Page 17 of Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

When Riki walks into Vera’s tea shop, she doesn’t even look up from behind the counter, where she’s got jars of herbs and dried fruits out. “Ah, finally you are here. I am making a special brew for you.” Then she looks up, and to Riki’s bewilderment, when she catches sight of the bag he’s holding, she actually glowers. “Is that—”

“Um, I brought some pastries from the French bakery next door? I thought you might like—”

“Hah!” she snorts. “Frenchbakery? That is aChinesebakery.”

“Oh, um...” Riki looks at the paper bag, which clearly says:winifred’s french patisserie, délicieux tous les jours. “I don’t speak Chinese,” he admits, “but this looks French to me?”

“Hah!” Vera says again. She seems to be getting louder and angrier, and Riki has no idea why. She strides toward him from behind the counter, and he has to resist the urge to throw the bag down and run away. It’s like watching a shockingly fierce Jack Russell terrier come charging at you, baring its little fangs. She snatches the bag from him—Riki doesn’t even bother resisting—and takes out a pastry at random. The pastry is wrapped in plastic and on the plastic is a sticker that says:petit pain à la crème. “Hah!”

Are the “hahs” supposed to mean something?Riki wonders but keeps his mouth sealed. He gets the feeling that he’s stumbled upon some long-lasting grudge, and back home in Indonesia, he has enough aunties and uncles to know that the best thing to do when they get like this is to shut up and hope you magically learn how to turn yourself invisible.

“Petit pain à la crème!” Vera snorts. “This is custard bun!”

“Yes... I think that’s what it says in French as well?” Riki ventures.

“I bet it does. I bet that silly woman just look on Google Translate and change everything into French.” She reaches into the bag and pulls out yet another offending pastry. “Brioche aux oeufs salés.” She snorts but takes the time to unwrap the bun and rip it into two halves before announcing, “Just as I think. This is salted egg yolk custard bun.” She seems like she’s about to launch into another tirade, then she sniffs at the bun before taking a small bite. “Hmm.” She chews thoughtfully. “Not enough salted egg yolk. Skimping, such a cheapskate. Still, now that you buy it already we might as well eat it, mustn’t waste food, you know. Sit.”

Riki obeys, taking out the rest of the pastries with no small amount of trepidation. Vera takes out a few plates and Riki meekly places the buns on them. He chooses to place them upside down so that the French names aren’t visible.

“So,” Vera says as she settles down across from him and pours out tea for both of them, “what is the holdup? Young people should be moving fast, take the world by its male genitalia, and so on.”

“Um...” He shouldn’t be taken aback by the use of the term “male genitalia.” Vera strikes him as the kind of person who says whatever the hell she wants at any given time. But since the current given time is barely past eight thirty in the morning, Riki is only half-awake and very much not ready for words like “male genitalia” being lobbed at him by a savage old lady. He sips at his tea slowly, trying to buy more time, then is distracted because, gosh, this tea is really good. It’s bitter but in a surprisingly refreshing way, like it’s cleansing his insides and leaving nothing but pure sweetness behind. He picks a pastry at random and bites into it, and savory-sweet salted egg yolk custard fills his mouth. Eaten with the bitter tea, the bun is so comforting he feels his muscles relaxing after just one bite.

“Is it really that good?” Vera says, biting into the other half of the bun. She sniffs and answers her own question. “It’s not half-bad, I suppose. Anyway, so why is my article taking such long time?”

“Oh, um. Well, I have to polish it, and after that I’ll have to send it to my editor and, uh, wait for her to, you know, edit it? And then, um...” He has no idea what other steps are involved in the process of publishing Buzzfeed articles, but he prays hard for there to be a multitude of obstacles along the way.

Vera is shaking her head. “Oh, this is more inefficient than I think. Dear me, you young people want everything fast, but when it comes to your work, you do everything so slow.”

The mention of work weighs on Riki’s shoulders. Because Vera’s wrong. As far as Riki knows, every “young person,” including him, wants to be productive, to be the most efficient in the workplace. To rush up the career ladder. And Riki most of all, because it’s not just his future he’s been struggling for, but Adi’s aswell. Adi, who is only twelve and yet knows so much more than Riki does.

His thoughts are interrupted when the little bell above Vera’s door chimes. Vera’s face lights up. “Ah,” she says, “just in time. Let me introduce you to my other suspect.”

TEN

SANA

Sana has had enough of pushy older Asian women, she really has. Every morning, she tells herself that today will be the day she stands up to her mother. She already has a whole speech written, and rewritten, and scrapped, and rewritten, etcetera. She’s practiced it several times in the mirror, making sure she hits that perfect tone between confident and respectful. At night, before she sleeps, she lies in bed and imagines what it might be like when she finally recites the speech to her mom. But every other day, her mother calls, and every other day, Sana’s speech refuses to come out of her mouth. It lodges in her throat like a stray cough drop and ends up choking her.

And now, here is Vera, a complete stranger, maybe ten years older than Sana’s mom, and Vera is exactly the kind of pushy Asian mother figure that Sana’s had to put up with her whole life. Well, Sana is going to use Vera as practice fodder. Yes, that’s a good plan. If she can stand up to Vera, she can stand up to hermother, no problem. The whole way to Vera’s teahouse, Sana’s rehearsed what she’s going to say.

Look, Vera, you can’t just call me at seven in the morning and tell me to make myself “presentable.” You can’t do that. I’m not your kid, and even if I were, you need to treat me like an adult. Because that’s what I am.

No, too long-winded.

Vera, I’m blocking your number because clearly you do not understand boundaries.

Yes, perfect. Vera will ask what boundaries are, and Sana will explain everything to her patiently.

Except when Sana walks into Vera Wang’s World-Famous Teahouse, the first thing she sees is the unreasonably attractive guy she ran into the day before. Then, before Sana can gather herself, Vera is already on her.

“Ah, Sana! Come in, come in! Sit, you sit here, right next to Riki.” Already she’s grabbed hold of Sana’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and led her to a chair adjacent to Riki.

Riki, for his part, is wearing an expression that a frightened, kidnapped boy might have. His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open like he’s dying to ask a question but is scared of what the answer might be. Their eyes meet and Sana widens hers in aDo you know what the hell is happening?gesture, and he gives a minute shake of the head. The small exchange loosens her up a little. At least Riki seems as lost as she feels.

“Riki, this is Sana,” Vera says, as she sinks into her own seat. “Sana, this is Riki, my other suspect.”

Sana’s skin suddenly feels two sizes too small for her body. Suspect? She balls her hands into fists and puts them behind her back, wondering how long DNA lasts under one’s fingernails.

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