Soy Sauce for Beginners by Kirstin Chen

of golden residue that coated the jars’ insides and gave our sauce its signature earthiness.
    “Incredible,” Frankie said, smacking her lips. “I’ve had plenty of soy sauce in my lifetime, but this sauce isn’t even remotely the same species.”
    In a few weeks, I promised, when this season’s batch was fully aged and ready to be strained, I would take her downstairs to inspect the tawny glaze.
    When the tasting was over, I mixed two Sprite cocktails and handed one to Frankie. Her face contorted in a wince but when I stared her down, she accepted the glass and took a tiny sip before admitting—as everyone did—that the drink was surprisingly tasty. I told her that when Ahkong really wanted to impress guests, he used to add a couple drops of Tabasco sauce and a lemon wedge—a nod to a classic Bloody Mary. “Next time,” I said to Frankie, who was draining her glass.
    By the end of the day, we’d done enough research to conclude that consumers were growing more discerning than ever. Despite my uncle and cousin’s certainty that customers wanted a less expensive product, it appeared that demand for artisanal soy sauce was on the cusp of taking off. Lin’s was moving in the wrong direction. If we proceeded as planned, some other company would swoop in to fill the space we’d left behind.
    That evening, Ba and I drove home together, and I had dinner with my parents for the first time in days. The next morning, Frankie and I got back to work, compiling our research into a report to present to my father and uncle. By the time we were done, those same colleagues who’d snickered at Frankie’s never-ending questions now spoke reverentially about her work ethic. They no longer paid attention to me.
    Frankie and I were so engrossed in our work, I didn’t have a chance to reveal my previous interaction with James. Or else I didn’t allow myself the chance. Given that the likelihood of his calling dwindled with each passing day, I ordered myself to forget I’d ever asked him out. I only hoped I wouldn’t run into him anytime soon.

    Near the end of Frankie’s first week at Lin’s, Kat called to inform me that all the usual people were meeting for drinks; Frankie and I absolutely had to come. If anything, the previous weekend had confirmed how little I had in common with my old friends, but still I agreed, mostly because it was easier than arguing with Kat.
    Frankie and I were leaving the office when my cell phone rang a second time. I considered letting the call go to voicemail, then turned away from my friend to answer, simultaneously hoping it was and wasn’t him.
    With Frankie’s eyes boring holes into the back of my head, I tried to keep the conversation as short and as neutral as possible.
    “Tonight?” I said. “Like in two hours? What makes you think I don’t have other plans?” I knew I should have been offended by the last-minute nature of this call, but I was thrilled to hear James’s voice.
    “Well, do you have other plans?”
    I didn’t answer right away. I glanced back over my shoulder at Frankie who was waiting with her hands on her hips, a suspicious look on her face. I went through the motions of weighing my options, then said, “I’ll see you at seven.”
    “Who was that?” Frankie grinned wickedly.
    I hurriedly explained how James had obtained my number, and Frankie listened, amused. “If it’s so not a big deal, then why’d you keep it a secret?”
    I ignored her question. “I’m really sorry I have to bail on you.” If I hadn’t been so excited about my date, I would have felt guilty about spoiling Frankie’s night.
    To my surprise, she assured me she was perfectly happy to meet up with my friends on her own. She wrote down directions, entered Kat’s number in her phone, and promised she’d do her best to downplay my absence. “Have a good time,” she said in a tone weighed down by a string of caveats.
    Two hours later, showered and blow-dried, painted and powdered, I