Free Soy Sauce for Beginners by Kirstin Chen

girls clutching at least a dozen silver heart-shaped balloons squeezed past us. They were dressed almost identically in slinky halter tops and tight black pants.
    “Happy birthday, Kat!” they chimed in unison, unclenching their fists.
    The balloons shot up in the air. The crowd let loose a chorus of “ooooo’s” and “ahhhh’s.” One enthusiastic guest started to sing “Happy Birthday,” and then his voice trailed off when no one else joined in. The pianist played on without missing a beat.
    Kat said, “Those two are too much.”
    “Where are we?” Frankie whispered in my ear. “ The Great Gatsby?”
    Somewhere nearby a girl screamed with laughter.
    I took Frankie’s wrist and wondered when its slightness would stop surprising me. “Let’s go outside.”
    Before I could step though the patio doors, Kat’s hand clamped down on my forearm. “Give us one minute,” she said to Frankie as she dragged me to a corner.
    “What? What did I do?” I said, trying to sound jovial.
    She folded her arms across her chest and studied me. “How are you?” she asked, managing to turn the question into an accusation. When I opened my mouth, she said, “No, really. How are you?”
    “I’m doing great.”
    Kat’s eyes narrowed. She took my face between her palms and pulled me so close our noses almost touched. “I never liked him, you hear me? He was never good enough for you.”
    I jerked away, stunned by how instinctively I still rushed to defend Paul. I nodded, unable to speak.
    “Okay,” she said, releasing me. “Go have fun.”
    Still choked up, I backed away.
    Outside by the bar, the red-faced man had already tracked down Frankie.
    “I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself,” he was saying. “I’m Seng Loong. I also go by Pierre.” He flashed two rows of yellow teeth.
    I almost laughed out loud, but Frankie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled shyly. “Hi, Pierre. I’m Francesca.”
    She never used her full name.
    “Francesca. Are you Italian?”
    She nodded. “On my mother’s side.”
    Neither appeared to notice as I stepped away to refill my empty champagne flute and cram a plate with as many sticks of satay and sushi rolls as it could hold. I retreated to the far side of the pool, away from the lights and the people.
    From my new vantage point, I watched Pierre tell Frankie a story, the climax of which involved him getting down on all fours and crawling around her in a circle. She threw back her head and laughed with her throat stretched long, her hair a shimmering sheet of gold.
    It was as though Frankie had shed her former self like a heavy coat. What had she done with the solid, sturdy girl I’d seen only seven months earlier, the afternoon she’d urged me to give up on Paul? Recalling my obnoxious response to her advice, I felt her dismay and humiliation afresh. And yet, how many admirers had she accumulated since then? What new insights into love had she gained?
    I felt a tap on my shoulder and whirled around so quickly the champagne flew from my glass.
    “Good thing I brought you a refill.” There, standing before me, champagne flute in one hand, Heineken in the other, ridiculous fauxhawk and all, was James Santoso.
    “What’s a nice man like you doing at a debauched affair like this?” I set my empty glass on the ground and accepted his full one.
    He pointed to the red-faced Casanova, who had cornered another hapless girl by the buffet, and explained that he and Pierre were former business school classmates. “So you see, I came with the most debauched of them all.”
    I scanned the patio for Frankie, and figured she must have gone inside. Meanwhile, James was eying my full plate. He pointed at the little dish of soy sauce in its center. “Ms. Lin, you are the last person I expected to find out here, dipping anything in that swill they pass off for soy sauce.”
    I shrugged. “Haven’t you ever craved a really greasy slice of pizza? Or popcorn drenched