Work Text:
It’s not until Jiang Cheng gets onto the school bus that he realizes what the brightly-colored flier in his hands means for him personally.
A bake sale. That his whole class has to participate in, with proceeds going to the charity of their choice. That he has to contribute to.
He muses on his options for the whole ride home, kicking his feet as Wei Ying chatters on in his ear about what he’s gonna make and how he’s sure that the ice cream will last in their classroom fridge, it’ll be fine, Jiang Cheng!
Somehow, that doesn’t feel right. Ice cream sounds tasty, but that doesn’t even fit the theme of a bake sale. People will want something warm, something chewy or crunchy.
Wei Ying waves as he gets off on his stop, and Jiang Cheng nods back, gathering up his own things that somehow spilled out of his backpack during their short trip home. His street will be next, and if he’s lucky, Jie will come home in only an hour or two.
Jiang Cheng hastens through his homework, knowing that his best chance to make passable brownies is to get started on them before his parents come home and begin cooking dinner. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know how to operate the oven.
He waits in the kitchen for his quarry, but alas, the first person to get home is Baba. After a perfunctory greeting—Baba is going to start prepping dinner, and Jiang Cheng would rather not get roped into helping—Jiang Cheng escapes to the office room. Perhaps Jiejie can still come home in time!
While he waits, Jiang Cheng finishes up his assignments. Wei Ying calls him to complain about their math worksheets, but they both work their way through, hanging up when they need to concentrate on their history essays. Baba doesn’t like it when Jiang Cheng ties up the house phone, though he tends to let Jiang Cheng talk for a bit longer when it’s Wei Ying on the other end of the line.
Unfortunately, Jiejie does not come home until after Mama arrives and changes into loungewear, not until after their dinner is spread out on the table, Baba laying out all their rice bowls around the steaming main dishes. Oh, Jiang Cheng suddenly remembers as Jie bustles in, flushed and setting down her backpack and racquet bags before kissing her parents hello. She had tennis practice today.
Jiang Cheng helps with the final dinner setup, laying his chopsticks right next to Jie’s so that they can sit shoulder to shoulder around their circular table. Jiejie has been so busy lately. He’d thought she’d have more free time after sending out those thick college applications, but it seems like her schedule is more packed than ever.
She smiles at him when they sit, knocking her shoulder into his. They don’t talk much over dinner, Baba asking Mama about her day over assorted leafy green veggies that Jiang Cheng can never quite remember the name of, along with a sliced bean curd salad and lion’s head meatballs.
“Jie,” Jiang Cheng asks as they clear the dishes, trying to be quiet. “Do you have a lot of homework today? Do you think you could help me with making brownies?”
Unfortunately, Mama’s hearing is just as good as it’s always been. “What do you need? Stop harrassing your jiejie, she needs to think about college, not some useless cookie.”
Jiang Cheng sighs, shaking his head at Jiejie. She leaves quietly, looking apologetic but also relieved. Jiang Cheng knows that she’ll hover just outside the door in case he needs her.
Jie doesn’t have to get in the middle of this, but this is the conversation he was hoping to avoid all afternoon. “They’re not useless, Ma, I just want to do well on this bakesale. That the whole class has to participate in. It’s practically part of our grade.”
He’s not sure it’s part of their grade, but that’s the best way to convince his parents of anything.
“Why don’t you just buy them?” Baba asks. “We can go pick some out tonight.” He always means well, but he’s just so clueless.
Jiang Cheng wants to scream. He’s different enough from the other kids; he just wants to fit in this once, without being the odd one out. Even Wei Ying somehow manages to do a better job making friends than he does, and Wei Ying wasn’t even born in the US!
“I can’t be the only person who shows up with something from the store!” Jiang Cheng doesn’t mean to come off so sharp, but when his baba shrugs and turns towards Mama, he knows that at least he’s won that battle.
“You want something homemade?” Mama asks, eyes narrowing, one hand on her hip. “Okay, we’ll make niangao.”
Niangao! At a bake sale!
Jiang Cheng winces. This is just one more thing that his classmates are going to laugh at him for–it’s not chocolate, it’s not even peanut butter–and he just knows that Alex is going to wrinkle his nose and complain about the gooey texture...
But also, his mom doesn’t offer up her time willingly, especially now that tax season has started. And even when it’s not tax season, Mama is always yelling at him to do his homework, to focus on his extracurriculars. He knows she loves him, but sometimes he doesn’t think she likes him very much. And this is something she’s volunteering to do with him, something that isn’t academically focused!
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng says, deciding that it’ll be worth it to be made fun of in class, to spend a little time with his Mama in the kitchen. He hadn’t even known that was an option, really. Baba cooked and Jiejie baked, but Mama?
Mama ties on one of their aprons—emblazoned with the name of the Chinese school they attend on Sundays, Jiang Cheng can at least read that much—and pulls out a small box of recipes from one of their drawers. Her slippers slap on the floor as she extricates just one slip of paper and brings it to the sink where the lighting is better.
“Okay, A-Cheng,” she says, making her way to the oven where all the bakeware is stored. “Grab the shredded coconut, the glutinous rice flour, and the coconut milk from the pantry.”
She retrieves a few metal pans and opens the fridge while Jiang Cheng hastens to comply. He hasn’t had his growth spurt yet, and he dreams of the day he can reach the top shelf without the stepstool.
By the time he comes back, Mama has laid out salt, sugar, eggs, and butter. That’s promising: those are normal ingredients! Not even Alex can complain about that!
Mama instructs him through toasting the coconut as she clears out the rest of the oven space. As he pushes the shredded coconut around the pan with a wooden spatula, Mama pulls out all sorts of stuff from the oven: glass cooking stuff, mixing bowls, even more baking sheets and pans. They’re all stored carefully on the edge of the countertop as she preheats the oven.
Jiang Cheng carefully removes golden-brown coconut shreds from the heat, making room for Mama. She deftly uses chopsticks to mix together eggs, coconut milk, and melted butter—when did she even have time to melt butter?—then plops the bowl in front of Jiang Cheng.
“Finish mixing,” she says, then measures out the glutinous flour, salt, and sugar. “You’re supposed to mix these in a separate bowl, then combine it all together.”
Jiang Cheng feels a bit like he’s being tested—why would this make a difference?—but he doesn’t want to question his mom’s words. Instead, he uses a fresh pair of chopsticks to mix together the dry ingredients, then carefully pours in the eggy mixture.
In no time at all, his right arm is burning. Mama doesn’t criticize him, not exactly, but as she takes the bowl from him and stirs effortlessly, Jiang Cheng has the distinct feeling that he has not measured up to her expectations.
“I can finish it,” Jiang Cheng says after a few minutes, when his right arm is feeling less sore than his ego, and when Mama passes him the bowl again, he pushes the chopsticks around with energy he does not fully have.
“Good,” Mama says, greasing the baking pans. “When it’s smooth, we can strain it into these pans. After that, we just need to wash up.”
Her praise is enough to keep Jiang Cheng going for a few extra minutes. He mixes until his right arm cramps, until he needs to use his left arm to stir, until all the flour lumps have been mashed up, all to avoid handing over batter that doesn’t measure up to his Ma’s standards.
At long last, Mama peers over his shoulder and nods. “It’s ready.” She steadies his hands as he pours the mixture into the pans, then takes the dirty utensils and bowls to the sink.
Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity to look over the recipe so he can check how long the niangao need to be in the oven. Has it been in Chinese this whole time? He searches for numbers at the very bottom, and there it is: 350, 30 分, 再 20 分. The oven is already set for 350, so the niangao probably needs to sit for 30 minutes, then another 20.
“Why is the cooking time split into two increments?” Jiang Cheng asks, hoping that he can impress his mom with either his deductive skills or Chinese.
“The toasted coconut goes on top between those cooking times,” Mama says dismissively, and Jiang Cheng feels silly. Of course. He should have figured that out too.
“I can clean,” Jiang Cheng offers, and Mama shakes her head.
“It’s fine, I’ll do it. Do you have homework you need to finish?”
Jiang Cheng puffs out his chest a little bit. “I’m all done!”
Mama turns to look at him. “Were you thorough enough? You always make careless mistakes. If you were more diligent, you’d have done better than Wei Ying on your last quiz.”
Jiang Cheng feels his face flush, a stripe of heat making its way down his neck. “Yes,” he says. “I double-checked it.”
“Do you need to triple check it?” Mama presses on relentlessly. “I can ask Baba to look over your work if you want.”
“I’ve got it, Ma,” Jiang Cheng insists through gritted teeth, turning to put the bag of glutinous flour back into the pantry.
He’s not running away. He’ll triple-check his homework himself tonight if he has to, to prove that he was already doing it correctly.
The sink starts up again, and Jiang Cheng lets out a sigh of relief. He ventures out of the pantry to put the rest of the ingredients away in their proper places, knowing that Jie and Baba are going to use them. He decidedly avoids eye contact with his mama when she finishes the dishes.
“You can go work on homework or something,” Mama says, drying her hands on her apron. “I’ll watch over the niangao for you. Don’t waste your time.”
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng says dully. “I’ll go triple-check that math homework.”
“Good,” Mama says—for the second time that night, Jiang Cheng is absolutely counting—and it temporarily smooths over the pit in Jiang Cheng’s stomach.
When he looks up at her, Mama is watching him. “Okay then,” Jiang Cheng says helplessly. “Will you call me when it’s ready?” At her nod, he goes back to the study area where Jiejie is working on her own homework.
It’s only a few minutes later when Mama appears, a plate of freshly peeled and sliced apples in her hands.
“What? We just finished dinner like half an hour ago,” Jiang Cheng says.
Mama sets the plate down between him and Jiejie with a thunk. “Maybe your Jie is tired from all her tennis and needs a healthy snack.”
Jiejie kicks him gently under the table. “Okay, Ma. Didi and I will share these.” She takes a sliver and crunches into it, then slides the plate closer to him.
Jiang Cheng picks out a slice too. By the time he looks up, his mom has returned to the kitchen.
It’s not quite an hour later when Jiang Cheng brings the empty plate to the kitchen, Mama having pulled out the pans from the oven. The edges of the niangao have risen almost an inch above the tin, looking nothing like the batter he’d poured in.
“I thought you were going to call me when they were ready,” Jiang Cheng says.
“Your studies are more important,” Mama replies. She takes Jiang Cheng’s dirty plate from him, then nods towards the steaming niangao. “I tested the niangao with a toothpick and they were ready, so I took them out for you.”
Jiang Cheng wants to complain about being excluded from his own assignment, but also: the niangao smell really good. The fragrance of the coconut milk is incredible. Mama clearly knows what she’s doing, and it’s not like he missed anything major. “Okay, now what?”
His Ma scrutinizes the recipe one last time. “It looks like those need an hour to cool down before we can cut them.”
“An hour?” Jiang Cheng repeats, surprised and more than a little annoyed. “I thought they’d be done now! I’ve already triple-checked my homework!” He’d found one mistake in his homework after all, not that he plans to admit it.
Mama shakes her head. “I forgot that they needed so much time to cool down. But they’ll be ready to go soon. It’s okay if you go back to do some more homework—”
“—I’ve triple checked it, Ma!” Jiang Cheng screeches, aware that he’s being a bit of a brat. But the idea of looking over his math homework one more time is driving him absolutely nuts.
“Okay, okay,” Ma says. She seems to have expected his outburst.
Jiang Cheng knows he should probably apologize—that’s what all his classmates do, all the time—but that’s not what they do, not in this house. The one time he thanked his Ma for bringing him cut fruit, she’d looked at him strangely. He hasn’t said “I love you,” and he’s sure he hasn’t heard it directed at him.
“In that case, do you… want to watch some TV?” His Ma looks unsure. “Your Baba is still finishing his work upstairs, otherwise you could play a game with him. I’m just finishing up these notes for work.”
Jiang Cheng looks at the TV in the living room and shrugs. “Yes, TV sounds good.”
There’s not much on the television, if Jiang Cheng is being honest, but he feels like he’s on vacation even as he scoots onto the couch, his mom coming to sit next to him after a few minutes. They end up watching Wheel of Fortune, and when Jiang Cheng manages to guess a phrase right, Mama looks impressed, making an approving noise at the back of her throat.
Before he’s ready, the episode ends, and Mama is standing up, pulling away from Jiang Cheng. He feels the loss of her warmth, but she’s already looking back at him when he glances to her.
“Back to work,” she says, “and then we can go to sleep.”
Jiang Cheng only now notices the dark circles under her eyes. He hastens towards the kitchen, following behind her long strides as she turns back towards their niangao.
“Cut the round pans into slices,” Mama says, gesturing. “I’ll help divide the rectangular ones.”
The resulting slices are relatively even—they must be, Mama doesn’t criticize them—and they look good. The texture seems just right from what Jiang Cheng can vaguely recall: the insides are gooey, but some of the edge pieces have hardened crusts.
Jiang Cheng roots around under the cabinets for their tupperware containers, and they all fit in neatly. The rectangular niangao have fewer crusts, but they’re easier to stack. The round niangao are harder to fit in, but Ma assures him that they’ll be the more popular ones.
“These won’t fit,” Jiang Cheng says at last, gesturing to the last five slices. They’re the most uneven of the bunch, left over from one of the round tins.
Ma wordlessly pulls the pan towards her and separates one of the niangao. “Here,” she says, dropping it in Jiang Cheng’s outstretched hands. “Stick it in your mouth.” She takes a slice for herself and bites down on it consideringly.
Jiang Cheng hastens to take a bite. He’s not expecting much, but to his surprise, his eyes fly open in delight. “Mm!” He gobbles the rest of his dessert down, almost as quickly as Mama finishes hers.
“Not bad,” Ma says proudly, then deposits two other slices of niangao onto two plates. “Take these to your jie and baba.”
Both Jiejie and Baba are pleased when Jiang Cheng brings them their niangao slices. In their upstairs study room, Baba nods at him, taking a second giant bite as Jiang Cheng watches. Back downstairs, Jiejie exclaims over the delicate crust and takes a much daintier nibble. By the time Jiang Cheng makes his way to the kitchen, Mama has finished stacking all the niangao for him to bring to class tomorrow, all the utensils and plates and pans neatly put away, except one.
The final piece still sits in one of the tins, with one of the knives resting by it.
“What about that one, Ma?”
“Do you want to split it?” Mama asks. “These are better than I remember.”
“Okay!” Jiang Cheng says immediately. He’s pretty full, but the slices aren’t that big. More importantly, he wants to share with Mama. As his Ma passes over his half—the bigger half, because Mama always makes sure he has enough before she starts—he smiles at her.
“This was fun!” he says. “They did turn out really well!”
“Study hard and make lots of money,” Mama responds. “If you don’t need to worry about supporting yourself, you can make these every day.”
_____
The next morning, Wei Ying clambers onto the bus and demands to see what Jiang Cheng had made.
“I bet they’re not as interesting as what I did!” Wei Ying crows, opening his school bag to show Jiang Cheng several boxes of blondies.
“What did you do?” Jiang Cheng asks, nervous that his niangao is somehow too exotic and not exotic enough.
“I put some chili oil on these!” Wei Ying says proudly. “They’re so good, Mama said so!”
Jiang Cheng blinks. “And Wei-shushu?” he prompts, knowing full well who the only reputable source of taste-testing is in Wei Ying’s house.
Wei Ying shrugs one shoulder, grinning widely. “Dad said that I’d be lucky to sell two. He said I could probably get one person to buy one out of curiosity, but no way someone else would be foolish enough to spend money on another afterwards.”
Jiang Cheng pulls out one container of niangao. “I made these niangao with Mama yesterday,” he says, satisfied when Wei Ying’s eyes go wide.
“They look so good!” Wei Ying says. “But because I’m such a good friend—I’ll eat any smushed pieces you find, for free!” He laughs when Jiang Cheng glares at him, shoving his shoulder.
In addition to his spicy blondies, Wei Ying is the proud owner of seven dollars (and a newly-imposed ban from his kitchen without supervision). The rest of the drive to school, Wei Ying promises that he’ll use it all up on Jiang Cheng’s niangao.
“I’m sure other people will fight over it!” Wei Ying says, “so I need to secure myself a few slices, okay?”
Jiang Cheng nods curtly, secretly pleased that his friend is so loyal. They both know that the other students haven’t exactly fought over anything Jiang Cheng has brought to lunch.
For the whole morning, Jiang Cheng feels butterflies in his stomach. He knows his niangao are delicious, but he also knows that his classmates will be bringing more traditional desserts. What if they don’t like what he brings?
He’s a little quieter than usual, and he doesn’t raise his hand as often as he would during math class. Miss Couch prompts them with several easy questions, Wei Ying’s hand shooting up for each one, but Jiang Cheng’s mind is stuck on his plastic tupperware containers in his locker.
What if his classmates make fun of them?
After what seems like an eternity, Jiang Cheng’s class is setting up for their afternoon bake sale. He shares a table with Wei Ying, all his classmates choosing various tables that are scattered around the gym.
He tries to arrange his display to show off the neat crusts of his niangao, but deep inside, he wonders if he’s wasting his time. Fred brought brownies dusted with powdered sugar. Jane brought chocolate chip cookies. Next to their colorful displays, his own niangao look plain and unappetizing.
When the bake sale officially starts, Jiang Cheng tries to look confident in spite of his churning stomach. What if he can’t even sell one?
Wei Ying nudges him in the side with a pointy elbow. “Cheer up, Jiang Cheng! I can buy some early on if you want to make it look like your niangao is extra popular!”
Jiang Cheng bites his lower lip. He doesn’t want to look too desperate, but…
A few seconds later, a few of the teachers come streaming in. He doesn’t recognize most of them, but Miss Couch scans all the desserts and heads straight for his station, bypassing some delicious-looking thumbprint cookies.
“These look amazing,” Miss Couch says warmly, “Did you make them yourself?”
Jiang Cheng nods nervously, then remembers to clarify. “I made them with my mom last night. They’re a Chinese dish…”
Miss Couch selects a slice and pops it into her mouth. “Mm! So good!” she says, covering her mouth with her napkin. “Wow!”
Her voice is loud enough that Jiang Cheng notices a few of his classmates looking over at them. “It’s got coconut milk in it,” he says. “So it’s sweet, but not too sweet.”
“I’m going to have a second slice!” Miss Couch says enthusiastically. “I’ll grab some plastic wrap from the head stall, don’t let someone take it all while I’m gone!”
She looks to the side, where Wei Ying is proudly writing “chili oil blondies” with marker. Wei Ying had spent all morning telling everyone that he’d made the spiciest dessert ever. She grins conspiratorially at Jiang Cheng, then shakes her head when Wei Ying laughingly tries to sell her on a slice.
“That sounds very interesting, my dear,” Miss Couch says, “But I can’t handle my spice at all!”
Jiang Cheng’s heart lifts as she walks away, flagging down another teacher and pointing in Jiang Cheng’s direction.
And with that, all of Jiang Cheng’s fears dissipate. He lets his breath out, not realizing how nervous he’d been.
Wei Ying wraps an arm around him. “See? I told you!”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, then picks two big pieces to give to Wei Ying. “Shut up and take these. You can put your money in the donation box after you eat them.”
Wei Ying’s spicy blondies go untouched for most of the event, until one of the older students comes marching to his table. “I heard you were selling something that no one else is daring to eat?”
Wei Ying hands over a blondie. The student takes only one bite before spluttering. His friends all demand to try a bite too, and with that, Wei Ying’s first blondie is finished by a group of red-faced teenagers.
Wei-shushu rolls his eyes fondly when he comes to the gym to pick up Wei Ying for his dentist appointment that afternoon and notices that three(!) pieces have been sold.
“Did you like them?” he asks Jiang Cheng, accurately pinpointing Wei Ying’s partner in crime.
Jiang Cheng cannot say he has liked anything Wei Ying has produced in a kitchen, but never let it be said that he’s not a good friend. “I bought two slices,” he says instead.
Wei-shushu laughs uproariously, throwing his head back in glee. “Good kid.” He claps Jiang Cheng on the shoulder and hollers for Wei Ying, who has somehow migrated to a different classmate’s booth.
When Jiang Cheng takes the bus home, it’s with a much lighter backpack. His niangao weren’t as popular as some of the other treats, but they had a respectable showing. And more importantly, none of his classmates said anything bad to Jiang Cheng about the weirdness of bringing niangao to a bake sale, which he’d been bracing for the entire day.
He stacks the empty tupperware in the sink, then puts the last one into the fridge. There are only a few pieces left.
Maybe his parents will let them have dessert after dinner tonight. Or…
He thinks for a second, then pulls out a piece of paper and some tape. When he closes the fridge door, the last tupperware has been helpfully labeled.
“For Mama.”