This Is My Brain in Love - I. W. Gregorio Page 0,26
flavor of that first dumpling that Grandma Wu made me has become legendary in my mind, something that can never be replicated, like when I was five and waited all year to go back to the Jersey Shore to have boardwalk pizza, only to be disappointed when it wasn’t actually that special after all?
Then the first taste of warm, velvety jiaozi hits my tongue, salty slick, and I bite into the wrapper that gives away effortlessly, releasing that incredible synergy of pork and cabbage and green onion that does not disappoint. The pot sticker is the gift that keeps on giving—continually surprising, as the crispiness of the bottom contrasts with the soft boiled part that wasn’t panfried, as it gives way to the complex overtone of ginger and a bite of garlic. It isn’t until I’ve swallowed my last bite that I realize that I’ve closed my eyes to savor the experience.
When I open my eyes Priya is grinning.
“What?”
“Cut!” she says. “Hashtag Food Orgasm.”
Jocelyn turns pink. “Priya!” she stage-whispers with her eyes wide open in horror.
My face is a little hot, too, but I have to laugh. “You’re not wrong. Those things are as amazing as anything I’ve ever eaten.”
“I’m going to quote you on that,” Priya says, composing another tweet.
By eleven, people are trickling by to get registered, and Jocelyn cuts some jiaozi in half (she just couldn’t accept the idea of giving away a whole dumpling for free), and skewers them with toothpicks. She and I each take a plate and fan out around the booth while Priya sits at the booth and pretends to be checking her phone while secretly lining up shots.
“Excuse me, would you like to try some handmade dumplings? It’s my grandmother’s secret recipe,” Jocelyn tries.
The first few people have kids in tow. They don’t even stop for a sample.
Then, “Ma’am—care for a free sample of some authentic pot stickers?” finally gets me a taker, a tall brown-haired woman wearing Lululemon yoga pants, who pops the sample into her mouth without much of a thought, and then does a double take.
“These are amazing. How much are they?” She gets two orders.
“Thank you so much for your business!’ Jocelyn says as she cashes her out. “Here’s a coupon for a free appetizer at A-Plus Chinese Garden restaurant. We’re just a few blocks away.”
When the woman leaves, Jocelyn gives me a high five. “Two down, two hundred and ninety-eight to go.” With just over 1,500 pot stickers, we have enough for about three hundred orders depending on how many free samples we have to give.
Priya flashes out her iPhone yet again. “Here, let me take a picture of you two with your first dollar. Or ten dollars, as it were.”
We hold the edges of the bill up like we’re getting an oversized check from some philanthropist. Priya waves us in with one hand.
“Get a little closer, and bring the money to your face. I want to really zoom in on you.”
I have to crouch down so Jocelyn and I can lean our heads in together, and I smell a faint coconut from her shampoo. It’s getting to be a warm day, and I’m suddenly worried that I’m too sweaty, that I didn’t put on enough deodorant this morning. We’re close enough together that, if I were with my buddies, I’d just sling my arm over their shoulders. But neither Jocelyn nor I makes a move to do so—instead we just hover at the borders of personal-space invasion.
JOCELYN
I am going to kill Priya. Not because she and Will get on like a house on fire (of course they do). I am going to murder my best friend because she is trying to produce my life as if it’s some reality show.
“Angle yourselves in so you’re facing each other,” Priya says, all smooth and businesslike. People who don’t know her would think that she’s just being professional, but I know the smirk she wears when she’s trolling someone, so I stay put.
Will, on the other hand, shifts his stance obediently, so our faces are just about the width of a dollar bill apart. I can feel the air move as he breathes, and I have to use every ounce of mental strength not to stare at his lips, which are smooth and perfect, not all chapped up like mine always are. Instead, I focus on Priya, trying to communicate to her without words that she needs. To. Stop. After my attempt at telepathy fails, I try not to