Page 35

CHAPTER 35 EVIE

“Have you been here before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Turned out she could lie very well—maybe too well—because Viet just proceeded to open the restaurant door for her, and after giving the hostess his name, they were led to the main dining room.

Evie exhaled. This was fine. It was a nice restaurant, and she knew others went here on dates—even some anniversaries. How could Viet have known that she’d been here? It was silly for her to worry, so she tried her best to push all thoughts of her first date with Jake out of her mind. Viet had recovered from his sickness, which he definitely got from her, and now they were finally having their first date.

They ordered drinks first before looking at the menu. The options were dizzying—as if it was the restaurant’s goal to tire them out.

“These options look great. What are you going to get?”

“Not sure yet,” she answered quickly.

Back then she’d gotten the lasagna. Jake had gotten the tagliatelle, and she remembered thinking, So that’s how you pronounce it, a word she’d only seen on the page but had never said aloud. And she had silently congratulated herself for not ordering it and therefore not butchering the word and embarrassing herself.

Viet said, “This one looks good. I think I’ll get the—”

Please, do not say —

“—the tagliatelle.”

Evie was cursed.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Viet, I’m sorry. I lied.” Viet looked up at her. “I’ve been here before. On a first date.”

The menu gently fell to the table. “Oh, I didn’t know,” he said evenly. “Sorry.”

“Viet, it’s fine—how could you possibly know that this was where me and—” Evie didn’t even want to mention his name.

“If you’re not comfortable, I completely understand. We can go somewhere else.”

She grabbed Viet’s hand, and he instantly quieted at her touch. “This date is about us. Only us. None of this is about Jake.” She badly wanted him to believe her. Because, yes, she was thinking about Jake, but it was only a memory. She didn’t miss him; she didn’t want him to be the one sitting across her. She wanted Viet, and they could eat fast food if it came down to it. As long it was just him and her.

“I’ll be right back,” Viet finally said. His hand slipped out from hers and she felt bereft.

She should have said something; she was now a hundred percent sure that this date could not be saved.

It baffled her, how she would see her classmates change their relationship statuses every three months or so. Did they ever go through this? How was it possible to move on when you’re surrounded by memories everywhere because memories stem from our senses—a touch, a place, a scent, a sound.

Now Evie felt she was better off in bed, in her pajamas, some mindless reality TV blasting from her computer. Viet had tried to set up such a lovely night, and she had messed it up.

A hand, now in her line of sight. She lifted her head. It was Viet; his face blank, but his eyes told a different story. They were alive—determined—like the moment before he confessed his feelings to her that night.

“Let’s leave.”

“But the bill—?”

“Already taken care of.”

Well. Okay, then. She couldn’t say no. She cautiously gave him her hand, let him hold on to it as she gathered her stuff. The waiter and the hostess looked confused by their quick exit, but still smiled politely.

Outside, vendors at the Davis Farmers Market were just starting to pack up; closing time was six on Wednesdays. She used to frequent the market to help Kale before their Saturday Sins meals, but she realized, with a slight tinge of regret, that she hadn’t done so this year. Families walked away with plastic bags filled with their haul: crisp kale, bruisy red beets, sunset-colored pomelos. One Davis student carried persimmons in the well of his Aggies hoodie while a friend lugged away two cartons of apple cider.

Without realizing it, she and Viet ended up watching the same scene in silence.

“I used to watch The Bachelor . You know how they go on those lavish dates?” He chuckled. “When Bao was planning his dates with your sister, I made silly suggestions based on what I watched, as if I knew what dating was like. But I also knew that the show had a limitless budget, and the bachelor gets a hundred grand as a fee.”

Initially she was surprised he watched The Bachelor unironically, but now she was unsure where he was heading with this sentence.

“I heard Bao and Linh had a good time doing pottery on their date,” he continued thoughtfully. “But looking back, maybe he should have just asked Linh where she wanted to go. A date is about two people, after all.” He looped his arm around her waist, and she relaxed against him, placed her right cheek just above his heart. “I should have asked you.”

“I’m just happy to be on this date with you,” she replied. He’d put on cologne, and it made her want to stay there, stone-still, wrapped up in his scent. Fresh water. Sun-dried wood. A forest’s cool shade—sheltered and safe. Content.

“I know. I feel the same.”

Evie smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “Let’s start over. Please?” she said, gazing up at him.

He stepped back so that he could face her. “Exactly what I had in mind. And I have a plan.” He took her hand again. “Want to hear it?”

Her answer sprang in her mind before she even voiced it. “Absolutely.”

Viet’s plan, it turned out, was a picnic, and they would get ingredients from the market before them. When they crossed the street and came by the sign, his eyebrows went up, almost like he was asking, Jake didn’t take you here, right? She only squeezed his hand in reply, and it was then that Viet was able to relax.

“I might have asked Kale for a favor while I was paying the bill,” he explained as they searched for stands that hadn’t completely packed up.

They were by a tomato stand. Viet bent over to pick up a bunch of tomatoes still attached by a vine. “Is Kale… cooking for us?”

“I’m the chef today.”

Since it was nearing the end of market hours, not all the vegetables were fresh, some succumbing to the sunlight or the slight chill, but miraculously, the vendors somehow sensed Viet’s determination and offered them the best they had left. With their help—including a thumbs-up from an elderly couple—they were able to add some basil, a baguette, fresh chicken stock, heavy cream, and various cheese to their bounty. Viet paid for everything, refusing Evie’s help to the point that she had to snatch the baguette out of his arm. She laughed at his affronted look. Over one baguette!

The plan meant that Kale and Tate would vacate the apartment to let them do the cooking. When they arrived, the apartment left ajar for them, they stepped inside, and Evie’s silent question found its answer. There, before them, was a picnic basket on the kitchen counter. Inside was a page from a UC Davis notepad:

Dearest Friends,

This is our sacred picnic basket that accompanied me and Tate on one of our very first dates, very early on in our courtship. Please take care of this precious item or I will never forgive—

Then it was Tate who scribbled all over Kale’s first note and wrote, in his signature straightforward way:

Just bring it back next time you’re here. And have fun.

“Kale’s very lucky to have Tate,” Viet said as he pulled out their market haul. He immediately reached for a navy apron by the sink and tied it around himself with a flourish, like he was some competing chef on a cooking competition show. He dumped the produce into a metallic bowl and placed it under a running faucet.

“The menu today is homemade tomato bisque with the freshest ingredients that our prestigious UC Davis can offer. Accompanying this delicious soup will be the cheesiest of the cheesiest grilled cheese sandwiches—the best kind you’ll ever taste. And all of this is portable.” He gestured to the basket and a thermos that Kale had set aside for them. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His hands rested on the counter. He continued speaking in his persona, “Miss Mai, do you have any objections to this meal, cooked by yours truly?”

He had lowered his voice to a pitch she’d never heard from him. And all of this, his sudden confidence, his stance, the way he looked at her, was, to put it simply, attractive .

“No, chef,” she answered quietly, fighting a smile. “But before you begin…” She beckoned him with a finger, and he abandoned his persona, went around the counter, and stood before her. Closer , she gestured. Now Viet stood almost between her legs, arms caging her in. She was holding her breath; so was he.

He didn’t say a word when she pulled him down by the collar. Not one word when she pressed her lips against his, and certainly not a word—because, of course, his lips were not available—when they lingered there, long enough to make Viet forget that the sink faucet was still running.