“Oh, I’m sorry, Mom. I was looking for you but then…” I gesture wildly to the side like I lost my voice and I’m trying to mime out what happened.
Eugene laughs and it’s warm. He’s not laughing at me. Well, he is, but it’s more like an inside joke than making fun of me. Thanks to middle school, I’m well aware of the difference.
Mom looks at me, bewildered, her left eyebrow rising.
“She ran into me,” Eugene says. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh, hello,” Mom says, ever polite. “You’re here helping Jay, right?”
“I am,” he says. “And actually… I should be going.”
Of course this guy who’s making me… I don’t even know what, can’t get away from me fast enough.
“Really?” Mom sounds surprised, like she planned on him sleeping over or something.
He looks at his wrist, which has an old-fashioned watch on it. Something about that charms me. It’s not an Apple Watch or a fitness tracker. It’s a real tick-tock watch and probably an heirloom, by the looks of it. Maybe he’s old school and a little antitech, like me.
“Well…” He hesitates.
“You’re more than welcome to stay and enjoy the party,” Mom says. “Jay cooked some amazing entrées, and you have to try my lasagna. We’re going to sit down to dinner soon.”
Mom is a food bully. There’s no way Eugene is getting out of here now without taking a plate or two. Luckily for him, my mom’s lasagna is the best in the world. I’d even put it up against his father’s, if he made one.
“Really! You should stay!” I say, and it’s like I’ve lost total control of my voice because it’s both loud and scratchy. My mom looks at me like I’m possessed. Eugene seems slightly confused but smiles.
“It did all smell pretty awesome,” he says.
“Good. It’s settled then,” Mom says, looking particularly pleased. “Stay for at least a plate.”
She takes a step away with Eugene.
“Wait,” I say. “Did you need something, Mom?”
“Yes. Nonna wants to see you,” she says.
“Nonna sent you and you sent June to send for me?” I say.
“That’s correct. We’re all messengers for the grand dame. She’s at the table over there.” Mom points to the back corner of the U shape. “Come on, Eugene, let’s get you something to eat.”
“It was nice to meet you, Jasmine,” he says.
I head toward my grandmother, and I’m five steps away before I realize I didn’t tell him my name and I didn’t tell my mom Eugene’s name. I shake it off. Jay must’ve told them both, and I’ve unwittingly kept Nonna waiting for too long.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DAVEY’S GLOATING FAMILY GROUP TEXT
MAY 25
Aunt Regina
My, how the tables have turned. Eugene FTW
Aunt Jay
I told y’all she’d love my boy
Uncle Carlos
Oh, come on. He caught her before she fell in the mud. Of course she was seeing stars
Cousin Madison
Did you see how her expression changed when he stopped holding her? They had real chemistry. She was giving all the flirtation signs
Cousin Wesley
Way to make that sound clinical. You’re forgetting the long history she has with Justin Michael. Girls will always pick the friend
Cousin Charlotte
Date someone for more than a month before you certify yourself as a relationship expert, Wes
Cousin Wesley
Amanda and I have been together for six weeks, thanks
Aunt Regina
Oh, okay, we’ll start planning the wedding
Cousin Wylan
Burn!
Cousin Teagan
Lol, dead
Cari
Put your phones away! At some point she’s going to notice this whole party staring at their screens
Oh, great, now all look up like lemurs
Cousin Joe
Cari is right. And Aaron is up last. We need to all watch him score the winning homerun
You mean get shut out
Cousin Joe
Doubling down, Davey. Easiest money I’ll make this year
Yeah, I just had the same thought
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I find Nonna holding court at the main table, surrounded by a slew of aunties. Poppy, her husband, is on the opposite side with the older uncles and Grandpa Yap. This happens at every family party. Aunties to the right, uncles to the left. Grandma Yap is off playing with the youngest grandchildren, as per usual.
I walk up to Nonna and kiss her on the cheek. Best believe I greeted all my grandparents when they arrived, but I do it again anyhow.
Nonna sits in a chair with perfect posture, and somehow she’s not having a heatstroke despite wearing a long-sleeved suit. My grandmother recently turned seventy-eight, and raised six children, but she looks better than I do most days. Nonna’s blond hair is short, and diamonds drip from her ears and neck. She smells like Shalimar and garlic, a combination I’ve loved since I was little.
“There’s my Jasmine,” Nonna says, cupping my cheek. Eight aunties pause their conversations to watch us. Two are still talking, so consumed by their church gossip that they don’t even notice the silence. But they are low in the auntie pecking order, anyhow.
“You wanted to see me, Nonna?” I say.
“Yes, baby. I was hoping you could make some of your famous punch,” she says. “It goes so well with my meatballs.”
She brought more than a hundred meatballs—slightly more than had been at graduation—but they’ll be gone by the end of the night. They’re the best meatballs I’ve ever had. I know everyone thinks that about their grandmother’s cooking, but Nonna’s are even better than Jay’s.
“Of course, Nonna,” I say.
“That’s my girl,” she says.
It’s a strange request, but when you have a craving, you have a craving, I guess.
The aunties don’t even wait until I’m out of earshot to talk about me. First the comments are about me following in my mom’s footsteps and becoming a nurse, but then it quickly turns to my relationship—because that’s the juicer topic. Someone mentions a contest, but they must mean my scholarship.
I let out a long exhale and block them out as I walk to the beverage table. It’s just more stuff I can’t think about right now. I’ve become an expert at tuning out as my mom gets increasingly excited about me choosing my nursing courses.
My punch isn’t famous, but it is good. It’s several juices, some squeezed fruit, and a splash of club soda. It tastes better spiked, but this isn’t the place to say that.
I start mixing pineapple and cranberry juice. I’m halfway through juicing a second orange when I’m interrupted.
“Wow, the bartenders here have amazing uniforms,” a voice says.
I turn and look into the eyes of a startlingly hot guy. He’s so hot, my fingers stop working and I drop the orange into the punch bowl. I recover in time to just barely move out of the way of the juice splatter. I fumble for a mixing spoon and fail twice before fishing the orange out.
Good times.
“Oh, I’m… I’m not a bartender,” I say.
Note: it definitely looks like I’m a bartender as I stand here fixing a punch bowl. But please ignore that fact, super-hot random guy.
He smiles. He’s slightly taller than Justin Michael, with brown skin like Davey and a low fade. “I know. I was just… that was a bad line, wasn’t it?” He wrinkles his perfect nose and looks down at the ground.
Wait… a line?
“You’re trying to talk to me?” I look around like there’s someone much more attractive behind me, and he laughs.
“Um, yeah. This is your party, right?” he says.
It appears I’ve forgotten.
All my life I didn’t think looks mattered much, but here I am made speechless by his bone structure. He’d fit in with the guys who mode
l prom tuxedos, but no one really looks like that without airbrushing… except this dude. I nod slowly.
“I’m Aaron,” he says.
“Jasmine.” I move to shake hands, but mine are covered in orange juice. I ball them in fists at my side. Why am I so gross and awkward?
“Here,” he says.
He reaches across the table and grabs a cloth. I, of course, use the moment he turns to check him out. It’s a creeper move, but it’s worth it. He’s built like Captain America. Where did this guy even come from?
He pours water from the ice bucket onto the towel and extends it. I think he’s going to hand it to me, but instead he says, “May I?”
I nod, and he wipes off my palms, then fingers. The cold water and pressure from his hands is so refreshing. There’s a small smile on his lips and utter concentration on his face. I want to look around to see if other people are seeing this or if it’s just a heat mirage, but I don’t want to lose the moment. This might be the sexiest thing to ever happen to me.
“There ya go,” he says. He has a bit of a country accent that sounds familiar even though he’s definitely a stranger.
I remain standing with my arms out like a zombie. When I drop them, they slap loudly at my sides. I cringe at myself.
“Have we met before?” I ask. I mentally pat myself on the back for asking a reasonable question and not: Are we blood relations?
He smiles. “No, I’d definitely remember you.”
He’s flirting with me? Is this flirting? It is, right? Or maybe he’s just being nice. Either way, I should respond with witty repartee.
“Oh,” I say.
Yeah… nailed it.
“I’ve only been in Orlando a month now,” he says. “I was excited to score an invite to a party. Even if it was out of pity.”
I cannot picture this guy needing any kind of social charity. “Are you in college nearby?”
“No, I work around here.”
“You’re a caterer?” I ask.
He laughs. He’s in a button-down shirt and doesn’t look any more like a caterer than I do. “No, I meant my job brought me to this area. I play baseball.”
“Like the game?” I say. I bite the inside of my lip. Is there another definition of baseball?
“Yes, the game. I’m a Minor League pitcher,” he says. “I was traded to the Braves, and their farm team is in Kissimmee.”
“Oh, wow,” I say. He doesn’t look much older than me, but I guess most baseball players aren’t. Suddenly, I feel like a wild underachiever.
“It’s great,” he says, “but sometimes I feel like I should be in community college in Nashville—if I were a normal twenty-year-old, ya know?”
I widen my eyes. “That’s where your accent is from? Nashville?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles, and it’s wide and genuine.
“So country music…”
“Is in my blood,” he says. “I could listen to Dolly or Johnny Cash every day for the rest of my life. But I’m a terrible singer. Like people would run and duck for cover.”
I laugh, then notice Nonna and the aunties looking over. Crap. I’m completely neglecting the punch. I grab for the rest of the ingredients, and Aaron begins to fill glasses with ice.
“Can you sing?” he asks.
“No, I’m… okay.”
I add a splash of club soda and ladle in the punch as Aaron switches out glasses. We wordlessly flow together like I’ve known him forever, and it’s amazing since I always had to explicitly ask Paul for help.
I finish pouring and gather some drinks in my hands. I’ll make two trips.
“Hmm, yeah, that’s a humble, great singer type answer,” he says.
I shrug. I’ve been complimented on my voice, but I’m nothing special. “No, I’m totally average in every way.”
He pauses in front of me and looks me in the eyes. “You’re anything but. It was nice to meet you, Jasmine. Hope to see you again sometime soon.”
My face tingles at the compliment. I’m so charmed that I’m smiling like a fool when I hand off the punch to my Nonna and aunties. I ignore their stares and go back for the rest of the glasses.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DAVEY’S INTOLERABLE FAMILY GROUP TEXT
MAY 25
Cousin Joe
DID YOU ALL SEE THOSE MOVES
Forget the fanny-pack loser. Aaron should teach the pickup class
Cari
Aaron was the smoothest by far
Cousin Mabel
And the hottest. Where did you even find him, Cari? He’s like Prince Naveen
Cousin Wesley
Who, sis?
Cousin Wylan
Is that Star Wars?
Cousin Joe
Star Trek?
Cousin Mabel
I hate y’all
Cousin Teagan
I’m still confident in Justin Michael. He’s the only one who planned out the next date
Cousin Wylan
Oh, come on. He knows her. It would’ve been a lot for Eugene to ask her out
Cousin Mai
Didn’t he want to leave? What was that about, Cari?
Cari
I’m not sure. But overall it went well
Aunt Tammy
So well! I can’t believe she doesn’t know
Cousin Mabel
OMG shhhhh
Aunt Kim
No!
Cousin Joe
Not cool
Aunt Tammy
What? I’m just saying it’s a good thing she’s still in the dark
Cousin Wylan
Welp, now we’re fully cursed
Cari
I have to… it’s time for cake
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CARISSA’S PROJECT JASMINE NOTES
MAY 26
The party was great and our secret setup has begun! Two of the aunties almost ruined it by talking about the contest directly in front of her, but Jasmine didn’t seem to hear them. Thank God.
Our meet-cutes went off without a hitch. Aaron really wowed her. She, of course, recognized Justin Michael, and Eugene just happened to be there when she was clumsy. Eugene was having second thoughts about doing this, but Mom persuaded him to stay in. She also slipped by already knowing his name. So I guess that’s a wash.
I swear, trying to keep this family from spoiling this will be like trying to herd a bunch of rabid cats.
Last night we decided the “winner” of the competition will be the one Jaz invites to our family’s big Fourth of July party—at Grandpa and Grandma Yap’s on the sixth of July. The Fourth is obviously Independence Day, but we celebrate on the sixth because that’s when Grandma Yap emigrated here from Manila. Plus, for contest purposes, the sixth gives the boys exactly six weeks to date her. We’ll make it clear to Jaz that it’s a plus-one situation, and whoever she brings will be the winner.
At this point I have no idea who it’ll be, but I decided to do a podcast on this because it’s so exciting! I think people will really respond to it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The party lasted well past midnight, with everyone dancing and laughing and eating great food.
My family, of course, overdid it. The second time the whole party burst out singing “That’s Amore,” I thought today would be a rough wake-up. After Auntie Lynn started a kick line and Aunt Tammy was carried out, I was certain of it.
All in all it was a pretty standard Yap/Ventura get- together.
There’s a suspicious lack of noise in the house this morning, and I wonder how much wine my parents drank during the sing-alongs. The quiet of the house tells me they had more than a glass.
The reason I’m up and moving is somehow I lost my phone during the party. I’ve looked through the house and my room to the extent that I could without waking June or Emily, but nothing.
I slip on flip-flops and check outside. Holding the curtain of my hair aside, I look on and under the tables, but there’s no sign of it. Then I real
ize searching is pointless. Someone would’ve told me if they saw my phone last night. The whole clan stayed to help clean up—it’s not like someone took it. It was all family.
Well… not all family. Justin Michael was here. And Aaron, the baseball player. And Eugene Matthews. And meeting them made the night so… different. Special. I know all the attention was only because it was my party, but I’ve never had that many boys notice me before. I couldn’t help but whisper gossip about them to Emily and June before we fell asleep.
“Did you just giggle?” June asked.
“No… I mean, yes,” I said. I could feel blood rushing into my cheeks, and I was glad for the dark of my bedroom.
“Who even is this girl?” Emily said as she put her braids into a hair wrap. “Giggling and talking about boys, plural?”
“Jaz is single and ready to mingle,” June said. “Like that old dating show.”
“Who will it be?” Emily said, like a game-show announcer. “Bachelor number one, bachelor number two, or bachelor number three?”
June snickered and Emily laughed until she snorted.
I hit them both with pillows.
Those two lazy jerks are still passed out. I woke up between Emily with her nose ring glinting in the sun and June looking like a murder victim on her stomach. The three of us are kind of like Charlie’s Angels, if the angels were Black, adopted Korean, and snoring Chinese.
June and I didn’t meet Emily until high school. It wasn’t the way June and I chose each other as kids; it was more grown personalities meshing, and that was just as valuable.
I’m glad we were able to be there for Emily last year when her parents were separating and it was stressing her out. Her sister was already in college, so she took the brunt of the drama by herself. But Emily was always welcome to stay at my house or June’s.
It sucks that Emily’s mom and dad split up, but she says they’re happier, better people now. That you can love someone and still not be right for them. Or maybe you were right for each other at one point, but you grew in different directions and trying to stay together won’t work. Once you let go, all that strain fades and you’re lighter.
The Jasmine Project Page 6