“Notan art form?” Priya says indignantly.
“I know, right? What an arse.” I glance into my mobile screen which is propped up on the counter while I make hollandaise sauce. I’m making lobster benedict with my spoils from the ocean earlier this morning.
After years of cooking side-by-side with Priya, I’ve grown accustomed to talking to her while I work. I felt a nostalgic pang as soon as I started to prep breakfast and decided to call, knowing she’ll be every bit as irritated by my first guest as I am.
Mimicking Pierce, I say, “Anyone can cook. You just have to be able to read and do basic maths, which most third-graders have mastered.”
Priya shakes her head in disgust. “Unbelievable. What did you say?”
I wince into the camera. “More than I should have considering he's paying a disgusting amount of money to be here.”
“Don’t hold back on me, Banks.”
“I may have said something about third-graders also managing to master the art of having manners.”
Priya sucks some air in between her teeth. “Ouch. Say, when you get fired, I know a good chef who needs work.”
“Still nothing?” I ask, feeling guilty for having ranted on and on for the past ten minutes without asking her how she’s doing.
“Not a thing. Unless I want to flip patties at Mickey D's, which would definitely work against me as far as convincing my parents I have a viable future in the kitchen.”
“I'm sorry, hon.” Resting my hands on the counter, I look into the screen so I can give her my full attention. “Something's bound to come up though, right? You're a supremely talented chef. How can someone who was at the top of the class of the best culinary school in North America not find work?”
“If I didn't know any better, I'd say my parents are running around town after me trashing my reputation at every place I apply.”
“They wouldn’t do that, would they?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “But only because they’re too busy saving lives. Plus, they’re completely confident that my ‘little dream’ is going to fall flat like that souffle you baked in first year.”
I grin, thinking of how funny life can be—if it weren’t for my sad little souffle, we never would have become friends. Priya stepped in to help me make a new one as soon as hers came out of the oven sitting a full three inches above the ramekin. “Have I thanked you for saving my butt that day?”
“Not lately,” she answers with a wry grin.
“Thank you, Priya. Now, get your beautiful self down to the passport office because I’m sure something will open up here. I was serious about helping you get a job, you know.”
“I know, and I appreciate it, but I’m honestly not meant to be in a tropical climate. I may be Indian, but us Bhatts are a sweaty bunch. My grandparents took the first chance to move to a temperate climate. Besides, even if we weren’t sun-intolerant, the heat ruins your makeup, your hair, your clothes…”
“Your grandparents moved to the land of opportunity because of melting makeup?”
“Is there any other reason?” she asks. “Keep whisking that. You always stop whisking too soon.”
I do as she says, reminding myself to slow down.
“Better,” Priya says. “God, I miss cooking. I should get out of bed and make homemade noodles for supper.”
“That sounds like a perfect idea. Maybe you can get your parents to come onside by appealing to their appetites.”
“Not likely. They’ve already planned my day for me,” she says, repositioning her phone to display a stack of papers that sits neatly on her night table. “These are applications to the top five med schools in the country. They mysteriously appeared here while I was sleeping.”
“That’s a little creepy.”
“Right? I need to find a job so I can move out.” She glances down at the glass bowl of sauce I'm whisking, then says, “Is that butter above 40°? It almost looks too hot to me.”
I look at the sauce, realizing it isn't coming together properly. “I’ll put it in the fridge for a minute.”
Taking one step, I carefully place the bowl inside the tiny fridge, then pop back up into the view of the camera. “Would you like a tour of paradise while I wait?” I ask with a grin.
“Ooh, yes. I need to live vicariously through you right now until I can find a life worth getting out of bed for.”
