Chapter Ten: Linh

CHAPTER TEN LINH

Okay, so that pat on the shoulder was weird, but I forget it soon enough.

“That was intense!”

Bảo laughs, a deep, husky kind of laugh—God, what a nice sound.

“I thought I was finished when your mom called you—”

“And Lisa came by—”

“Then that guy Frank who I did not expect to see there at all!”

We’re like little kids full of sugar. Or like the kids we were back at temple. This time we didn’t get caught. “Never thought that would work,” I say after calming down. The smell of rain is faint in the air. Couples stroll past us, their shoes squeaking. Cars crawl by. “But we did an awesome job.” I register the parts of us that are touching—our thighs and shoulders.

I’d shut down his offer before and watched him close up and turn his back on me. Waves of regret overcome me, not only because of what I said about him spying on us, but because I was ashamed that he was only trying to reach out to help and I denied him. He didn’t have to check on me. He could have gone home just like every other week. But he didn’t turn his back on me.

I sneak a look at him now. Bảo stares the opposite way, resting his forearms on his knees. He’s, well, hot. He doesn’t have a bowl cut anymore. There’s quietness to him as well, reminding me of my mom when she’s concentrating on a new recipe—the opposite of the energy around Ba or Ali. I shift, discomfited by these unexpected emotions warring inside me. We don’t know each other. We can’t.

“Thanks for tonight.” I gesture toward the alley. “I’m not usually like that, you know. Freaking out.”

“It’s cool. I’d be like that if our restaurant was ever that busy.”

“It wasn’t just that.” I exhale. “There’s this exhibition I wanted to go to. I just found out about it recently, but then remembered it fell on the same day as this whole thing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” I’m rubbing my thumb against the bump on my middle finger—made callused after years of resting my pencil against it—not understanding why I want to explain everything to him in the moment, or if he wants to hear it. “I was going to ask my parents if I could have the night off. But my dad hurt his back, and like I said before, we’re short-staffed.”

“How do you feel now?”

I’d wanted to run far away. I’d wanted to be anywhere but in that restaurant. Then Bảo reached out to me, looking so solid, so earnest, and just one touch shocked me so much that I had to pull away. It seems silly to think about it now… but he was real! He was right there, and now right here.

“I’m okay,” I answer honestly. “Now, at least.”

Bảo nods. “That’s good. I mean, tonight was challenging, and you survived it. And there will always be another exhibition.” He pauses. “Was it some kind of avant-garde exhibition?”

“Avant-garde?” I say teasingly. “Wow, most people default to cubism. Picasso.”

“Sorry, who?” Then he smiles and shrugs one shoulder. I forget what I’m thinking about for a breath. “I know nothing about art. I just thought ‘avant-garde’ sounded smart.”

“You almost convinced me.”

We smile at each other, not knowing what to say next, which I guess is expected. We haven’t had enough time to work out a true rhythm in our conversation.

“Shit, I think I just saw your mom by the window.” Bảo scrambles to his feet, brushes off his bottom. I remember now—this isn’t supposed to happen. “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he says, walking backward toward Lemare Street.

“I’ll see you around?” I call out.

Did I just—?

He nearly trips over a raised part of the sidewalk and shoots me a sheepish smile that makes me woozy—even though I’m still sitting down. “Definitely! Let’s not wait another six years, though.”

And he’s gone.

The door rings as it opens. Mẹ is behind me, locking the doors.

“Who was that?”

“Someone was just asking for directions.”

Mẹ smiles. She looks younger than I’ve ever seen her.

Any other day, she would have pestered me about who I was talking to, but she’s too elated. She lifts a bulging plastic bag. “I’m bringing home chè Thái. Three for all of us.”

“Nice.” I stand up and snuggle under her arm when she gestures for me.

She presses her nose against my cheek and squeezes me tight, like she used to when I was younger. She’d say she “just wanted to eat me up.”

Today went well. I want to paint us just like this.

“C’mon,” my mom says. “Let’s see if Ba is still alive at home.”

---

Ba forgets about his back pain the moment we unlock the door. The television shuts off. My mom dangles the bag of desserts before him like she’s a baiting dog and he shoots her a mock expression of anger before taking it and undoing the knot. This isn’t the first time we’ve had dessert at midnight. When me and Evie were younger—and probably still too young to stay home by ourselves—we would fall asleep on the couch, curled up against one another, waiting for them to finish at the restaurant. They’d bring us leftovers—always something sweet.

We’re missing one person now, but we still move in unison toward the kitchen.

“Did it work?” Ba asks almost warily. Playing with his hesitation even more, my mom ignores him. She digs into the drawer for spoons, closing it with her right hip, grabs ice from the freezer, and crushes it in a ziplock bag with a pestle. She pours the ice into three cups, then spoons the chè over it: coconut milk, sweet, plump longan pieces, cubes of grass jelly that snap under your teeth, red-dyed tapioca pearls made from water chestnuts. It’s one of my favorite summer desserts—and one of the best late-night desserts to have without feeling so guilty.

She’s taking too long for Ba. “Bà này,” he says, and clicks his tongue with real annoyance. He just wants to hear about tonight.

Finally, Mẹ gives in. “It was perfect.”

Ba accepts the spoon handed to him. Then he just nods. He tries to hide it, but I can tell by the way he’s straightened his posture that he’s glad to hear it. “Of course it worked. It’s all because of me.”

My mom smacks him on the shoulder. “Ông quỷ, this wouldn’t be possible if the food wasn’t good, and that’s because of me.” She sends me a shining look. “Not to mention Linh, who took care of the front and the customers.”

“Of course. This is Linh we’re talking about.”

I smile weakly. If they were able to read my thoughts, review all the events from tonight, they wouldn’t be praising me. I wouldn’t be able to explain how I didn’t want to work tonight. How I wanted to give up. And of course I can’t do that, shouldn’t do it. It’ll ruin just about everything.