Chapter Twenty-One: Bảo

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE BẢO

I’ve been thinking about Linh’s hand a lot, her paint-marked hand fitting into my palm. I remember it like it was a living heart, pulsing. I’ve replayed that moment we noticed what was happening and decided not to care, the moment that I knew we’d stepped into a new place without planning to. I wish there was a word stronger than “palpable,” but I guess that was sufficient for now.

When she let go, I wanted so badly to snatch her hand back. When she muttered a quick goodbye to me, I wanted to tell her not to leave. We couldn’t just ignore what happened.

She didn’t pull away. She could have, but she didn’t. Does that mean she feels the same way as me?

Việt and Ali had seen it before us, apparently.

The next week, to my disappointment, unfolds like the days before our worlds collided on Phở Day. Our schedule consists of way too many misses. At lunch, when I stop by the art room, I don’t find her there. I know for a fact that Linh’s avoiding me, because she skipped the next restaurant coverage, mentioning it to Ali, who told me she was overwhelmed by work and painting. There’s truth in that, I’m sure, but not completely.

She’s scared, and I wish I could tell her that I am, too. That I don’t know how things will work. But if we could hold hands a bit longer, maybe we’ll figure it out.

I had to go alone to a Malaysian restaurant, while most of the customers enjoyed meals among large families. They must have felt sorry for me, a high school boy, dining out alone. The chef gave me a doggy bag of some kind of cookies that Ba demolished later in the night.

As we sit across the table at 10:00 p.m., feeling Mẹ’s absence as she was still at a friend’s house for a mani and pedi, I have this ridiculous thought to ask for advice. Ba is a man. Ba has experienced things like this… right? Then I stop the idea almost immediately. I must be getting desperate if I think it’s a good pick to ask my dad, stone-cold Dad, for girl advice when we don’t exactly enjoy small talk in general.

Tonight must be different, because Ba starts the small talk anyway. Those cookies must be good.

“We’re going to need your help in the next few weeks at the restaurant.”

“Oh, okay. What’s happening?”

“Your mom and I are planning a Bánh Xèo Day to introduce different kinds of bánh xèo to the menu. So things will be busy.”

Just like Việt had suggested.

“Did Việt mention anything to you?”

“Why would he?”

“Never mind.” I think about the special. Linh’s family—Linh—are going to see it as a direct response to their Phở Day. Great: One more reason for our parents to despise one another.

“Why now?” I ask warily.

“To make sure our customers don’t get tired of our menus.”

“Will it work? We don’t usually do different kinds of bánh xèo.”

“We never really know when things will work. We weren’t sure a restaurant would work, but here we are. There is no use playing it safe when it comes to our restaurant.” Ba gets up and puts on the teakettle. He shuffles to the cabinet where we keep various tins of tea leaves. “Muốn trà không?”

I shake my head, thinking tea will only keep me up later than I should.

Playing it safe.

If my dad’s willing to do something that might not bring him any sure result, maybe I can do the same.

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Later I stared for longer than I’d like to admit at a text to send to Linh. A text asking her to meet again, face-to-face. I wasn’t as blunt; I had a good reason to text her, since Ali sent me another restaurant to visit. So I mentioned that to her.

Then her bubbles begin to appear, so I shut down the Messages app, until a ring tells me to read it.

sorry to be MIA. your article on that malaysian place was great.

thanks! do you think you can make the next one?

i think so.