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The Dupain-Cheng kitchen was utterly silent.
Marinette’s grandfather, Rolland, stared at Zoé from underneath his impressive eyebrows. “Say that again,” he managed.
Zoé swallowed. “I, uh…” She turned to Marinette’s grandmother. What was her name, Grace? No, Gina. After living her whole life with an incredibly stunted family tree, keeping track of Marinette’s collection of relations was proving to be a struggle. “You asked what I missed most about New York,” said Zoé desperately.
Gina nodded. “Marinetta, did you know that your young lady felt this way about ‘New York-style’ pizza?” Her fingers shaped the air quotes with the maximum amount of disdain.
“No,” said Marinette. Her eyes narrowed. “But I don’t think you should bully her about it, Grandma.” She shot a look at her grandfather before he could say anything.
Rolland cleared his throat, then cleared it again for good measure. He contrived to look as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “What is so special about American pizza?”
“New York pizza,” Zoé corrected. She was still nervous, but this, at least, was familiar ground. “It’s a memory, really. Before things went sour at my boarding school, the other girls and I would take turns ordering pizzas and sneaking them into the dorms for midnight feasts. It was always scary, because we’d all be in trouble if the night monitor found out. But that was part of the fun.”
Rolland’s face cleared. “Ah! So it is a matter of nostalgia, then. That I understand.”
Zoé breathed out for what felt like the first time in several minutes. “Exactly,” she said. “Just a bit of nostalgia. I can go back to New York, but I can’t go back to that New York, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” said Rolland, and for the rest of the meal it seemed to Zoé as if he watched her a little more keenly than before.
“He liked you,” Marinette assured Zoé later as they stood outside waiting for Zoé’s driver to pick her up. “People always do. My grandpa’s grumpy and set in his ways, but I promise he’ll be nice.” Or else, said her expression.
Zoé leaned over to kiss Marinette’s cheek. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m just glad to have made a good impression.”
Marinette twined her fingers with Zoé’s. “You always do,” she said firmly.
Final exam season began the next week, and with one thing or another it was over a month before Zoé returned to the Dupain-Cheng bakery. Now that school was out and the long, glorious summer stretched ahead of them, Marinette had roped her into modeling for some of her latest projects. Chloé had joked that this was an excuse for Marinette to see Zoé half-dressed, and part of Zoé quite hoped her sister was right.
The bell over the door dinged as Zoé stepped into the bakery. Sabine, who was behind the counter ringing up a box of croissants for an impatient-looking businessman, smiled at her and held up a finger. When the businessman left, Sabine bustled over to hug Zoé.
“I hope we can expect to see a lot of you this summer,” she said. “When you go up, tell Marinette she needs to bring down some of her dirty dishes. I swear she must have half of our silverware up there by now.”
Zoé grinned. Nothing and no one could trouble her today. She was going to spend the entire afternoon with her girlfriend.
Sabine wasn’t finished. “And I’ll call Rolland and tell him you’re here,” she said. “If it’s okay with you girls, I think he wants to treat the two of you to lunch.”
Zoé didn’t know quite what to make of this. “I’ll ask Marinette. Thank you, Ms. Cheng.”
“Call me Sabine,” Sabine shouted after her as Zoé started up the stairs.
Marinette was bent over her sketchbook when Zoé arrived. It took two throat-clearings for her to notice that she was no longer alone. “Zoé! You’re just in time. I just need to take your basic measurements today, which should be quick. Then we’ll be free to do… other things.”
The tone of Marinette’s voice left no doubt in Zoé’s mind that she would enjoy these other things very much indeed. It was with great regret, therefore, that she said, “Sabine says your grandfather wants to have lunch with us.”
Was Zoé imagining Marinette’s look of disappointment? Either way, Marinette was quick to brush past the temporary awkwardness.
“Does he? Good! We have all summer to hang out, after all.” Marinette tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Better get all the measurements out of the way first,” she said.
“Sounds good to me.” Zoé’s stomach fizzed. Marinette couldn’t measure her without touching her, after all. The afternoon wasn’t a total loss.
Rolland arrived at noon on the dot, just as Marinette and Zoé, who hadn’t quite put all her clothing back on after Marinette had finished measuring her, had gotten into a comfortable cuddle position in Marinette’s bed.
“I won’t let him say anything rude,” Marinette assured Zoé as they made their way downstairs.
Zoé was smoothing her hair in an attempt to appear as if she hadn’t just made out with Marinette in her bed. This preoccupied her so much that she almost didn’t have time to worry.
The bus ride to Marinette’s grandfather’s house was short. “I apologize in advance for the dust,” said Rolland as he beckoned them inside. “I do my best to stay on top of the cleaning, but when you work with so much flour… and with my back…”
Zoé’s eyes widened as she took in Rolland’s home in all its gorgeous, old-fashioned detail. “It’s beautiful!”
To her surprise, the old man favored her with a smile. “I do my best. Follow me into the kitchen, ladies. Charlotte, Marie-Louise, Marguerite! Our guests are here!”
Three white rats lined up on the kitchen counter to greet them.
“They keep me company,” Rolland explained. “But what I need now are a pair of taste testers.”
He retrieved a collection of bowls from the refrigerator. It took Zoé a moment to realize that each bowl contained a ball of pizza dough.
“Since we last spoke, I got in touch with an old friend who retired to New York,” said Rolland. “I wanted to know how to make a proper New York pizza, since you miss them so much.” He looked from Marinette to Zoé, his face soft. “I understand nostalgia, young lady. I cannot promise that any of these experiments will replicate the taste perfectly, but perhaps one will come close.” His eyes sparkled, and he added, “If the two of you don’t mind eating a lot of pizza, that is. It isn’t for me.”
“We don’t mind,” said Marinette, taking Zoé’s hand. “But you have to at least try it, Grandpa. How do you know if what you make is actually good without tasting it?”
Rolland’s nose wrinkled. “I concede the point. I can’t promise to enjoy it, though.” He turned to Zoé. “Now, what are your preferred toppings? Before I came to collect you, I prepared a selection…”
As the small, warm house filled with the smell of melting cheese, Zoé reflected that her nostalgia had never been about New York or even the girls she had once shared it with. Pizza represented the memory of having friends, even friends she didn’t like very much. There in Rolland’s kitchen, Zoé did her best to hold on to the sound of his barking laugh and Marinette’s quick, sly smile as she and her grandfather teased each other. So much of Zoé’s life had changed since the cockroach incident. Perhaps it was time for a new happy pizza memory to usurp the old.