However, with the pageant down a judge and the first event happening later tonight, the committee had decided to play dirty. They not only offered the Brew-ha Cafe the catering contract for all the pageant events plus a free booth and advertising at the Founder’s Day Festival, our town’s biggest celebration, but they also brought in the big guns: the Calendar Crew, aka my godmothers—Ninang April, Ninang Mae, and Ninang June.
Nobody, but nobody, wielded guilt and tsismis the way these three women did. Once those aunties got involved, it was all over. How could I have possibly said no when Ninang June, my mother’s best friend, said things like “Ay, Lila, it would mean so much to Cecilia, God rest her soul. You know how much she loved the pageant and believed in helping the community. Paying it forward, diba?”
Nothing like conjuring up the name of my dead beauty queen mother to convince me to do something that I absolutely did not want to do.
Which was what made Adeena’s comment so unfair. If anyone knew my complicated feelings about the pageant and my mom, it would be her.
“You act as if me taking on the position is a huge inconvenience for you. May I remind you that I’m the one stuck dealing with this for the next three weeks? And that my sacrifice ensures a strong opening since we’d never have been able to afford a booth or the kind of advertising that they’re providing? Not to mention the catering contract, and that I was able to convince them to hire Terrence to design everything!”
Terrence Howell was one of our closest friends, and a freelance graphic designer. He’d finally quit his construction job to do his design work full-time and I wanted to support him as much as possible. He’d already designed the Brew-ha Cafe logo, website, and social media banners, and did the same for my aunt’s restaurant, but it wasn’t enough. I knew he was hurting, both emotionally and financially, after the mess his fiancée, Janet, got him into a few months ago.
Elena, ever the peacemaker, stepped in. “She’s right, Adeena. Besides, it was my idea to do the soft open, remember? We agreed it was the best way to work out the kinks in the system before officially opening since we could test what our customers are drawn to. Plus, I’m still trying to figure out the shop’s energy. Without it, I won’t know what other plants to bring in.”
The three of us brought very different skills to the table. Adeena was our potion brewer/barista and had come up with an impressive menu that offered the usual cafe staples as well as more creative drinks, drawing from our collective Pakistani, Filipino, and Mexican backgrounds. Elena was our green witch, providing not just the decor, but also ingredients from her family’s greenhouse and garden. The herbal remedies, teas, and natural bath and beauty products that she and her mom made lined the shelves, scenting Elena’s corner of the shop with a lovely, subtle aroma. And I crafted the baked goods, putting a Filipino spin on coffee shop classics.
Or at least, that was what I was supposed to do. One of the biggest reasons I was hesitant to open was something I could never admit to Adeena, something that pained me to even think about. Something that proved the timing wasn’t right. Because I wasn’t right.
And as if on cue, Adeena asked about it. “OK, fine, I’m sorry. I do appreciate all the publicity you’re drumming up for us. But we still haven’t seen your part of the menu. When do you plan on getting it to us?”
The tinkling of the door chimes interrupted us, announcing the arrival of an unexpected savior, my not-related-by-blood cousin, Bernadette. The sight of her got my adrenaline going, as if my body were gearing up for a fight, but I tamped it down. A year older than me, we’d been rivals almost our entire lives, but had formed a truce a few months ago back when things were bad and I needed her help.
“Hey, Ate Bernie. What’s up? Do you need me to let you into the restaurant?”
My family’s restaurant, Tita Rosie’s Kitchen, was conveniently located next door to the cafe. I technically still worked there since the cafe hadn’t opened yet, but my aunt and grandmother only called me in on the weekends and the occasional lunchtime rush. They’d even hired a new server, which was the first time a non-Macapagal worked at the restaurant. She was the sister of one of Bernadette’s old college friends and also Filipino, which in the eyes of my aunt made her family, so it was close enough.
Bernadette shook her head. “This isn’t a social visit. You’re needed next door.”
I’d barely succeeded in calming myself down and those words got my blood pumping again. “What happened? Are Tita Rosie and Lola Flor OK?”
A look I couldn’t read crossed her face. “Detective Park is there and he wants to speak to you. He needs your help on a case.”
Chapter Two
Tita Rosie’s Kitchen was most famous for our breakfast platters and Sunday lunch specials, and usually at this time of day, Tita Rosie and Lola Flor would be busy preparing for the Saturday-morning breakfast rush.
Instead, they were setting platters of garlic fried rice, sunny-side up eggs, and Filipino breakfast meats on the large table where Detective Park and the Calendar Crew sat waiting for me and Bernadette.
“Took you long enough.” Ninang April looked me up and down, then gestured toward her eyes. “You look tired. Staying up late is bad for your skin, diba? And you’re getting too much sun.”
I sighed. “Good morning, everyone.”
Tita Rosie waved me over to the seat between her and Detective Park, who’d quickly become part of the family. Shocking, considering a few months ago he got me locked up for murder and tried to convince everyone I was a small-town drug queenpin (it’s a long story). Anyway, I caught the real killer—at no small risk to my own life, I might add—and as if to make up for his mistake (and possibly to get back into my aunt’s good graces), the detective had been nothing but kind and solicitous ever since, which I appreciated. He also insisted on referring me to a therapist and talking about feelings, which was not appreciated.
My aunt shoved a piece of pandesal that she’d thickly coated with my grandmother’s special coconut jam, minatamis na bao, into my hands. “You look hungry, anak. Kain tayo!”
She gestured to the plates on the table, urging everyone to help themselves to the do-it-yourself silog platters. I dished up a big plate of longsilog—longganisa (the delicious sausages I loved so much I’d named my adorable dachshund after them), sinangag (garlic fried rice), and itlog (fried egg). Traditional Filipino breakfasts typically included sinangag and itlog, as well as some form of protein, and the name of the dish changed depending on which protein you chose—tocilog, tapsilog, spamsilog, bangsilog, etc. It sounded intense, but this hearty meal was the only real way to start the day. No bowls of cereal or skipping meals in the Macapagal household. We worked long, hard hours and needed the delicious fuel to get us through the day.