Without removing the ring, Yvonne got out of her car and headed toward the house. Nita’s family had lived here for years, but they were at risk of losing it all. Yvonne wasn’t going to let that happen.

She rang the doorbell and waited. A minute later, the door opened. A short Chinese woman, her face faintly lined with age, stood in the doorway.

“Yvonne,” she said. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Nita,” Yvonne said. “Sorry I haven’t been by for a while.”

“It’s fine.” Nita spoke with the barest hint of an accent. “You’re a busy woman. You don’t have to worry about me. Why don’t you come in?”

Yvonne followed Nita inside. The house was quiet. There was no sign of Nita’s husband, Mark, or her kids. At Nita’s urging, Yvonne took a seat at the kitchen table. Nita poured them both some tea and sat down across from her.

She gave Yvonne an affectionate smile. “Xiăo táo. It’s good to see you.”

Yvonne felt a spark of warmth in her chest. Xiăo táo was Mandarin for little peach. It was what Yvonne’s mother had called her as a child. Apparently, when Yvonne was a baby, she’d been so chubby that her cheeks had looked like two round, ripe peaches. Yvonne’s mother had been Chinese. However, her father’s side of the family had Scottish roots, which her father had taken very seriously, proudly displaying their family crest over the mantelpiece in their home. Aside from her dark hair, Yvonne took after her father, so most people didn’t realize she was Chinese at all. That part of her, the part which came from her mother, was virtually invisible. She occasionally got comments about her vaguely ‘exotic’ looks, but she’d learned long ago to shut down any such comments with an icy glare.

Nita began fussing over Yvonne like usual. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you something.”

“I’m fine,” Yvonne said. “I’m not ten anymore. You don’t need to feed me every time I so much as drop by.”

“Yes, I do. If I know you, you haven’t been looking after yourself. When was the last time you sat down and had a home-cooked meal?”

“It has been a while,” Yvonne admitted. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense.” Nita rose from her seat. “I’ll whip you up something quick. How about your favorite?”

“All right.” Yvonne knew better than to argue with Nita. Yvonne suspected that she herself had gotten her stubbornness from the woman.

Yvonne folded her arms on the table and watched as Nita began gathering the ingredients. Yvonne’s ‘favorite’ dish, a simple Chinese stir-fry made of eggs and tomatoes with rice, hadn’t been her favorite since she was a child, but she didn’t say that to Nita. For Yvonne, it tasted like her childhood, at least, the good parts of it. She had fond memories of Nita cooking it for her, and of helping Nita cook it when her father wasn’t around to disapprove of Yvonne doing something so menial.