I don’t want to explain our mystery ingredient arrangement, so I just mumble, “I’ve got to give her something.”
My mother gives me a nod. “Don’t be long, darling. We have so much to catch up on.”
I practically flee to the kitchen.
Kiera is already making herself at home, her bag slung onto one of the stools. She doesn’t look upset or hurt or angry. Just focused, like Mother’s dismissiveness rolled right off her.
“Kiera, I’m so sorry.” The words tumble out. “She shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You’re not—you’re so much more than?—”
“River.” She turns to face me, and her expression is gentle. “It’s okay. She’s only here for a few days, right? I can handle a few days.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”
“Maybe not.” She shrugs. “But I’ve dealt with people who thought I was worthless trash. I can deal with someone who thinks I’m just the help.” Her lips curve into a small smile. “Besides, I’m going to make such an incredible dinner that she’ll have to admit I’m good at something.”
The fierce determination in her voice makes my heartbeat erratic. She’s not running. Not letting Mother’s attitude chase her away. She’s staying and fighting back in her own way.
“You’re amazing,” I say quietly. “You know that, right?”
Pink creeps into her cheeks. “I’m just stubborn.” She turns back to the counter. “Now, what’s my mystery ingredient? Please tell me it’s something good. I need a win tonight.”
I reach into the cupboard and pull out the small container I prepared earlier. “Gochugaru. Korean red pepper flakes.”
Her whole face lights up. “Really? I get to make Korean food again?”
“I figured after that delicious galbi, you’d want another chance to show off your skills.” I set the container on the counter beside her. “Plus, I have a feeling whatever you make is going to blow my mother away, whether she admits it or not.”
Kiera picks up the gochugaru, examining it with the same intensity she gives all her mystery ingredients. “I’m thinking gochujang chicken. With sticky rice and pickled vegetables. Something bold and flavorful that she can’t dismiss as boring.”
“Perfect.”
I’m about to head back to the living room when Mother appears in the kitchen doorway. Her eyes sweep over the scene—me standing close to Kiera, the way we’re talking like equals instead of employer and employee.
“River.” Her voice is sharp with disapproval. “A word, please?”
I follow her back into the living room, my stomach knotting.
She turns to face me, keeping her voice low enough that Kiera won’t hear but loud enough to make her point crystal clear. “Darling, I understand that you’re new to having household help, but there are certain boundaries one maintains. You don’t fraternize with the staff. You certainly don’t hover in the kitchen making friendly conversation while they work.”
“Mother, she’s not?—”
“It’s inappropriate, River. And it gives the wrong impression. These people need to understand their place, and you undermining that by treating her as a friend does no one any favors.”
The words feel like a slap. These people. Their place. Like Kiera is somehow less than us just because she’s cooking dinner.
I think about everything Kiera’s been through. Everything she’s survived. The way she works two jobs and still finds time to practice for a competition that could change her life. The wayshe stayed late to perfect those matcha macarons because she refused to accept failure.
She’s worth ten times anyone in Mother’s social circle.
“Kiera is more than just my cook,” I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I told you. She’s a good friend.”
Mother’s eyebrow arches. “Do you pay her?”
“Yes. She’s talented and hardworking, and she’s teaching me about food while I help her prepare for a culinary competition. We have a professional arrangement, but we’re also friends. And I’d appreciate it if you’d treat her with respect.”
For a moment, Mother just stares at me. I’ve never talked back to her like this. Never stood my ground so directly.
Then her expression shifts into something calculating. “I see.”
