Wyn, now armed with a wok and a wooden spatula, turned toward the stove. “What’s next?”
“You fry it,” Mom instructed, motioning him over. “Medium heat. Keep stirring or it will burn, and then the whole dish is ruined.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wynter said, his tone serious but with a trace of amusement. He poured the spice paste into the hot oil, and the kitchen was immediately filled with the intoxicating aroma of garlic and chilies.
“It smells really good,” I said from my perch, resting my chin on my hand as I watched him. “I’m certainly hungry now.”
“Smelling good isn’t the goal,” Mom interjected. “The goal is perfection, how will you be cooking for my daughter in your future home?.”
“A fine lawyer and a fine chef, I admire you a lot, Mrs Yeo,” Wyn said, dutifully stirring the paste.
“Manydo.” She smiled. “Just as many will admire my children after me.”
“I have no doubt in mind,” he assured her.
“Mummy, be nice,” I pleaded, though I couldn’t help smiling.
“This is me being amiable,” she replied. “If I wanted to be mean, I’d make him peel the shallots by hand.”
“Please don’t,” Wyn said with mock seriousness, earning a laugh from Cahya.
When the spice paste had caramelized to Mom’s satisfaction, she handed Wyn a bowl of beef, already marinated in lime juice and salt. “Add it to the wok,” she instructed.
Wyn tipped the beef into the wok, stirring it to coat each piece with the rich, fragrant paste. “And now?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Coconut milk,” she said, handing him a can. “Slowly. Stir as you pour.”
Wynter followed her instructions to the letter, his movements precise but unhurried. The sauce began to thicken almost immediately, the creamy white liquid transforming into a vibrant golden-orange.
Mom watched him closely, her expression softer now. “You’re good at this,” she said grudgingly.
Wyn smiled faintly. “I’ve had practice.”
“With your sisters?” Mom asked, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded. “I’ve been cooking for them since they were kids. My mother was gone a lot, so I took over the kitchen when I was old enough.”
Mummy paused, her gaze lingering on him. “That’s a good thing for a brother to do,” she said, her voice quieter now.
Wyn shrugged, stirring the rendang. “They’re my family. You take care of family.”
“Will you take care of my daughter?” she asked.
“Till my last breath.” He held her gaze.
Cahya’s voice cut through the silence, low and deliberate. “Yeah, we need to talk.”
I turned to see him leaning against the passage, arms crossed, his face unreadable but his tone sharp enough to make my chest tighten.
“What about?” I asked, as I fiddled with my nails.
“You know what.” Cahya stepped closer, his expression calm but unyielding. “I know you’ve been reading Wynter’s diary.”
The words hit like a slap, the air leaving my lungs as panic bubbled up in my chest. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, avoiding his gaze.
“Outside,now. And don’t lie to me, Yesoh.” His voice was quiet but firm, and the use of my full name only made it worse. “I saw it. A couple of nights ago, when you left it on your desk. You had it open. I saw his handwriting.”
I swallowed hard, following him to the swing set on the porch, the crickets chirped and the air was humid, my heart pounding. “It’s not at all what you think—”
