Page 23 of Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

A shriek shatters the moment, and before Julia realizes it, she’s already running toward the kitchen. This is something that will never cease to amaze her, the way that ever since Emma was born, her instincts have become razor-sharp when it comes to anything involving Emma. Julia used to be a deep sleeper until Emma came along; then the slightest noise would propel Julia from thedepths of her sleep and shoot her out of bed in under a second. And now she’s hurtling toward the kitchen because Emma has shrieked, and Julia should have known better than to leave Emma alone in the kitchen with strangers—what idiot mother does that? She has never hated herself quite as much as this. Every day is another chance for her to practice yet more self-hatred. Poor Emma, what—

“Mommy, look!” Emma is shouting, and there are no tears, just Emma holding up a bun in the shape of a pig. Julia stops short, her heart still thumping wildly, and as she watches, Emma lifts the bun and squeezes. Thick yellow cream squirts out of the bun pig’s butt, and Emma screams with laughter. “The pig poops!”

Julia is torn between being grossed out and laughing. From where she’s standing at the stove, stirring a pot, Vera looks at them and smirks. “Very good, eh? I say to myself, ah, what will her daughter like? And I make these buns, they filled with salted egg yolk custard. Lick it off your arm, Emma, don’t just waste the custard, there are children starving in—well, everywhere, I would think. Even here in San Francisco.”

Emma lifts her chubby arm and licks the golden liquid from her wrist. Her eyes light up. “Lick, Mommy,” she orders, lifting her sticky hands.

“No, honey,” Julia immediately says, “that’s...”That’s disgusting, Marshall’s voice slices through her mind. Already she can see him, his upper lip curled up in disgust.Why’re you letting her get away with that kind of behavior? You need to do better at disciplining her.For a moment, Julia freezes, unsure what to say to her own daughter. She’s so used to nodding along with whatever Marshall says, but Marshall isn’t here now. Marshall won’t be here for good. And would these strangers in her house judge her?

But then Vera comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a washcloth, and says, “Has your mommy try the custard?” Emma reaches up higher, her eyes shining with excitement, and Julia’s heart cracks open. She wants to try the custard, would happily lick things off her daughter’s sticky hands any time she gets the chance to. And so she does. And it does, indeed, taste very good. She hugs Emma tight and whispers, “Thanks, baby girl.” And just for a fragile moment, as fleeting as a butterfly’s fluttering wings, Julia feels that maybe she’s not the world’s worst mother after all.

THIRTEEN

OLIVER

It’s hard to believe that he’s finally here, after all these years, inside Marshall and Julia’s house. He’d stayed away for so long, unable to bear the weight of their marriage, the weight of his bitterness and festering resentment toward Marshall. He’s in Julia’s space, after all this time, and he doesn’t quite know how to handle himself. When they were teens, he was the one who spent the most time at Julia’s, hanging out in her bedroom, listening to music and eating sour gummy worms, and doing homework or chatting or whatever. Her parents had trusted him so much that they were okay with her keeping the door closed when he was over.

“It’s because they know you don’t have the balls to do anything,” Marshall had said.

Maybe that was true. Oliver certainly wanted to do all sorts of things, but he never did, never even tried, because... why? He never understood why he didn’t. Maybe because he always worshiped Julia, always saw her as someone so far beyond his reach. Marshall didn’t have any such qualms, of course. Marshall didn’teven seem to realize that Julia existed, not until the night she wore a low-cut top to Bobby Cullen’s party and Marshall couldn’t keep his eyes off her chest. Oliver had a sick feeling in his stomach the whole night, but, of course, he didn’t do anything, not even when Marshall snuck up to Julia with a red cup stinking of cheap booze and that smirk that no girl could ever resist. Oliver had thought it would be just another one of Marshall’s many short-lived flings. But weeks went by and they kept going strong. And when high school was over, they didn’t split up for college. Instead, Julia decided to defer her enrollment at Columbia and instead followed Marshall to Santa Cruz. Oliver lost it then. He told her she was throwing her future away for his asshole of a twin who’d cheat on her the first week of college, and she told him that his jealousy was an ugly thing to see, and that was that. They didn’t talk again for years afterward. When he found out that they’d gotten married right out of college at city hall, he sent a congratulatory card but received no reply. When Emma was born, Oliver popped by at the hospital with flowers and a onesie set, but Marshall told him that Julia was too out of it to see any visitors. He got to catch a glimpse of Emma, so tiny, swaddled in a pink blanket, and then the tears attacked his eyes and he stumbled out of the hospital before he broke down completely.

Over the next few years, Oliver tried to be a good uncle to his only niece, sending her gifts every birthday and Christmas, but received no thank-yous from them. He liked their photos on Facebook and Instagram, smiling quietly as he watched Emma grow from a tiny infant into a chubby toddler. Most of the photos that Julia posted had captions like: “Best daddy ever!” and “I’m so lucky to have such an amazing husband!” so Oliver figured that they were happy and accepted that he’d been very wrong aboutJulia and Marshall as a couple and that it was best for everyone involved if he kept his distance.

But now, he’s here in their space, and he feels like he’s violating their privacy, like he’s somehow broken their happy bubble. He has no business being here in his brother’s house, standing a few paces away from his wife, watching as she licks custard off her daughter’s arm. He turns away, wanting to give Julia as much privacy as he can, and his eyes rest once more on the pile of trash bags filled, strangely enough, with Marshall’s things. Oliver doesn’t understand, can’t come up with a good enough explanation for the bags. It feels very soon for Julia to have packed up all of Marshall’s things. Just two days after Marshall’s death. Or maybe she’d packed them up before Marshall died? But why? According to Instagram, they were deliriously happy with each other.

Then Emma catches sight of him and freezes in mid-laugh.Oh shit, Oliver thinks. He tries for a smile, but it comes out all wobbly.

“Daddy?” she says, and Oliver could swear that it’s not a happy question but a fearful one, and his heart aches for this little kid.

He watches helplessly as she clings tighter to Julia, cringing away from him. What had Marshall done to this little girl?

“I’m not your dad,” Oliver croaks finally. “I’m your uncle. Uncle Ollie. I know I look like your dad, but... uh. We were brothers. Twins.”

“You remember that story we read, sweetie?” Julia says to Emma. “The one with the twin girls and how people always confused the two of them? But they were really different people, weren’t they?”

Emma nods hesitantly before regarding Oliver with suspicion.At least there’s a little bit less fear in her eyes now. “Not Daddy,” she says.

“Nope,” he says firmly.

“Okay, lunch is ready,” Vera calls out. “Hurry up, everybody sit.”

And with that, the awkward moment is past. Oliver lets out his breath, and Julia pats him on the shoulder as they walk to the dining room. His palms are still sweaty at the way Emma reacted to his face. He hasn’t spent much time with kids, but he’s pretty sure that they shouldn’t be reacting like that to someone looking like their parent. Hatred flares in his belly, white-hot, as he realizes just what a shit father Marshall must have been to her. He tries to shake it off, focusing instead on the moment.

Part of Oliver marvels at how easily Vera has claimed this space even though it’s the first time she’s set foot here. He catches Julia’s eye, and she widens those sapphire blue eyes of hers and gives him a helpless smile, and somehow, just with that one look alone, they’re suddenly back in high school, conveying entire messages with a single glance. He smiles back, and they gather round the dining table, where Vera has somehow produced an entire feast worthy of a Thanksgiving celebration, except of course they’re nowhere near Thanksgiving. Oliver counts at least a dozen different dishes, all of them steaming and looking as delicious as though they came straight out of a cookbook.

“Sit!” Vera barks. “Don’t just stand there gaping, later the food get cold.” She turns to Emma, who’s clinging to Julia’s neck. “You,” she orders Emma, “are my assistant, so you must sit next to me.”

“Oh, she’s—” Julia begins, but stops in surprise when Emma unwraps herself from around Julia’s neck and nods.

“I sit there,” Emma says, pointing to the baby chair that’s been set next to Vera’s seat.

“Okay,” Julia says hesitantly, but Oliver can read her expression, even after all these years, and she doesn’t look unhappy about it. More like pleasantly surprised. She places Emma gently in the high chair and clicks the buckles into place, then hovers uncertainly behind her.

“Sit,” Vera demands, pointing to a chair two places away from Emma with a wooden spoon. Julia meekly does as she is told, and Vera turns her laser gaze to Oliver. He feels his pores open up and start to sweat under that stare. “You, sit there.” Between Julia and Emma.

“Um... okay.” He does as he’s told and wedges himself in the seat between his niece and her mother, who he’s very much trying to not have feelings for.

Sana and Riki are told to sit next to Julia, and when Vera is satisfied with the arrangement, she harrumphs. “Okay, now eat.” She stands, grabbing a serving spoon, and starts doling out food onto everyone’s plates. “This one is black pepper beef, you eat more of this, Julia, you look very pale, very anemic, you must have more beef. And you, Riki, you look very constipated, so I cook this one for you, steamed cod with black fungus.”

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