Chapter Thirty-Four: Linh

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR LINH

One of the places I’d pick to represent California, the real California, where people grew up their whole lives, planted their roots, and left things behind for their family to take over, would be Huntington Beach. People know colors here, with their skateboards, parasailers, and sunglasses screaming out their personality. Hip-hop beats from boomboxes and live musicians, mostly guitarists, clash in the air. Everything is alive here.

When we were kids, Evie and I could have spent all day here if it weren’t for my parents, who were wary of too much time in the sun. Never mind that they always slathered the both of us in too much sunscreen. Never mind that we were mostly sitting under umbrellas. We’d beg them to buy us cotton candy, but would get a lecture about cavities and bad teeth. I’m glad I’m getting the chance to enjoy things now.

Bảo offers me his hand, and I take it.

“I like your face today.”

I laugh. “I believe you’d call that a non sequitur.”

“You’re speaking my language.” Bảo pulls me in by the waist. He doesn’t explain right away, just holds me close. “I meant that I like how calm you look right now. You’re not worried. The thing between your eyebrows”—he pokes me at that spot—“isn’t there.”

“The wrinkle’s not always there.”

“Not always, but I notice it when it appears.” He swings our arms.

“Well, I have one less thing to worry about—my application’s sent off. So I guess it is better than before. But that’s been replaced now by something else to worry about, right?”

“Our moms, yeah. And however your aunt might fit in.”

I nod. “I know we have to ask. I know. But a part of me doesn’t want to. To find out something that might change everything.”

“It’s scary. I think we have to ask the question eventually. If we really want this”—he holds up our clasped hands—“to work. I hate hiding. I hate not being able to kiss you before we go to work, right across from each other. I hate not being able to walk in the park near our homes, just because I might be seen with you.”

“I hate that too,” I say. The feeling of lying has become all too familiar. It’s not the nervousness of hiding something now—it’s the shame that weighs me down, more and more. “But you know how our parents are with the past. What if, by asking questions, we make things worse? With our parents? With us?”

“But if we don’t start asking these questions…” He shakes his head. “Remember what Chef Lê said? About having these questions he wants to ask his mom but knowing he can’t because she’s gone?”

“How it’s too late?”

“That could be us one day. One day, they’re not going to be around as much. That’s what’s happening next year—we’re going to college and they’ll be living out their lives—and in no time, it’ll happen. The chance to ask will pass.”

On our way back, dusk is our cover. Me and Bảo hold hands—his clean, mine still stained with paint no matter how clean I tried to make them. I mention that to Bảo, but he only shrugs. “Feels like a hand. Feels like mine.” He reaches our clasped hands up, kissing mine, then smiling, knowing I was watching, probably blushing. “Plus, you wouldn’t be you without it.”

Together we walk into the ocean and take in the waters that stretch ahead of us.

“What?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Nothing. Just…” He trails off as he leans forward, and our lips touch again. I slip my fingers into his hair. My heart beats double-time, and the way he’s looking at me sends a rush of heat through me.

I meet him there when he ducks his head to kiss me. It’s him making a strange sound when I stand up so that I’m flush against him. I can feel all of him, him me. A small wave crashes against us and I stumble until he catches me at just the right time. We laugh together, our sound mingling with nearby notes of happiness: kids shrieking as they splash up a storm, squawking seagulls flying and dipping into the ocean, lazy guitar music tickling our ears. The most perfect day.

---

A phone call wakes me up. I hear murmuring from down the hall, until I hear an exclamation. I stop mid-stretch, waiting to hear more, but the whispers return and then nothing. Am I dreaming? It happens sometimes, whenever I shut off my iPhone alarm, feeling a false confidence that I’ll get up, and I descend into a dream where I do just that: wake up, eat breakfast, go to school, as if everything was normal.

I drift above myself until the cabinet door slamming shut wakes me up completely. I’m still in bed.

This time, I walk to the kitchen, clearing away the gunk from my eyes. Mẹ is washing dishes, her shoulders tense.

“You’re up early.”

I look to my dad for an explanation of her mood, but Ba is determinedly concentrating on his issue of Người Việt. It all feels… off, wrong… angry. What did she find out just now?

“What is it?” I ask hesitantly.

Mẹ twists the water handle closed. “I got a call. Someone is spreading bad rumors about us.”

“Rumors?” I sit down, nerves on edge. “What kind of rumors?”

“Con chuột,” Ba answers shortly. Then, making me jump, “Rats!”

“What?” I yelp. “We don’t have rats in our restaurant.”

“That horrible restaurant. That woman,” Ba mutters, directing his rant at Mẹ. Ba ignores me, his newspaper forgotten, and punches in some numbers on his cell phone. He disappears from the room; I can sense his anger but I can’t hear it.

He mentioned a woman. Only one person can get Ba this riled up. But rats—is Bảo’s mom truly capable of spreading this damaging rumor? The rumors before had been trivial—easily dismissible—aside from the one about Bác Xuân. But rats…

“Apparently someone noticed that we’d changed our tablecloths and place mats and somehow that led to the idea of us having rats. A customer called me and said so. Said she was trying to warn us. She said it was the Nguyễns spreading this rumor.”

“But that’s not true,” I say. “It can’t be.”

“You know how rumors go. We’ve discussed this.”

“No, I mean about the rats. Will people really fall for it?”

Mẹ turns, her mouth set in a thin line. “It will be hard to convince people that it’s all lies.”

“So what are you going to do?”

My mom merely shakes her head. “Go to school. This is not your issue.”

“Will everything be okay?” I ask.

“Ba is talking to the Health Department. They’ve already called us wanting to schedule an inspection, but we are trying to clear things up.…”

“Will everything be okay?” I repeat. She doesn’t answer, only leans against the counter, waiting for Ba to get off the phone with whomever he’s speaking to.