My father picked over every ingredient. They had to be of the utmost quality, finest texture and exquisite taste. As the crates for the daily delivery streamed in, he would pick out the ripest fruit and vegetable, take a hard bite and thoroughly chew. Once each crate was sufficiently inspected, he would allow the drivers and delivery boys to leave. This was the scene every morning at our restaurant. My father would take the list of the fresh ingredients and formulate a menu from family recipes handed down through many generations. He would increase or lessen the needed measurements according to how much of each crate of produce was on hand. He didn't even look up from his handmade cookbook to speak. "Kwan, please inventory the food and then tidy the dining area." "Okay papa," I swiftly answered. Luckily, I had my headphones turned down. The Saturday lunch crowd was gathering outside as I straightened out the last tablecloth when I noticed Alma standing outside the door. She went to my high school, but we barely talked. She has been outside our restaurant for the past three weekends. She would stop our customers, but I never had a chance to hear the exchanges. She was committed to many extracurricular activities, so I assumed she was working on her latest pet project. However, my father was growing tired of her persistence, though no customers were convinced to leave. "Kwan, go see what that girl is doing here again," my father stated impatiently. As I went outside, Alma met my downtrodden gaze and quickly scurried away with her head down. I came back inside and told my father what had happened, avoiding what would have been an awkward conversation. The following weekend Alma returned shortly after the restaurant opened. I tried to avoid noticing her presence, but I knew if father saw her, I would once again be required to go and ask her to leave the premises. I took a deep breath and decided to preemptively take on the task. Alma didn't notice me coming out this time as her back was t