can be our slogan," Ling joked. "'At least we don't sell fast food'. The bar's set pretty low, but it works."

  "At least our drinks haven't started lawsuits," Leon said.

  "Yet."

  That made Vicente laugh. "If someone sues us for our milk tea, I'm blaming you." He was exhausted, and he had blisters on all ten fingers, but he couldn't be happier. The stressful years of cooking while juggling schoolwork felt like they'd never even happened. Now, he could look to a future where he could bake, simply because he wanted to.