by Aimee Phan
“The only time he notices me,” Lum said, “is when I’m leaving.”
“Then stop leaving,” Cherry said, which thankfully elicited a smile from him.
The concrete of the freeway stretched far ahead of Lum’s car. She’d forgotten how long it took to get from their home in Newport Lake to Little Saigon. In rush hour, the drive could last up to an hour, but on a Sunday evening, the lanes felt empty and vast. They arrived at Quynh’s house in twenty minutes. Huy and Linh’s cars were already parked in the driveway.
Quynh met them at the door. When they walked into Quynh’s living room, Duyen and Linh had already annexed the couch, while Huy and Johnny lay splayed out on the shaggy carpet playing cards. Linh looked like she was about to fall off the couch, leaning so far over the side to talk with Huy and Johnny, her face nearly touching the floor.
“I thought you said you had to study,” Duyen said as Cherry took a seat on the empty recliner.
“I finished,” Cherry said, straining her eyes in the dim lamplight to glance over at the staircase. Lum and Quynh had already disappeared upstairs to her bedroom.
“Finally,” Duyen said. “You do more work at that school than Dat does as a premed.”
“I like studying,” Cherry said, feeling her cheeks flush with annoyance.
“But not all the time,” she said. “Not even you could like it that much.” Duyen giggled, her breath sweet with alcohol. “Now if you were still at our school, you could be at the top of your class without trying so hard.”
Cherry stared at her cousin’s half-empty beer bottle. “Don’t you have school tomorrow, too?”
“I’ll write a sick note,” Duyen said. “They never check anyway.”
“Hey, Cherry,” Linh said, sitting up. “Did you hear about Uncle Viet and Khanh?”
Cherry looked at Duyen, but she only smiled knowingly with Linh.
“They called off their engagement,” her cousin sang. “One of his other girlfriends confronted him when they were out at the movies last week. Now Khanh won’t take his calls.”
“They’ll get back together by next week,” Duyen said. “They always do.”
“Bet they don’t,” Linh said. “Because then I heard from Mommy this morning that Khanh’s first husband and their daughter finally got their immigration papers accepted. So she’s gonna go back to him so they can be a family again.”
“Such a hypocrite,” Duyen said.
“Isn’t she?” Linh said, then caught the frown on Cherry’s face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Cherry lied. Duyen was playing with Linh’s hair. For the last year, they’d been experimenting with hairstyles. When Cherry looked at them from behind, she couldn’t tell who was who, amid their current clean blocks of black hair with identical highlights.
Duyen and Linh never used to get along this well. Since they started working at the salon, shampooing hair and sanitizing the manicure and pedicure instruments, they found more things in common: makeup, music, boys. Mostly boys. Cherry shouldn’t have felt jealous. But while her brother and cousins all attended high school together, she stayed behind in middle-school hell. Her classmates didn’t know what to make of her. Cherry wasn’t outgoing and good at sports like Lum. Or pretty and thin like Duyen and Linh.
And she certainly hoped she wasn’t like Dat: best grades in class and zero friends. Even his sister wouldn’t eat lunch with him. Cherry tried to fold over her test scores when the teachers handed them back, but her classmates knew. So when her father earned his long-promised promotion at the plant and her parents could finally afford the new house they’d been coveting for months, it felt like a relief. While they claimed they were tired of the recent burglaries in the neighborhood, Cherry knew her parents’ tour of the magnet high school in Newport Lake was reason enough for them to ditch their ethnic enclave. Cherry relished the fresh start, the new opportunities. She could enroll in as many AP classes and geeky academic clubs as she wanted without being compared to anyone else.
While their cousins discussed hair color and Cherry flipped through the television channels, Huy and Johnny continued their unending game of Texas Hold’em. Eventually, Lum and Quynh returned, and he joined the boys in their poker game. Ever since they were little, watching Uncle Viet play poker at family parties, Lum and his friends had been obsessed with card games. Cherry had played it a few times, but her interest never lasted. While skill and cleverness were required, too much still depended on dumb luck.
Quynh and Duyen went outside to smoke, and since she couldn’t stand watching Linh pretend to care about poker, Cherry joined them. Quynh’s backyard reminded Cherry of their old yard: small, crowded, and sad. At some time, hydrangea bushes had been planted along the wire-fence borders, but they appeared in dire need of pruning, while the lawn had been left to burn out. Next door, they could hear neighborhood kids playing a night game of kickball, and grasshoppers chirping in the still warm autumn weather.
“She thinks she likes Huy,” Duyen revealed as they brushed cobwebs from the patio furniture.
“Since when?” Quynh asked, her eyes hidden under layered bangs.
Duyen deeply inhaled and exhaled before answering. “Oh, who knows? He’s not even her type.” Duyen wouldn’t elaborate. She never did, preferring simple, declarative statements without any supporting evidence. “Anyway, Linh’s only doing this to piss off her dad. The loser.”
“Is she really upset?” Cherry asked. Given how many times Linh’s family went through this drama, her cousin should have grown used to the routine.
“I didn’t tell you what she did,” Duyen said, her eyes brightening. “This morning, Auntie Tri was packing to leave, like she does every time, and Linh stopped her. She told Uncle Bao it was his turn to leave. She said she was tired of him shitting up their schedules. Can you believe that?”
“Good for her,” Quynh said.
“What did Auntie Tri say?” Cherry asked.
“She must have agreed with Linh because he’s gone.”
Quynh held up her cigarette and leaned forward. “Did you hear that?”
They listened. A footstep crunched leaves, and then another step. Duyen and Quynh both squashed their cigarettes. Cherry felt her breath shorten as the steps grew heavier, closer. A figure emerged from the side of the house.
“Jesus Christ,” Duyen said, spitting into the grass. “Are you spying on us?”
“No,” Dat said indignantly, stepping into the light, squinting, looking very much like the creepy stalker Cherry had expected. “Mom wants you home.”
“Why didn’t you just call here?”
“I tried, like three times. No one answered.”
“Fine.” She kicked her cigarette butt into the grass. “I need to get my purse. Stay here.”
Perhaps because it was dark, Dat didn’t realize he was gawking at Quynh. With his rimless eyeglasses, oversize UCI sweatshirt, khaki shorts, and slumped posture, he still didn’t look old enough to attend college. A breeze rustled the trees, sending a slight chill up Cherry’s arms and legs.
“How’s it going?” Quynh politely asked.
“Good,” Dat said, trying to casually lean one hand on Duyen’s chair, which scraped forward on the concrete. “So how’s o-chem? You have Manchikanti, right?”
“It’s fine,” Quynh said. “Didn’t do so great on the last lab, so I’m going to her extra tutorial on Fridays.”
“Right, I remember. I never went to those.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Well, it’s just … I never had to.”
“Oh,” Quynh said, nodding. “Good for you.”
“Thanks.” Dat avoided looking at Cherry, probably aware that she was horrified.
Duyen returned, with Linh skipping behind her.
“How’s your mom?” Dat asked.
Linh glared at him. “Fine,” she said, loudly popping her gum.
“So I’ll probably see you around campus?” Dat asked, looking only at Quynh.
“Sure, may
be,” she said.
“We could eat together if we have the same break in between classes,” Dat said, straightening his shoulders. “We probably do. I’ve seen you on Tuesday mornings near Tamkin Hall, but not always. You could e-mail me your class schedule, if you wanted, and I could find a good time.”
“She is not sending you her schedule,” Linh said, examining a chipped nail on her hand.
Duyen cleared her throat, yanking at her brother’s arm. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll see you next weekend at Lum’s birthday party,” Quynh said.
“Birthday party?” Dat echoed, swatting his sister’s arm away, suddenly interested.
“Yeah,” Quynh said, turning to look at Cherry, confused. “It is next weekend, right?” Their mother was planning a family dinner for Lum.
“Oh, right,” Dat said, his dopey grin nearly nauseating Cherry. “My mom mentioned it. I only briefly forgot. Good, I’ll see you there.”
Lum never appeared bothered by Dat’s crush on Quynh. It actually seemed to amuse him every time their cousin bumbled and stumbled around her. Quynh was the only person, aside from Grandmother Vo and his parents, Dat didn’t speak down to with a sneer. Lum hardly felt threatened. Though Dat was a full year older than Lum, he was significantly shorter and scrawnier. When they were kids, Dat argued that he simply hadn’t gone through his adolescent growth spurt yet, and told them they’d be sorry when he finally did. When that never arrived, he blamed his small size on not getting the proper nutrition he needed as a baby back in Vietnam, and that if he’d grown up in America, he’d certainly be as tall as Lum. But the other kids didn’t care that he was short. Nor did they hold his scholastic aptitude and academic awards against him. They didn’t like Dat because he was a jerk—a trait he cultivated all by himself.
“Such an idiot,” Linh said, after they returned inside, interrupting the boys’ round of cards and reporting on Dat’s latest awkward intrusion.
“He’s not that bad,” Quynh said.
“You can only believe that if you’re not related to him,” Linh seethed. While Quynh and Cherry sat on the couch, she stretched herself out on the floor, her hair fanned across the carpet, making sure Huy could see the exposed belly between her gray tank top and jeans. Her cheeks were pink, and Cherry wasn’t sure if it was from the multiple shots of Crown she reeked of, or genuine anger.
“Well, he’s not worth our breath,” Lum said, still concentrating on his cards.
“You remember that time when we were little and he narced on you at Grandmother’s birthday party?” Linh asked.
“Linh,” Cherry groaned.
“What? We were all there.”
“Then we’ve all heard it before,” Lum said.
“Not about what Uncle Chinh did after,” Linh teased.
“What happened?” Huy said.
“See?” Linh said, smirking. Cherry looked away, trying not to cringe. She shouldn’t have bothered. Once her cousin seized the attention of a room, nothing could shut her mouth.
“So Dat lies about Lum hitting him,” Linh continued, “and Lum gets spanked, right? But what you didn’t know was later that night, when Dat and his family got home, Uncle Chinh started screaming at him for being such a wimp. Like he should have defended himself against Lum, though we all know that could never happen. Next time we see him? He’s got a black eye. Won’t say where he got it, but we all know. His father was trying to teach him how to fight.”
She began to laugh. No one joined her. Cherry watched her cousin’s face flush a deeper shade of red as she hooted at the popcorn ceiling, nearly hysterical with tears. She wondered again how people could find Linh attractive. Yes, she was skinny. Yes, she had shiny, long hair. But the second she began speaking, the illusion of anything delicate, anything beautiful, shattered. At that moment, Cherry couldn’t imagine anyone, or anything else, uglier than her.
* * *
The house had been dusted and swept, with day-old floral arrangements prominently displayed in each room. Clusters of blue and yellow balloons bobbed along the stair banisters. As the birthday boy, Lum wore the light-blue button-down shirt their mother had picked out the previous weekend, and he allowed her to usher him from room to room for a not-so-spontaneous circuit of chitchat.
While their father was responsible for replenishing the buffet table, Cherry answered the front door and refreshed guests’ drinks. Most of the guests arrived on time and the dishes her mother and aunties had prepared were warm and savory. Every time she passed Grandmother Vo, she’d ask if Cherry knew Dat’s whereabouts.
“Maybe he’s not coming,” Cherry finally said, picking up her barely touched papaya salad. “Maybe he had to study.”
Grandmother impatiently shook her head, like she’d given the wrong answer. “Your cousin would never disregard a family function.”
When Cherry approached Lum and their mother, they were talking with the Ngos, a couple who had recently opened a dentistry practice in the old mini-mall complex where their mom used to work. When Cherry approached them, Mr. Ngo was explaining what an easy work schedule he had with his own practice.
“If I am tired and I need the morning off, I know she can help me out,” Mr. Ngo said, affectionately squeezing his wife’s shoulder. “Working with family has many benefits.”
“Dentistry school is not too long, is it?” their mother asked.
“It’s four years, just like medical school,” Cherry said.
Her mother shot Cherry an exasperated look. “But not as difficult, right?” she asked, oblivious to her offense. “Cherry is book smart, but Lum? More like me, more practical smart. Learns quick on his feet through experience.”
“You still need to pass the exams,” Mrs. Ngo said.
“Lum always had such nice teeth. I never had to remind him to brush and floss every day, not like his sister. Show them your teeth, sweetie.”
Lum offered up a demonstration, and Mrs. Ngo complimented his bite, which their mother gloated never needed to be corrected with braces.
The front door opened and Dat stepped in. Instead of greeting them, he walked directly to the dining room where his parents were getting second helpings at the buffet. After Dat whispered in their ears, Auntie Hien screamed, while Uncle Chinh’s face widened into a rare smile. Conversations around the house quieted, as all curious gazes fixated on Dat.
“What’s wrong?” Grandmother demanded from across the room.
Auntie Hien could barely stand still, clapping her hands like a little girl. “Tell them, darling.”
Dat looked around the room, his chin nearly raised to the ceiling. The chandelier above him glittered like a crown on his head. “I won a research fellowship at the National Institutes of Health for the summer.”
“In Washington, D.C.,” Uncle Chinh broke in. “They only select one student from UCI each year. And not even every year!”
“So prestigious,” Auntie Hien said, nodding in agreement. “Any student who has this fellowship will have his pick of medical schools.”
“That’s not always true,” Dat said, smiling sheepishly. “But it’s often the case.”
The guests crowded around him to offer their congratulations. Even Grandmother Vo called him over to her seat to give him a hug.
“Sorry,” Dat said when Lum shook his hand. “I didn’t mean to take any attention away from your party.”
“I don’t care,” Lum said. “It’s great news.”
Cherry walked into the kitchen, where she helped her dad load the dishwasher and put out the plates for cake and ice cream. They could hear her mother setting up the karaoke machine in the living room. Typically, Uncle Bao set up the karaoke machine, but since he and Auntie Tri were still fighting, he hadn’t been invited.
“Did your brother call Grandmère?” her father asked as they dried the dessert forks with some dishrags. She’d called earlier that afternoon, when Lum was out picking up ice bags.
“Not yet,” Cherry said.
“Tel
l him not to forget,” he said. “She wanted him to talk to Grandpère, too. He was having a good day today. Who knows how he will be tomorrow?” He sadly shook his head and continued to rub the forks dry.
Cherry wished their father could tell Lum himself, but they’d gotten into an argument that morning when Lum was opening his presents over breakfast. Their father had bought Lum a graphing calculator.
“The man at the store said it’s good for chemistry, calculus, biology,” their father proudly said, as Lum turned the box over in his hands. “Top of the line.”
“I’m not even taking premed classes,” Lum said, handing it back to him. “Couldn’t you have asked me before wasting your money?”
“You say no to foreign-language classes,” their father said, “and no to literature classes. And now you refuse to take science? Why are we even paying for you to go to school?”
Their mother sent Lum off to the grocery store to pick up extra ice. She then made Cherry’s father promise not to talk to Lum for the rest of the night.
“You want me to be happy today?” their mother told him. “You leave my son alone.”
So he did. Their father and Lum barely looked at each other all evening and were always on the opposite ends of the room. Even when Lum blew out his candles on the birthday cake, their father stood in the doorway of the dining room, looking more like one of the polite acquaintances than a proud father.
After the cake was served, many of the guests left, but their mother’s relatives and coworkers from the salon stayed behind to watch a Vietnamese movie. The kids loitered in the backyard, trying to organize carpools to Huy’s house for a poker game arranged in Lum’s honor. Cherry felt worn out, but her cousins threatened to make fun of her if she stayed in on another Saturday night. Duyen looked over and caught her brother lurking behind the screen door.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Is there room for another player?” Dat asked, half of his face hidden behind the doorframe.
“Are you kidding?” Linh asked, but Lum and Huy exchanged glances and smiled.
“It’s a five-hundred-dollar buy-in,” Huy said. “Cash only.”