“You’re Just a Baker,” My Sister Screamed—The Next Time They Heard My Name, It Was on a Tokyo Flagship

mother wearing three sweaters.

“They want me to talk you into helping them,” my aunt told me later.

I was sitting at my kitchen table with Tokyo contracts spread around me. “What did you say?”

“That I’m not your middleman. And that I’m proud of you.”

I pressed my fingers against my eyes. “They’re going to lose the house.”

“That’s their house, Abby. Not continue reading …