Page 38

CHAPTER 38 VI?T

“I don’t know how you’re okay with this, chief,” were Kale’s first words after Viet divulged his whole conversation. The both of them, along with Lis and Tate, were seated at the kitchen bar, unintentionally mirroring the very first time they’d all met.

Now, instead of feeling embarrassed or unsure of his place, Viet knew he belonged here. The way they immediately answered when he asked if he could come by and talk also said as much.

Viet’s stomach sank as he absorbed his friend’s words, saw Lis and Tate exchange a conversation’s worth of glances. “Should I not be okay with it? I mean, it’s not like—” He stumbled, then continued, “It’s not like she still likes him romantically and wants to be with him.”

“No, no, I don’t mean to suggest that at all. We’ve watched Evie’s relationship from the very beginning, and we know that ship has fully sailed.” Kale paused. “Or sank.”

“Semantics,” Tate added.

“I think what Kale means is, we’re sort of worried about you.”

“I don’t want to seem like I’m controlling her.”

Lis let out a laugh, or a squeal, further puzzling Viet. Kale interpreted for her. “She and me and Tate, we’re all thinking that you’re so innocent.”

He really couldn’t tell if being innocent, in this situation, was good or bad.

Tate leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter. Like usual, he’d been quiet throughout the talk, but Viet understood he was just considering all sides, seeing not only what Viet couldn’t see but also Lis and Kale’s blind spots. “It doesn’t seem like you were comfortable with her going.”

“You’re right.” He glanced down. “This is my first relationship, and sometimes I really don’t know how to act like a boyfriend.”

If he’d asked her not to go, that was almost suggesting he didn’t think she could take care of herself. From Jake’s careless actions, from any hurtful comment that his family would likely make at the dinner.

“But you should have more confidence!” Lis insisted. “As her boyfriend, you’re allowed to express how you feel, especially if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t think Evie would think you were acting jealous.”

His head shot up. “Jealous? What do you mean by jealous?”

“You said nothing because you didn’t want Evie to think you were jealous of her and Jake,” Kale answered.

Even though Kale essentially repeated Lis’s words, Viet couldn’t grasp their meaning. The words were fuzzy in his ears.

“Hold on. Banish our previous conversations. Viet, can you explain why you’re uncomfortable with Evie going out to the family dinner tonight?” Tate asked.

His friends were good listeners, so he couldn’t understand why they weren’t listening now. “I don’t want Evie to think that I don’t think she could handle herself around Jake. Because I never liked seeing how sad Jake made her. I don’t want her to get hurt in any way when she’s with him and his family tonight.”

“So,” Tate said slowly, “when you say you are uncomfortable with this whole family dinner situation, you’re not saying you’re jealous?”

Jealous. He knew what that felt like—the pain, the helplessness, the discomfort while watching Evie touch another guy’s hair, when he saw how affected she’d been the night Jake lied about being at the party. “No,” Viet answered indefatigably. “I know Evie doesn’t see him that way. We talked about it, and she said just as much.”

“So you’re just worried about Evie and how Jake and his family would treat her?”

Viet considered his friends and their odd behavior. “Why wouldn’t I be worried? I’m her boyfriend.”

Kale threw up his hands. “How can I say anything else to that?”

Tate straightened, removing his elbows. “This was intense for no reason.”

“Really!” Lis sighed. Viet’s head was swiveling between his friends, then landed back on the older girl. “We thought you were feeling bad about yourself and were going to retreat, like you tend to do.”

Ah. Well, he couldn’t refute that observation.

“But you’re going to be just fine. In fact, more than fine, if you repeat everything to Evie when she comes back tonight.”

Viet was truly, truly lost. In his mind, he just hoped Evie was doing okay.

On his way back to Laben, he called his mom after she texted him to ask if he wanted a pair of Pumas that were on sale at Costco.

“Has Ba called you?”

“No, not yet,” he answered, and he heard her sigh.

“It’s okay,” he replied.

“He is a coward.”

“Have you and he talked?”

“Every day,” she replied, annoyed. Viet was surprised—what did they have to talk about on a daily basis? “One time, he couldn’t remember his doctor’s name. And then yesterday it was to see if one of our clients knew we’re delivering tomorrow. Once he was looking for his jeans. You know the ones he wore to dinners so that they wouldn’t feel tight on him?”

By all accounts, this all seemed… normal.

“And did he eventually find the jeans?”

“He found them a half hour later! Tr?i oi. He’s useless without me,” she said matter-of-factly. The line went quiet, and then he realized she was eating. Maybe peanuts or corn nuts. “He will call you soon. He wants to. But he is so stubborn.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad it’s going well. The divorce. That you’re still talking.”

“I don’t think I will ever be free of him. In some ways, I don’t want to be. Your father depends on me, but I realize I need him too.”

Five minutes later, whether by coincidence or because his mother interfered, Ba texted him:

The Dad: Ba dang o ngoai. Con o dau?

The instant Viet received his dad’s text, he debated sending off a flurry of question marks but resisted. He jogged the rest of the way home. It was a perfect night to do that. He cut through buildings, ran through the space between two separate halls, and felt the breeze nudge him back, but he pushed ahead. His dad, for some reason, was here.

Right by the curb outside of Laben was Ba, leaning against the hood of an unfamiliar gray Toyota. He straightened once Viet came into view.

“My new car. Secondhand,” his dad said in greeting. He shrugged. “Thought I should leave the other car to your mother.” There it was, another reminder that the divorce was happening.

Viet tried to find his breath. “Ba, it’s a six-hour drive. What the—why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Because I was afraid of changing my own mind. So I came here.” Now that felt a bit truer.

“But why ?”

“Your mother,” he answered. That didn’t answer much, so Viet continued to stare.

Ba glanced around as if his answer could be found there.

“Is there somewhere to eat?”

Burgers & Brew was the type of place his father loved: fast, efficient, and artery-clogging. Viet supposed, without his mother here, he could do whatever he wanted. If she were here, she’d slap the laminated menu against his father’s shoulder to stop him from ordering an Angus cheeseburger and parmesan truffle fries. Then she’d eat a part of his meal herself, which was like—what was the point of protesting then?

But that wasn’t going to happen again. Maybe ever. Viet tried ignoring the burning sensation in his chest.

Having ordered and without the menus to block their view of each other, Viet had to face his father. At first glance, he appeared the same—he wore a polo shirt, his glasses were still loose on his face, and they slid to the bridge of his nose as he checked his phone. But, and Viet could be wrong, it looked like he’d dyed his hair. And was he a bit thinner?

“You look… good,” he said finally.

His father grinned. He leaned back and patted his stomach with both hands. “Ba m?i b?t ??u Noom.”

This was already too much. “So you talked to M?,” prompted Viet. “I didn’t think you’d be talking to each other so soon.”

“We are adults. We don’t hate each other,” his father replied. “Ba want con to know that. And when it comes to con, nothing will change. Mình còn cha m?.”

“Con bi?t r?i,” he admitted. Out of all of this, he never doubted that they would somehow shed their parenting, as if it were all just an act.

“Ba M? talked yesterday to figure out things. How the business will work. What things belong to Ba. What things belong to her.”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Viet said. He still had to process that his father had driven all the way here without any warning. He couldn’t not ask questions. “M? told me she asked for the divorce. Is that true?”

“?.”

“Were you shocked? Sad? How did you take it?”

“I have gotten drunk too many times with other friends who are divorced.”

“Okay. That sounds…” Fun was not the right word, though Viet couldn’t find another one.

“They complained about the same things as me. They were miserable. And now they are still miserable and have so many regrets, but they admit that they feel much freer…. Ba wished it happened sooner.”

Viet swallowed hard. How much of his life did he regret?

“Not because a divorce was what Ba wanted. But because of con. Because you heard all the ugly things. All the time. No child should be placed in that situation,” Ba said.

That was probably the most vulnerable statement Viet would ever hear from him.

“Ba thought we could make it work. But we failed. Ba failed.”

Viet sensed that his next words would either open his father up or shut him down completely. “You and M?… things just haven’t been well.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t have noticed. That we weren’t as bad as I thought we were. The fighting.” He glanced at his clasped hands, squeezing them out of comfort. Then he leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Ba còn th?ong M?,” Viet said.

His eyes cleared up, and the corner of his lip turned up. “Yes.”

Yêu and th?ong. Growing up, Viet hadn’t paid attention to the difference between those two words—or more accurately, the nuance. Yêu was romantic love, said between two people. It was that cinematic confession made after a desperate chase through the airport, the city streets, the train station. It was love that most people grew up thinking they wanted.

Th?ong could be romantic love, but more often it referred to platonic love and familial love. Viet heard it was somehow infinitely stronger than yêu. Th?ong was the love found in epilogues and all the untold stories that came after that.

It was the kind of love that remained after a divorce.

“And Ba will never stop caring for her or for con.” His face broke, his voice clogging up with tears. But he didn’t cry. He never cried. Though this was the most affected Viet had seen his father since he was nine. When he learned of his mother’s passing back in Vietnam—deep into the night—and his own mother had to close the door to stem his tears. Ferocious. His sneeze was loud and obnoxious—but his crying was hurt, torturous, as if he were heaving his heart out.

Viet never wanted to hear that sound again.

He glanced down, swallowing hard. “I know. I know you will still love her. And me.”

“Con a smart man. Must have got it from your mom.”

The person saying this was the man who could calculate anything in his head. Who could measure the weight of a box in a few seconds. Who created a business from nothing and now had a dedicated client base who trusted him to deliver the freshest produce.

“Ba, you’re smart.”

“Ba didn’t go to school.”

“So?” Viet countered. “I’m still proud.”

“Con… proud of me?”

“I am!”

His dad straightened up, puffed out his chest. “Ah, why wouldn’t con be proud of Ba? Ta quan tr?ng. One day, Ba will be as big as Jeff Bebos.”

Okay, that was a reach. His humility was evanescent. Viet held back a laugh. “You mean Jeff Bezos. And no, you shouldn’t. That’s not exactly a good thing to some people these days.”

“What do you mean, con? Ba’s now divorced, bald, still handsome. Just like Jeff Bebe.”

“Bezos.”

At that exact moment, the waiter came by again. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

Interrupting? No, it wasn’t like they were having the first real conversation in eighteen years—capable of talking, at least—and his dad was telling Viet everything he thought he would never hear unless his dad underwent cultural surgery.

“Sooo, who had the BNB Burger?”

In between bites, Ba showed him pictures of his new apartment, which had almost no furniture, then asked about school and even the forensics team, which Viet figured he heard about from his mother. Viet explained it as best as he could, until he realized he was overexplaining—saying it wasn’t available as a major, saying there was no concern about him switching majors.

“Does it make con happy?”

Viet nodded.

“Okay.”

A word that wasn’t strongly granting permission or showing support. Viet was grateful for any answer other than “You can’t.”

“Ba should go soon. Long drive.”

The two stood once the bill was paid. At the last minute, Viet thought of Evie, and how she had been wanting burgers and fries. She was going to dinner with the Phans tonight, and from the sound of it, they were probably choosing an upscale restaurant. Which meant there might not be that much food to eat. He put in a take-out order as his father watched.

“Is con still hungry? Ba will buy more food.”

“No, it’s for a… friend.”

“A friend.” His father lingered on the word. Maybe he understood more than he let on. Maybe he just liked minding his own business. “It sounds like con a good friend.”

Back in front of Laben Hall, they hugged goodbye. Hugged for real, no pat on the back, but with full arms around each other. A sudden emotion passed through Viet, and he couldn’t explain it, or prevent it, and so he squeezed his father tighter.

“Ah, con will break Ba’s back!”

They parted and his father grasped him by the shoulder again and squeezed. They held eyes for longer than Viet remembered them ever doing. His father looked as if he’d finally slotted in the last piece of the most grueling jigsaw puzzle and was now marveling at the full picture.

Wait, his dad didn’t do puzzles, so maybe it was more like when his last Lotto ticket had all the right numbers and he was staring at them, realizing that they were indeed winners.

Anyway, Viet sort of felt the same.

“Good talk,” Ba said. Then he gave Viet a thumbs-up.

It was cheesy. But then again, it was his dad.

It would take time for the surreal nature of this interaction to fade, but he was glad to see his father, to have this honest conversation, and he hoped this was the first of many. He lingered in the parking lot so long that grease started seeping through the burger’s cardboard container.