She shook her head. “No need. My mom stocks up from Costco, exactly for this purpose.”

“Some things transcend oceans and culture, right? Prunes must really work.”

We were both laughing—genuinely—when the door opened.

Chloe

My parents hugged me, and then my mother hugged Andrew stiffly while my father stuck an unenthusiastic hand out.

Once inside, Andrew handed them the poinsettia he’d brought, which my mother placed in front of the fireplace beside the still-full box containing the unassembled artificial tree.

My father cleared his throat. “We are so sorry to do this, but we were called into the office with a couple of last-minute emergencies. You know how it is before the holidays: the pain threshold changes and patients call when they normally wouldn’t have.”

Damn it. That was hard-earned paid-for time we were losing.

“Maybe they can come with us?” my mother suggested.

My dad glanced at Andrew—and not that subtly—before saying, “I already called Patricia to come in and assist. It’ll be quicker that way.”

What was that about? I mouthed to Andrew. He bit his lip and looked away guiltily.

Once my parents were out the door, I started wondering how this empty stretch could best serve our mission, but Andrew already had a plan.

He rubbed his hands together. “It’s time.”

“For what?”

His hands burst apart as he said excitedly, “Christmas cookies!”

I blinked at him.

His hands dropped to his sides. “Are you not a fan of baking Christmas cookies?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never made them before.”

“Well, let’s remedy that and give you some data so you can decide where you stand.”

“No milk, no baking powder, and ten-year-old vanilla extract,” Andrew said, drumming his fingers on the counter after he’d scoured every nook and cranny of the kitchen. “The milk one is really the wrench.”

I grabbed his arm. “Holy crap, does this explain Frankenbāo?”

His mouth dropped open. “Maybe. Partially. I also have been wondering—yes, I’ve spent way too much time thinking about it—if there’s something related to the fact that sweet and savory seem to go together more in Chinese cuisine, and maybe that’s part of your mom’s inspiration?”

I pointed a finger at him because he was onto something. “Oh my God. She hates American sausages because they’re ‘just salty,’ and she loves the Chinese ones that have a little sweetness to them. Oh! And! She used to tell me about these sausages she’d go to Tainan to get, with sugar in the middle.”

He snapped, then pointed at me, saying one word per gesture. “Mystery. Solved.”

“You put the Drew in Nancy Drew, Andrew,” I joked.

He gave me such a strange, unreadable look I opened the fridge for something to do. “We have coffee creamer,” I announced after poking through.

“Your parents drink coffee?” He came over to peer into the fridge with me.