Page 24

CHAPTER 24 VI?T

Not for the first time since winter break started, Viet woke up feeling like he had barely slept. He was sure his mother had come in to check on him, remembered her gently touching his hair.

Normally she wouldn’t be opposed to opening his door without knocking, telling him to get up, that it was already noon—even when the time could have been ten a.m. But she hadn’t tried to wake him; it was as though she just needed to confirm he was there, still in the same house as her. Even if he wanted to leave the house, like his father, he wouldn’t know where to go. He had pushed away Bao, who didn’t text him again, didn’t have close relatives nearby. Anyone he knew with a house was just his parents’ friends.

Did their friends have to choose sides now? Who was the better friend: his mom or his dad? It was the last thing they probably needed to figure out, but soon enough would have to confront. At least Viet didn’t need to make any choices. As a kid, he knew classmates with divorced parents—none of them Vietnamese, strangely. His classmates seemed to have their favorite parent, and he could tell by their moods which parent they were staying with over the weekend. It was the worst when he saw a classmate stop visiting one parent completely—and sometimes it wasn’t their choice.

He turned on his side, digging his nose into his Downy-scented sheets. He used a generic pod at Davis and almost never added softeners. He spotted his beanbag nestled in the corner of his bedroom. The burgeoning light illuminated the dust on its surface. Viet hadn’t brought his game system with him, and so it had met the same fate as his beanbag. If he didn’t leave his bed, maybe the dust would get to him, too.

Gossip spread quickly around here. Viet should have known that. He’d seen its damages. He didn’t think his parents would publicly air the news of their divorce, but then again, it only took one sly and hawk-eyed auntie to sniff out the truth. Worse, and inevitably to come: the aunties who didn’t care about the truth, only the sordid stories they could obsess over while cooking with friends or shopping at the Asian Garden Mall.

With Bao’s mother being a notorious gossiper, of course Bao would find out. Otherwise, Viet didn’t know when—no, how , to bring it up.

There was an uneasiness in the unknown. It was a liminal space. Viet almost felt like he was a superhero in a film, one who finally defeated the final boss, saving the world, but then they’d take in the wreckage around them. Sure, the past was defeated, but the present was awful, and the future was just a concept.

A piercing, prolonged honk pulled him out of his bubble. Someone was laying it on their steering wheel. Who the hell would do that? Viet left his bedroom to investigate. There was a car, a white Nissan, parked in his driveway. The horn continued to blast. The front windshield was slightly tinted, so he couldn’t make out the driver.

Viet opened the front door and stepped out. He didn’t need to go any farther, when the driver rolled down their window, and a head poked through.

“Get in, loser! We’re going shopping.”

Wait.

Hazel hair in a Tomb Raider braid. Sunglasses. And that almost feral smile. It appeared whenever she concocted a brilliant article idea or when her feature earned the front-page spot on their high school newspaper.

“Ali?”

Linh’s best friend, who once made Bao quiver in fear as she ruled their newsroom, was at his house.

He had to be dreaming. She didn’t know where he lived. They never saw each other’s houses.

She honked three times in response. Yup. It was her. “Come on. Get dressed and get in.”

“I—”

She went back to town on the horn, and Viet envisioned cranky Asian grandmas and grandpas emerging from their houses. No way did he want to deal with that, today of all days.

“Okay! Just hang on!”

“Hello,” she said, way too perky. Viet stared incredulously at her from the passenger seat.

Two mugs of coffee sat in the cup holder, one of them half-full, the other empty, which explained the jittery glint in her eyes. Viet turned and examined the back seat where newspapers were piled up. From their group chats, he knew she’d gotten involved with the campus newspaper; maybe these hadn’t been delivered before the break. Then Viet noticed the newspaper bore another campus newspaper’s name—the closest campus to hers, if he remembered correctly.

“Did you steal those newspapers?”

“You saw nothing.”

“You’re probably breaking some sort of law.”

“I am researching the market.”

Ali swerved out of the driveway so hard that Viet’s shoulder bumped against the door. He took that as a sign to stop asking about the newspapers.

“I just came back home today. Then my phone gets bombarded with texts from Romeo and Juliet, and they’re seriously worried about you.” She gave him a long look. “Even though you said, in a not nice way, that they shouldn’t be in your business.”

Viet slumped down in his seat. She wasn’t wrong. “I’ll give them a call later.”

“I know you will. But I didn’t come here to make you do that. I know you have a conscience and that you would know if you were being pretty fucking rude. Instead I am here to… comfort you.” Without taking her eyes off the road, she leaned over and popped open the glove compartment. “I have tissues if you want to cry.” Viet held back a laugh. Ali. Comforting him? She had the opposite effect most of the time.

He sighed and closed the compartment. “I’m fine.”

“I promise you Romeo and Juliet didn’t send me. I came on my own accord. I figured I have some relevant experience in this situation.”

“What type of experience?”

“My parents are divorced too.”

They were at a stoplight now.

Viet hadn’t known. In their friend group, he was closer to Bao and Linh than to Ali, maybe because they shared a similar upbringing. They were Vietnamese, he knew Bao first, and then when Linh became his partner, he got to know a good deal about her as well. He’d met Ali after that. Ali used to pressure him to write film reviews for the entertainment section. He always declined, which Bao later told him was a ballsy move because no one said no to Ali.

Looking back, he never thought to ask about Ali’s homelife; he figured she would have told him, being the up-front person she was, if she even felt it important to mention.

“When did it happen?”

“When I was twelve,” Ali said. She probably had a weekend bag ready to go, Viet thought. “I’m not going to compare what our parents went through, especially since your divorce is happening right now and mine had happened when I was way younger. And things are pretty settled and my parents don’t talk but they are, shall we say, civil. But I wanted to volunteer myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Meaning: I… want to be here for you. If you need me.” The traffic light finally turned green, and contrary to before, Ali eased her foot onto the gas pedal. “You know when I first met you, I thought you didn’t like me. You never said much to me. But then I thought: Impossible, everyone likes me! So your behavior had to be because of something else.” Viet bit back a grin, and judging by the way Ali was side-eyeing him, that was exactly the reaction she had wanted.

“I figured you were a quiet guy who had a lot of thoughts but never knew when to voice them.”

Viet glanced out the window. “I don’t really have anything to say,” he lied. “About the divorce.”

Where would he even begin? There wasn’t a clear beginning; his parents’ fights had always been there. At first they were merely background noise. He’d watched himself in home videos blowing out birthday candles with them in the back, out of focus, whispering through gritted teeth. Then their fights happened more frequently. And less hushed.

Should he let stories about his parents’ petty fights spill out? Those nights when their voices pierced through his thin walls and his cheap headphones were ineffective, so he just curled up in bed, focusing on the notes to his favorite running song. When his dad would leave for a day or two—crashing on a sympathetic drinking buddy’s couch—and his mother would be at home, ranting about all of Ba’s weak qualities while furiously chopping vegetables.

He never knew what to say to his parents; he was just a kid. He remembered the nights when Ba would drive him home from a late running practice and he wished, as the lights passed over his father’s grim face, that he could read his dad’s mind, hear if he was as frustrated as his mother after each argument they had.

Then there were good weeks—months, even—when those fights stayed at a distance, felt more like a glitch, and his parents operated as a team, at work and at home. It took almost nothing for an argument to start up. Viet imagined an invisible scale: his mother on one end, his father on the other, and it was impossible to predict where the weight would fall. Viet tried to stay at the center. He really tried.

“Sometimes you’re just too inside your head,” Ali said. “You might think people can’t understand you. And I’m not going to say that I do. There’s a whole lot going on up there that I will never hear, and that’s fine. Boundaries and all that. But I can at least say that I sort of know what you feel.”

“Then tell me: How am I feeling?” In his mind the words sounded aggressive, but the tone of his voice was weak.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re holding your breath, wanting it to happen. Then you realize, oh shit—it is. And you can’t think of the next step,” Ali remarked. “A part of you wanted it to happen. A part of you didn’t.”

“Because I’m guessing you feel like shit. And guilty for being so angry.” She threw Viet a pointed look. “And you don’t want to make people feel sorry for you. And maybe you blame yourself. Or your parents, and then you think, can I really blame anyone for being happy? Am I being fucking selfish ? Or maybe a part of you is secretly happy—that you wished this would happen so that all the fights would stop. And now you’re guilty for seemingly making a prediction turn into the truth. And you just don’t know where to start. Something like that?”

Viet blinked. He leaned back in his seat. Yes, it was something like that.

“So what happened?” he asked, wanting to shift her attention away from him.

“I gave my stepmother the cold shoulder, until she gifted me an outdated AP Stylebook for my birthday.” Viet gave Ali a look, and she merely shrugged. “Yes, I was dramatic. It’s tiring to be angry all the time. And she genuinely cared about me. It just took time for me to see that. Now I see that having two families isn’t such a bad thing.

“I think you’re the type of guy who has a whole world inside you, and you’ve had these walls up to protect it. I might have forced my way inside today—and you’ll probably not want to talk to me anymore—but I’m here for you. I want to help.”

There are people who enter your life quietly. No sparks. Or explosion. Like the last gulp of crisp air right before your toe crossed the finish line. That was Bao. But Ali was like the shock of cold water on your face after a good, long cry.

“No, I needed this. Thanks.”

Ali looked shy all of a sudden, and this was yet another emotion Viet never expected from his friend. “Now, if you’ll indulge me a little more, we have to stop by somewhere.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m hungry. I know a place. And I think you know it too.”

“My man!”

The minute Viet walked into Choi oi, following the hostess, Chef Brian Lê’s voice reached him. The chef and owner lifted him up and swung him around. He’d only met the bear of a guy once—Linh was hired to paint a mural on his columns, which he dedicated to his late mother, and there was a jovial grand opening, which Viet attended. It felt like the chef had known everyone in California.

Finally, when his shoes touched the floor again, Viet righted himself and stuttered out a hello. Today had been strangely emotional and he wasn’t sure how to handle the chef’s overzealous welcome.

Chef Lê’s wife, Saffron, whose posture was still as ramrod straight as he remembered, greeted him too, with less strength but an equally warm kiss on both cheeks. It was the French in her. Her perfume faintly smelled floral and her box braids tickled his neck as she released him. They fell loose behind her.

“The others are in the back.” Others ? Then the chef finger-gunned Ali. “Little lady, you’ve done it again!”

Viet stared in confusion while she merely mock-bowed.

“Ali’s been taking on some copywriting gigs for the restaurant,” the chef explained as he led them into the depths of the dining room. As he walked, Viet noticed Bao and Linh were waiting for him. He pushed back the wave of guilt.

“We’ve seen an uptick in high school customers ever since—targeting a demographic we needed help reaching. Plus, she’s been doing some of the copywriting for our restaurant’s website.”

“On top of college work? Do you have a clone or something?” Viet asked.

Ali didn’t hear; she had already made it to Bao and Linh and was whispering to them: “I didn’t need the rope after all—”

Viet probably misheard, though.

Chef Lê sat them at a table with an L-shaped booth, coincidentally close to the column that Linh had painted over. “So, what’s the special occasion? Bao calls me out of the blue and asks for a table—of course you have one, you don’t even need to call!—so I figured you were here to celebrate.”

Linh sat in the corner of the booth, and Viet slid in on the other side while her boyfriend was to her left. Bao only scratched his nose out of embarrassment at the chef’s comment. Since his visit to Viet’s house, he’d tamed his hair so it wasn’t as windswept, and he wasn’t dressed in his usual red-and-black plaid long-sleeve, but an olive-green button-up. He looked more adult than Viet remembered, and the observation intensified his guilt at his childish outburst.

“Uh yeah, I didn’t really mention it to the chef. Since… you know,” he said quietly, glancing over at Viet.

Viet sighed and said to Chef Lê: “My parents are getting divorced.”

“Oh damn.” He was at a loss for words. Then he added meekly: “Con… grats?”

“We’re not celebrating, Chef,” Linh chimed in, showing him mercy. “It’s something that happened, but we wanted to have everyone together in one room anyway. Just to see each other. We’re all back from winter break.”

“And I’m hungry,” Ali piped in. She sat on the outside of the table. The chef gave them a nod and headed toward the back.

“How was the drive over?” Linh asked.

“Great,” Ali said. “We sobbed.” She read through the menu. “Bonded over the trauma of being kids of divorced parents—or soon-to-be divorced parents.”

Linh only frowned at her friend’s bluntness.

Viet suspected Ali was actually more embarrassed than anything. He looked up at Bao, his oldest friend whose eyes were boring into him. The guy couldn’t be less discreet if he tried, he thought fondly. He inhaled deeply, making sure his words wouldn’t be misconstrued. “I’m going to be okay. Ali and I talked a lot about a lot of things. First, Bao, you didn’t do anything wrong the other day. Coming by and talking to me. You were being a good friend. And I wasn’t mad that you told Linh. Of course you would talk to your girlfriend. And my friend too.” At his words, Linh gave a small smile. “I just didn’t know how to handle the divorce. I mean, when I got back the other night and my mom told me the news, I didn’t know what to do with it. So I’m sorry. I was being shitty.”

A grin formed on Bao’s face, letting him know that things would be all right. “I can be shitty too.”

“Yes, but I was the shittier one this time.”

“Okay, you were,” Bao teased. “But no one blames you. I’m your friend. Your best friend. So if you ever need me—” He waved a hand, indicating he’d be there for Viet no matter what.

“Aw, so cute. Glad you two can kiss and make up,” Linh said. Her eyes looked suspiciously wet, though.

“Same to you, Linh. Again, I’m sorry.”

She leaned over to kiss Viet on the right cheek, hugging him quickly. “Forgive and forget. I’m just happy to see you again. Me and Bao… we’re here for you.”

Viet pointed to his un-kissed cheek and said to Bao, “Yours, if you want.”

“No way!”

“What, your masculinity’s too fragile?”

“No, I’m worried we might like it too much. Then how are we going to break the news to my girlfriend?” he stage-whispered.

“That’d make me sad,” Linh said. “But more than that, I’d be vengeful.”

Chef Lê’s chuckle broke through the act as he came back to their table and pulled up a chair beside Ali. He really must have enjoyed seeing them all together again. He leaned back in his chair. Saffron had disappeared into another room, going to check on her son, Philippe, who was in his playpen. “Seems like you two are still going strong, huh. Long-distance things working out?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Ali answered for them. “They’re still disgustingly into each other.”

Bao and Linh exchanged looks and secretive smiles, their hands just naturally reached for each other.

“Ew,” Ali said.

“Tell us how you’re really feeling.” Saffron was back now, and she sat down beside Chef Lê. Philippe, who was probably at the age where he could walk steadily, still preferred the comfort of her lap. He stayed perfectly still, his rapt attention on the table’s conversation, like he was all here for gossip.

“What about you, little man,” Chef Lê asked. “You seeing anyone at school?”

The table quieted and Viet suddenly had a dozen curious eyes on him. Fourteen, if you counted the baby.

“Uh, sorry, nothing to report.”

“C’mon, really?” Chef Lê teased. “A handsome guy like you?”

Viet remembered Evie’s hurt as she talked about her issues with Jake. “There is someone. But she’s definitely not interested in me that way. She’s going through a rough patch with her boyfriend and—” He heard Linh say, “Oh,” but ignored it.

“Heartbreak is hard to get over,” Saffron said, and nodded sagely, avoiding Philippe’s hand going to grab her hair. “But perhaps she’ll heal quicker than you think, and you can tell her your feelings then.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“My love life is an absolute train wreck.” Whether Ali announced this as a distraction, Viet couldn’t be sure. Still, he silently thanked her. “I was chasing after someone.” Viet imagined it—her literally chasing someone, and it brought a smile to his face. “But my other friends told me to stop chasing. Said I was being overly aggressive.”

“Wow, that’s shocking,” Viet deadpanned. “You being aggressive? Can’t see it.”

“So, did you stop?” Bao asked, his voice equally flat. Linh, meanwhile, just grinned, as she undoubtedly knew the whole story.

“Decided to switch to more hidden tactics. I might have lied to spend more time with them. Had them look over one of my articles that had a bunch of grammatical errors I planted.”

“Since this person was critiquing your work… does that mean they’re older than you?” Viet asked.

“Yup. Senior.”

Both husband and wife let out a long whistle. Leave it to Ali to go for broke.

“Can’t help it.” Ali sighed dramatically. “I just like them. They’re the ultimate grumpy in a grumpy-sunshine romance. And that’s my favorite trope.”

“The what?” Bao and Chef Lê asked at the same time, while Linh said, “Wait, so you’re sunshine?”

Saffron, who had the baby wiggling around in her arms, just shook her head. “Hate to break it to you, Ali, but I don’t think you’re really sunshine—”

“Only if sunshine meant ‘sunburn-inducing rays’—” Linh said.

“—Then maybe you are,” Bao finished.

That was freaky, Viet thought.

“You’ve progressed to finishing each other’s thoughts. Lovely.” Ali leaned back. “Anyways. More to come on my love life. It’ll all work out. I’m confident.”

“You’re kind of scary,” Chef Lê said but in admiration.

“Listen, in all seriousness, anytime you need to get away and grab a good meal, there’s always a table for you.”

They were all getting ready to leave. Dinner finished a while ago.

Viet laughed at the chef’s offer. “My college is six hours away.”

“I’ll see if my Uber team can give you a discount,” the chef said with a wink. Viet’s “Thanks” was quickly lost in Chef Lê’s wide chest.

Viet thought his night was finished, that they’d all go their separate ways after leaving the restaurant.

The sight of Evie emerging from her car proved him wrong.

“Evie, you should have come in,” Linh said as she ran up to her.

“I didn’t want to barge in on the reunion.” She shrugged. “It’s fine, I didn’t mind waiting.” She leaned to the right, looking past her sister. “Hi, Viet.”

“Hi.” He blinked to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “You were out here the whole time… because of me?”

She was wearing a hoodie and jeans and didn’t appear any different from how she dressed on campus. But under the moonlight, she managed to look ethereal. He wished he could say that. Or maybe he needed some sleep.

“I had to see you. See how you were doing.” She glanced at the others—her sister, Bao, and Ali—and relayed some message so that they gave them some space. “I just hope… did the ride over help at least? Linh told me Ali and you had a chat.”

“Yeah, it helped.” Suddenly Viet remembered his bold friend’s haphazard driving. “Though her driving almost killed me.”

Evie was shocked at first—maybe the fact that he was making a joke. And it was—a joke. Maybe it was because he wanted to see something besides worry on her face.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry about me.”

“Of course. You’re my friend, Viet.” Damn . “One of my closest, I think. So when Linh got the text, I just—even if you might not have wanted many people—I just thought—” She paused, glanced down at her feet. “You probably didn’t need to see me.”

Then he hugged her. He felt a strange gravitational pull the moment he saw her, and he couldn’t resist anymore.

It went on longer than it should have and Viet knew it. His brain had the right intentions, touch and go. But once he held her, they were magnets stuck together. Her chin fitting into the crook of his neck. Her arms around his waist. He imagined tree roots locked around a rock, somewhere on the edge of a cliff—both determined to stay intact and grounded, through all seasons.

It took all of him to let go. Evie stared at him long and good and then inhaled. He heard the catch in her voice as she asked, “What was that for?”

“It’s a thank-you. For coming here tonight.”

This time Evie was the one who embraced him, holding him even tighter than he had. Unfortunately, it didn’t last as long, but Viet missed her warmth and weight as soon as she released him.

“What was that for?” he repeated her question to him. He was dazed.

“I think I needed a hug too.”

Memories of their last conversation on campus nudged him. “Did you and Jake…”

“Yes. But I’ll tell you about it another time.”

After Evie’s car rounded the corner and disappeared, Viet expected to go back to Ali’s car. But the driver had different ideas. Ali had other plans and decided to leave first, so she practically dragged him over to Bao’s car and shoved him into the back seat. His arm kind of hurt.

Linh twisted around in her passenger seat, and Bao did the same on the driver’s side.

“Yes, Mom and Dad?” Viet asked. Then he remembered: they must have seen him and Evie hug. Not once. Twice .

They wanted answers.

“That was weird,” Bao blurted out. “I feel weird.”

“Out of the two of us,” Linh said, “ I should be feeling weird. Him. My sister. Hugging? ”

“More like I’m disturbed that Viet initiated a hug. I’ve never seen him hug anyone voluntarily. It was disturbing, period. More disturbing than the eyebrow thing he does sometimes.” To demonstrate, he wiggled his eyebrows.

Did Viet really look like that?

Viet groaned. “Just drive,” he said as he buckled his seat belt.