Page 33

CHAPTER 33 EVIE

Evie rarely got sick when she was younger, but Linh was the opposite. When Linh had chicken pox, her parents kept Linh and Evie together, figuring it was only a matter of time before Evie got it. Somehow chicken pox skipped Evie. She was still waiting for the day she’d wake up and see red freckles all over her.

But on Thursday, Evie knew some kind of bug had taken over her body. She felt a terrible weight in her bones when she tried to get up for her last class. Evie had heard of “death bed” stories, of people suddenly seeing the light, their worst and best moments speeding past them. Not that she was even close, but she acknowledged how much thinking and reflecting could be done if you could do nothing but stare at the ceiling for hours while you wait for NyQuil to kick in.

Later, she awoke from the longest nap, not knowing which day it was. She was surprised that it was still light out, though dimmer than before. She heard a knock on her door.

“I heard you moving around. How are you feeling?” Lis asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Better.” Evie felt her forehead. “I think my fever’s gone.”

Lis approached her as if she were the doctor or the nurse examining a patient. She nodded, confirming that she didn’t feel as feverish as the previous day. “Good. You slept for six hours.”

“Six?!” Evie whipped off the covers in her bed, but Lis firmly pushed her down.

“Don’t even go there. You need to rest. Take it. No one is chasing after you. Homework can wait. Rest today and let’s see how you are tomorrow.”

“I know. I was just… a lot of things happened and so quickly at that.”

“Like what?”

Her eyes flashed open, remembering the plan to hide their relationship until they least expected an announcement. “Just… everything. School, clinic. Actually, maybe I picked up something from there.”

Her roommate nodded at her explanation.

Lis closed the door. Evie’s gaze went to her backpack… only, it wasn’t there. Weird…

“And if you’re looking for your backpack,” Lis’s muffled voice emanated from the door, “give up; it’s out here with me and you’re not touching it.”

“I hate you,” Evie said weakly.

“My Evie translator tells me you’re actually saying, ‘Lis, you’re amazing. Never leave me. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you,’?” her roommate called back. “And you know what, the translator is so right. I’m the best.’?”

Viet: me, how do you make chao ga

M?: Sao con can biet? Con benh?

Viet: no it’s not me who’s sick

Hours later, Evie woke from another nap to insistent knocking on the front door. She rubbed her eyes and slid down from her bed, the carpet rough against her bare feet. Lis wasn’t home. Outside, pacing, was Viet, who was carrying a white plastic shopping bag in one hand. He was wearing his running clothes.

“Viet, hi.” Had it really only been a few days since she saw him? It felt like ages ago. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should come in. I’m—”

“Sick, I know.” Viet lifted his bag. “I thought I’d make you some cháo gà.”

“How’d you know—” Oh, Lis. She was scheming, even though she didn’t need to anymore.

Rice and chicken porridge sounded good. She stepped aside for him. Their shoulders brushed, and he set the bag down on the nearest kitchen counter. “I mean, you didn’t need to.” She’d said these words before—memories from the time he came to comfort her before her clinic interview, from when he sat next to her in the garden.

The corner of Viet’s lips quirked up. He was remembering the same things because he said, “I didn’t need to. But I wanted to.” She gestured with his chin for her to step back from the kitchen. “Go back to bed. I’ll bring the cháo to you when it’s ready.”

“But you might not know where things are.”

“I’m Kale’s sous chef; I know my way around the kitchen now. I can manage.”

She felt a shift in the air, a pause, an inkling to say more. Maybe this was a dream she’d wake up from soon.

“Then I’ll stay on the sofa. In case you need help finding things.”

Her friend-turned-boyfriend hummed in response as he turned to rummage through the cupboards. She lay back on the sofa with the throw all the way up to her chin. He was washing the rice, chopping the green onions, boiling the chicken, sprinkling in salt, doing a taste test, calling her name, kissing her lips—

Evie jerked awake, missing the calm of her dream. It’d be nice to wake and find a bowl of porridge waiting for her. Uber Eats would have to do, though. Her joints aching, Evie rose from her bed—no, the sofa .

The kitchen was empty. But there was cookware dripping in the dish rack, and the rice cooker light blinked. She smelled broth and ginger root, and there on the counter was a steaming bowl of cháo gà.

Evie:

Viet

Two days later, when she felt much better, she sat on Kale and Tate’s couch, knees to her chest. Her hood was up, engulfing her as she watched Viet filling up an electric kettle before dunking tea packets into two separate mugs.

Tate was washing the dishes, and his boyfriend was jabbering away while Lis listened, picking at a cake that Kale had made at some point, within the never-ending free time he had to perfect his art. He glared when Lis dipped a finger into the icing. Evie smiled as she watched them; this was what Saturdays were meant to be. This was where she was meant to be.

Only she and Viet knew the group’s dynamics would be a little different going forward.

There was a shriek, and she jumped slightly, her head swiveling, only to land on Viet, who was cautiously making his way over with their tea. He placed the two mugs down, then sucked on the back of his pinky where some liquid must have spilled.

“That was very a high-pitched shriek.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll try to sound more dignified next time my skin is melting,” Viet replied without any bite. He sank back down and passed the mug to her. Their fingers touched, and their eyes met.

Viet looked away first. He was cute when he was embarrassed, and she felt proud because she was the cause. And she might have shifted closer, a movement her boyfriend also noticed.

“You feeling any better?” he asked, trying for nonchalance.

“Yes, I just needed some rest.”

Evie found her body angling toward his, until, without stopping herself, without wanting to stop, her head rested on his shoulder. She was warm all over, but it wasn’t like the feverish sickness that had kept her in bed. It came from her chest, at the closeness of his face as he gazed down at her. His hood, which had been covering his eyes, slid off, and his hair stood up in a way that made her want to laugh.

Evie was falling for him all over again.

Suppressing a smile, she reached for her mug, and as the rim rested against her lips, her inner voice said, Time for a show.

Things in the kitchen were quiet. She didn’t need to look to know their friends were watching their every move, likely confused at their newfound closeness, when she’d supposedly rejected their younger friend.

“Viet,” she said.

“Hmm?” Her boyfriend blew on his tea.

“I like you.”

It happened all too quickly: Kale cursing out Lis—“Did you just elbow my cake?”—while Tate cackled, “Calm down, I’ll clean up with a towel—”

Viet’s eyes danced with mirth, purposefully ignoring the rising noise level a few feet away. “Really?” he said loudly. “Funny thing: I like you too.” Quickly he lowered his head to plant a kiss on her.

That was unplanned. Evie might have squeaked, and when he moved away, she couldn’t resist burying her hooded head against his arm, cheeks burning.

“What is happening?” Kale exclaimed. “I thought—Did you guys skip a few steps?”

“Stop! This is too cute—” Lis.

“BOTH of you, come on, let’s give them some space—” Tate. Sounds of struggle followed. And plenty of protests. Perhaps Tate had held them back, arms outstretched. But Evie didn’t care much. She and Viet remained in their own bubble on the sofa, eyes locked.