Chapter Forty-Eight: Linh

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT LINH

I never expected Bảo to be at my doorstep.

Or that he’d be able to come into the house at all. But that’s what’s happening now. He’s sitting next to me in the living room, as if we do this every week.

“You okay?” he asks, tucking a hair strand behind my ear, which makes me panic. My eyes go to my dad, who’s sitting in his usual chair; he keeps shooting us inquisitive glances, but if he disapproves of our proximity, he doesn’t say much. My mother, who let Bảo inside in the first place, is more preoccupied with my aunt, who, upon returning from the parade, walked straight into the master bedroom, locking the door. Not answering anyone, even my mother as she pleads for her to come out.

“What’s happening? Are you okay?” she asks through the door.

The bedroom door creeps open and we all stand when my aunt appears, red-eyed but otherwise composed.

“Sorry, I needed to collect myself.” Her eyes sweep the room before landing on Bảo, the only one who doesn’t belong. Seconds pass, the silence grows disconcerting. “I saw you at the fair, but to see you in the daylight like that… you really do look like your uncle.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“How much do you know?”

I speak for myself and Bảo, explaining how Bác had told me about our families knowing each other back in Vietnam. About the photo I found, which was when Bảo sheepishly recounted his story about what his mother said—not the accusation—but the distress that she expressed when she found out we knew each other.

Mẹ sits silently, nervously, as Ba stands by the living room window, watching us.

My aunt turns back to Mẹ. “I already knew they were here.”

“How?”

“Does it matter?” my aunt counters. “Now why didn’t you tell me all of this?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you again. I didn’t want to bring up memories that were meant to be forgotten.”

Dì Vàng shakes her head. “That was a long time ago. I’m an adult now.”

“You were in love with him,” Mẹ says. “And he left you without a thought. That was his fault. And his family’s. And it was all unforgivable.”

“Do you know why he left?” my aunt asks sharply. “He was to inherit the family business.”

“That’s a reason to celebrate, not abandon you. He should have been taking care of you.”

Dì Vàng scoffs, throwing her hands up. “Of course! Because I was destined to be poor just because I’m an artist.”

“We all know the struggle. You couldn’t just ignore it. It was the reality.” My mother looks to me now, only this isn’t about me. “Our parents were just doing their part and looking out for you.”

“But I’m here. And I’m fine, you didn’t need to protect me. You don’t have to.”

“You’re lying to yourself. I knew you were sad after he left. And I could barely speak to his family after that. How could I? When they were the ones who drove him away, convinced him of a better match.”

“They’re not to blame at all,” Dì Vàng says.

“How? How do you know?” Mẹ demands. My dad mutters something; I suspect it’s to tell her to calm down, but he’s silenced with a withering glance.

“Because I was the one to tell him to leave.”

The puzzle dislodges again, my understanding of this very weird situation disappearing in a millisecond. My eyes move between my mom and Dì Vàng, a staring contest in play, both willing the other to speak first. Ba sits silently, arms crossed, his expression emotionless.

“What?” my mom whispers.

“What no one knows, no one but me and Bảo’s uncle, is that we were never together.”

“Gì? Nói lại,” my mother says, confused.

“We were a distraction. He liked Huyền.”

“Huyền?” Mẹ looked away, a hardened version scoffing at the name. Now I wonder what that woman did to get on my mother’s bad side.

“Yes, Huyền.”

“Who was she?” I ask.

“Neighborhood girl,” Dì Vàng explains quickly. “But her family was poorer than both of ours and Cam’s family would have never approved of the match.”

“Hmm,” my mom mutters dismissively. “Because they were prejudiced.” Bảo stiffens beside me. First time over and he’s indirectly insulted by my mother.

“I could say the same about ours,” my aunt retorts, her tone severe enough to rival my mom’s. “Financial security, wasn’t it? Ultimately that’s why our parents approved of us so much.

“But Cam was my best friend. And he loved my other friend, so I pretended that I was seeing him whenever we left the neighborhood, but I was really bringing him to see Huyền.” Once the last words leave her, her secret finally released, she sits down. She touches her necklace in thought. “Then the whole engagement happened and we were swept up with family expectations, trying to make things work out.

“Remember, Huyền had to leave because her parents fled first. And then he was so sad. I couldn’t get a word out of him. I couldn’t make him happy, even as his best friend. So I told him to go after her. Life was already miserable back home because of Viet Cong, you know that. Having a broken heart as well?” My aunt shakes her head. “So I told him to go. Find her wherever she is and tell her the truth. Start a new life together.”

She exhales shakily. “I didn’t think he would lose his life along the way.”

I look over at Bảo, his mouth slightly opened at the revelations emerging in our living room. He’d been in the dark just like I was, and now things are just beginning to make sense. These decades of blame from our families manifesting in what we thought was just a silly competition.

“That can’t be true,” Mẹ says.

“It is.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“How would I even begin to explain myself? It was, to everyone, a perfect match. Mẹ and Ba”—hearing my aunt mention her parents makes her sound young again—“it was something they were happy about too.”

“But Cam’s family—they blame you. Don’t you remember how angry you were at each other? The yelling that happened. His sister said horrible things.”

“She’d lost her brother.”

“Still! They shouldn’t have said you were heartless. Worthless.”

Is that when things went sour?I remember my mom’s reaction when she saw the picture of me and Bảo. Her anger overpowered me, overpowered any logic. I can only imagine the ugly words that flew between our families.

“My family doesn’t know the truth, do they?” Bảo asks. Mẹ’s eyes fly to him, widening before narrowing, as if she’s just realized who she actually let in. “That’s why they’re still angry at your family.”

“The things that were said were hurtful. But they didn’t hurt me. They were hurt. They’d just lost a son. A brother.” She turns to my parents. “If you lost me, wouldn’t you react the same way, look for someone to blame?

“There’s only so much anger you can hold. But I’m hopeful, because here are Linh and Bảo, willing to move past this.”

“Bảo’s great,” I say. “And his family cares about him just as much as you care about me.”

He squeezes my hand, a smile playing on his lips. This time I don’t blush; I’m bolstered by his silent agreement. “When a bunch of racists hounded our place and nearly everywhere else in Bolsa, he wrote an article, for all of us. Because it’s right.”

My aunt appraises him and, based on her smile, seems to think more of him. “He wrote what he thought was best. He didn’t let a little history get in the way of what’s right.”

Bảo shifts in his seat. “What if you spoke to my family?”

My mom sits up straight. “What? No, no, no, it’s too much. I don’t want to see them. It’s… too much has happened.”

“All because I held back the truth for years. And now look at what happened. I have to take the blame for that. We’re going,” my aunt says.

“But—”

My aunt turns to me, then brings her gaze up to Bảo. “Call your parents.”

Even though he suggested it, his Adam’s apple nervously bobs as he nods.