Chapter Forty-Nine: Bảo

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE BẢO

My mom paces the restaurant, nervously smoothing out her dress, the same one she wore for our on-camera interview. She’s pretending to mutter to herself—meaning, very out loud at me and Ba—about how Linh’s family has the nerve to come over uninvited, like uncultured swine.

Never mind the fact that Linh’s family called to explain their visit.

Or that I told them Linh’s aunt would be here too.

Or that the time was one that my mom decided.

Not knowing what to do with myself, I join my father in the kitchen, where he uses a ladle to pour chanh muối—salty limeade—from a large jar into six drinking glasses. Limes are packed tightly for months, then finished off with a bit of sugar, water, and ice. I find myself salivating; I haven’t had it since I was little.

Ba looks up briefly, finishing the last glass. “They made the best lemon tea. Linh’s grandmother. After school, we would all go to her grandmother’s house for a glass. It was refreshing.”

“Oh,” I say, unsure how to respond to the comment, a memory about the other family, whom they’d hated for so long, shared so willingly. I’m saved from answering as he gestures for me to bring the glasses out and place them on the table.

The light falls on our family’s black-and-white photos, which have watched over me as long as memory serves me. The sight of them sends me some hope. Whatever happens today, they will be our witnesses.

As I wait at the front desk, tuning out my mother’s dark thoughts, eager for a glimpse of movement outside the windows, I can’t help but feel a strange sort of calm, too. An inevitability that started the moment my mother let Linh into the restaurant, despite her family and who she is.

I hold on to the feeling when I see Linh leading her family over.

“They’re coming.”

“So what!” my mom calls out, but she leaves the kitchen, starts fretting with the dishware and silverware.

“How are things over here?” Linh murmurs once inside. We stay back as our families file into the dining room.

“Frickin’ weird.” I don’t take my eyes off our families, together in one place. It’s like I’m watching my favorite television show live for the first time: familiar players but unknown outcomes. “I checked my mom for weapons and she’s clean.”

Linh stifles a laugh, then squeezes my hand before letting go too early. I run my hand down her back in a fleeting gesture of comfort—for the both of us—before focusing on our respective parents in the dining area. My mom saw this interaction, brief shock sparking in her eyes, but says nothing.

She stands stiffly next to Ba

“It’s been a while,” Linh’s mother says.

“It has.” My mom nods at Linh’s aunt. “I didn’t know you were visiting.” Her familiar brisk tone has given way to a different sound. I realize then that her voice is wavering.

At Ba’s gesture, we all sit at once: three on each side of the booth, with Linh’s aunt pulling up a chair at the head. I can’t remember how to move my hands, where to put them. Linh throws me a hesitant smile across the table. Her ankle brushes up against mine.

“Are you staying in America for long?” Mẹ asks.

“Yes, only a few weeks. I’ve been planning on visiting for a while. So far things have been exciting.” Linh’s aunt keeps her tone light and airy; she’s treating this like a regular occurrence.

“And what do you do now over in Vietnam?”

“I’m still an artist. I sculpt. I make jewelry and vases.” She reaches into her bag and places down a figurine—a red dragon with yellow spots along its body. My mom doesn’t touch it. Ba’s the one to take it in hand.

He nods solemnly. “A beautiful dragon.” Still he pushes it an inch back to Linh’s aunt.

“Don’t you know why it’s a dragon?”

Here I’m lost and fascinated at once—nameless emotions cloud, then disappear from my mom’s face.

Dì Vàng’s smile is wry. “Year of the Dragon. Cam’s year.”

My mom glances down once at the dragon before clearing her throat. “Why is it that you’re here?”

“I was surprised to see you at the parade. Linh had mentioned you, but seeing you so abruptly, I ran. I remembered our last encounter. I remembered what we said. And now I think it’s time we put this all to bed.”

“What is there to say?”

Linh’s aunt inhales. “I know you blame me and my family for your brother’s death. That you think I somehow hurt him and made him leave the country, and that’s how he died. And what I want to say is that I am guilty. But not in the way you think.”

My mom leans forward, the chair creaking.

“Before he left, Cam wasn’t in love with me. He was in love with someone else.”

“Are you saying he was unfaithful?” My mom starts rising from her seat, ready to defend her brother’s honor, yet Linh’s aunt remains seated, shoulders squared—just like Linh when she has her mind set. Even though we’ve barely spoken to each other, I’m beginning to like her. This is someone who, long ago, knew how to stand her ground against my mom, a force of nature even though she was younger.

“I’m telling you the truth. My truth. And his.”

“It’s not his truth, since he is not here.”

“He was in love with Huyền. Remember her? The granddaughter of the woman who always sold fish to the neighborhood on Saturday mornings? The freshest kind! Didn’t we all used to admire how neatly she was able to braid her hair?”

My mom’s brow is creased. “She told us her grandfather would braid it. Because her grandmother’s hands always smelled of fish.” She sounds far away, her mind’s eye sifting through memories.

“Yes! Huyền. She was a lovely girl. So smart. So beautiful.” Linh’s aunt pauses. “The only strike against her was that she was poor and her parents had abandoned her.

“Cam and I were close, so I knew of his feelings. I always knew. The whole time, I was the one orchestrating their visits, giving them time to spend with each other while you all thought we were together.”

“Why?” my mom breathes.

“Because I did love him. And because I knew he was happy with her.”

“But the engagement—why… how?” Ba asks.

“Like I told my sister, we were just swept away by it. We couldn’t get out of it. I saw that Cam was miserable. But everyone was so stuck in their ways. And so Cam resigned himself to it.”

“If he was so resigned—you would have been married,” my mom says harshly.

“I told him to go. You know how vocal he was? How miserable he would have been in that country? Even if she hadn’t gone, he would have eventually left.”

“And he died.”

“And that’s something I’ll never forget. But then I think of it: Who controls the storm? How can anyone divine the seas?

“Don’t you know that I feel the same way? That if I could make him love me that would be enough? But that’s impossible. You can’t control who you love, any more than anyone can control the seas that took him from you. From me.” Her voice cracks. “From all of us.”

Linh looks at me.

I hold Linh’s gaze.

“Không bao giờ em không nhớ Cam.”

There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t remember him.

A pause so long that we can hear the kitchen fan rumble and the clock in the back of the room tick away. The air returns, allowing us to move. In this moment, we’re all standing on a precipice.

I hold my breath as Linh’s aunt reaches over, clasping my mom’s hand. She doesn’t pull away. “Cam is gone.” But she gestures to everyone. “And don’t you think he would be even more upset to see how our families turned out in the end? We were once so close.

“We were like family. We suffered together. We celebrated together. To hear what has happened all these years in between—which I only found out because Linh told me—it’s just wrong. This… rivalry.”

My mom raises her chin. “It’s natural for restaurants to compete against each other.”

“Ours was not natural,” Linh’s mom interjects.

“What did you expect? Your mother was always the better chef and she was the one to teach you how to cook. Of course I felt intimidated when you arrived on the scene.” Never in a million years did I think my mom would admit her recipe was inferior.

“We didn’t know you were across from us when we agreed to buy the restaurant from Bác Xuân. We never meant to compete; it was a way to provide for our daughters.”

“Who turned out brilliantly,” Linh’s aunt adds, throwing a proud look at Linh, who tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. I’m briefly distracted by the blush on her cheeks. “And it seems like your son has grown up admirably because of your hard work, too.” I scratch the back of my head as Linh playfully kicks me under the table. “We can all agree on that.”

She softens her tone. “But isn’t always competing with each other tiring? At what point will you have won? Either of you?”

I’m not sure if my parents have ever asked themselves that question. But I know the answer. There is no point to it. There’s no winning if all this competition has been masking a war on matters unrelated to the number of customers that come in, the number of bowls sold each day.

By the way my mom sags into her seat, she’s probably just reached the same conclusion. Her eyes skirt over to our wall. She might be looking at her brother, having a silent conversation with him.

“Bác Xuân… By selling the restaurant to you, I sense he was trying to get us to forgive each other.”

“Very unsuccessful,” Linh’s mom says.

“He was always nosy.”

“So nosy.”

“Ông tò mò,” Linh’s aunt says, and she turns to her sister. “Wasn’t that what our mother always called him?”

“My parents called him much worse names.” Wait. Is my mom hiding a smile? It can’t be. I turn to Linh, who appears just as shocked by what’s unfolding now.

“Thôi, không nói nữa,” my dad says, his bones creaking as he rolls back his hunched shoulders.

“Mình làm gì được bây giờ?” her dad mutters in agreement.

What can we do now?

Our dads arrive at an agreement first and now it’s up to our mothers.

Our parents glance down at the plates, pushing around their food, running out of words.

Dì Vàng takes a sip and winces. “Chua quá, chị.” Too sour.

I gulp. This is it. Everything will be derailed.

Then, unbelievably, a full-blown smile appears on her face. “Some things really don’t change.”

Instead, my mom sniffs in a way that tells me she’s not really mad. “Blame your mother. She never wanted to give me her recipe.”

---

Our families have a lot of catching up to do. Their reminiscences continue, pushing me and Linh out of the conversation. But it’s fine, because at least everything is out there, finally out there. Sharing one look, we rise from the table, and me and Linh head outside. We find a spot by the curb and sit down—right across from the very spot where we shared our very first laugh.

Linh rests her head on my shoulder. “Is this a dream?”

I laugh before dropping a kiss on her crown. “If it is, let’s stay inside it for just a little while longer.”

“Do you think everything’s going to be okay?”

Linh turns her head to look back at our families and says, “They can’t really forget the past, though. With one like theirs it’s too impossible. But will they be able to move forward now?” Her gaze lands on me again. “I think so.”

I squeeze her hand in agreement.