by Aimee Phan
“That was a long time ago,” he said finally. “So what?”
“So what?” Cherry repeated furiously. “So maybe he isn’t a huge fan of our grandmother?”
“I approached Thinh. He’s never met Grandmother.”
“You don’t think he could have figured it out?”
“I have all the details worked out,” Dat said. “Thinh is not in control. I am.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I know Grandmother’s reasons, but you don’t even like Lum.”
“He’s family,” Dat said, sounding offended. “Lum just needs to learn his lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“That this isn’t the proper way to succeed. That you can’t cheat. It takes hard work.”
“You mean, he needs to be more like you?”
“I’m sick of him dragging everyone down around him. She deserves better.”
“She?” Cherry repeated. He was silent. “You mean Quynh? Are you doing this to impress her?”
“You know, I’ve taken hours away from my valuable personal time to help your brother. I’m not going to apologize for who I am. And you’re not so different from me, you know.”
“Yes, I am,” Cherry said.
“Oh, really? Why did you agree to Grandmother’s plan? Because you were thinking of yourself. He emptied your bank account. He probably has gotten into your parents’ accounts, too. You know college isn’t cheap, Cherry. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
His accusations stuck in her head as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and prepared for bed. Were she and Dat so different? They both valued education and diligent work and disdained shortcuts and stupidity. The only meaningful difference was that Cherry once had an older brother who looked out for her, who made sure she never felt outcast as a nerd, or a sellout, or a banana. Cherry rearranged her pillow a third time. Through their shared wall, she could hear Lum pacing in his bedroom, probably smoking a cigarette out the window. For several minutes, she contemplated getting up, walking to his door, knocking. But as Cherry thought about what she would say, how she could explain herself, she must have fallen asleep, because then it was morning. Lum had already left.
* * *
When Cherry was very young, her mother liked to remind her, she thought Lum was her other dad. While their mother tended to her nail clients, Lum and Cherry sat in the salon’s back room, watching cartoons on a portable television with an antenna that could only pick up three channels. Lum taught her to imitate English from watching The Price is Right and Popeye the Sailor Man cartoons. To get her to eat her vegetables, Lum proclaimed anything green in her rice bowl to be spinach. Even though Cherry knew it wasn’t true, she delighted in his fib because she knew he designed the lie especially for her.
As they got older, he confided things they couldn’t share with their parents: a low quiz grade he got in social studies class, or a skateboarding trick he tried with friends at the park. Cherry wasn’t sure how she earned his trust, but she protected it, promising herself that she’d never judge him (like their father did) or secretly wish he could be more studious (like their mother did). She’d never make him feel like Dumb Lum, just like he never made her feel like the fat cousin, the genetic blemish compared to Duyen and Linh. When Cherry was thirteen, after a humiliating evening at the Harvest Dance, the last school dance she’d ever attend, she asked her brother to tell her honestly if he thought she was ugly. He said no. Lum told her she was beautiful and that she had to believe him because he was never wrong.
For his twenty-first birthday, Lum requested no party. Their mother complied, but convinced him to have a family dinner, just the four of them. Lum hardly spoke throughout the meal, frequently checking his watch. When Cherry smiled at him, he looked away. After eating store-bought vanilla cupcakes, their father placed an envelope in front of Lum. Cherry’s brother opened it: a postcard of the Eiffel Tower at sunset.
“We’re taking you to Paris next month,” their father said. “Grandmère and Grandpère are already expecting us.”
Lum let the card slip from his fingers. The Eiffel Tower slid off his lap to the dining room carpet. Cherry pushed her seat away from the table, crossing and uncrossing her jittery legs.
“But I have work,” Lum said, then nodded in his sister’s direction. “She has school.”
“Cherry’s spring break is next month,” their mother said, walking to the table with a pot of jasmine tea. “And you can take off work, can’t you?”
“Why now?” Lum asked, his eyes narrowing. “Why wouldn’t we just go next summer?”
“Your grandpère is sick,” their father said. “This might be our last chance to see him.”
Lum stared at their father for a moment before looking away. “I don’t believe you.”
“Darling,” their mother said.
“He’s lying,” Lum cried, startling Cherry in her seat. “He just wants to get rid of me.”
“Stupid child,” their father said. “We’re going as a family. You haven’t seen your grandparents in years.”
“Since when was that so important to you?” Lum asked. “You want to keep me away from my friends.”
“What friends do you have left?” their father asked. “You’ve driven everyone away. It’s only a matter of time before poor Quynh tires of you, too.”
“Then what is it? Why do you need me to leave the country so badly?”
“You wanted to raise your children here?” their father asked, turning to his wife. “Well, here is your American son. Selfish, disrespectful, practically unemployable except as a delivery boy and nickel gambler—”
“Sanh!” their mother said.
Her brother stood. “Thanks for the plane ticket. I’ll just cash it out.”
“Lum,” their mother said.
“Enjoy your little family reunion,” he said, slipping his arms into his jacket. “I’m sure you won’t even miss me.”
While Cherry and her father sat at the table in silence, Lum stormed through the house, their mother following him, entreating him to stay. He ignored her, grabbing his keys, slamming the garage door. As he started his car engine, Cherry could hear her mother sobbing through the garage walls.
Cherry’s mother returned to the table. When her father tried to take her hand, Tuyet slapped it away. “Have you forgotten how to speak?” she asked, glaring at her daughter.
“Me?” Cherry asked. “What did you want me to say?”
“Something,” her mother said. “You could have said something.”
* * *
The Tet Festival in Little Saigon was the only outdoor event their extended family bothered to attend regularly. Other holidays, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, Fourth of July, were barely acknowledged. If it wasn’t Christmas, Cherry’s parents considered it an American excuse to not work. But Lunar New Year was the glorious annual exception, an opportunity for the entire community to boast its local pride.
The festival took place at the high school’s athletic fields, and over the years, had grown larger and more elaborate, with a stage for a talent show, and a petting zoo with ducks, chickens, and piglets. Children sang folk songs, Vietnamese veterans marched in formation, and everyone chewed on overpriced scallion-seared corncobs and tart papaya salads in Styrofoam cups. During Tet, Grandmother Vo voluntarily walked outside for more than an hour, though always with her sun umbrella.
This year, Duyen had the idea for the salon to host a booth in the community section of the fair. She thought they could give discounted hand and foot massages to raise money for an orphanage in Vietnam. Cherry’s mother and aunts encouraged the idea—such good publicity for the salon—and Duyen was put in charge of organizing it. Duyen took out an ad in the festival program, calling the event “One Hundred Hands and Feet for the Children.” She enlisted Linh to coordinate the massages, and Quynh and Cherry to facilitate the appointments and to collect money.
The night before Tet, the girls met at the beauty salon to fold flyers
and to make signs. The salon smelled of bleach and Exotica, Duyen and Linh’s latest perfume. The television played an old episode of a Paris By Night show. Linh couldn’t find any other videos to play in the salon. Cherry hid a chemistry book under a stack of flyers, stealing peeks when she could.
“Do you know how wretched people’s feet are going to smell after walking around all day at the fair?” Linh asked, shaking her magic marker to eke out more ink. “Why can’t it just be ‘One Hundred Hands for the Children’?”
“We already agreed to give foot massages in the program,” Duyen said. “And I’ll do the feet if you’re so picky. I give better massages anyway.”
As she folded flyers, Quynh kept turning around, supposedly to look at the television, which hung next to the wall clock. Then she would check her cell phone. She hadn’t gone with Lum and Dat to the Tet poker tournament. Quynh was usually so good at looking calm, even when Lum was losing, stubborn in her faith in him. Cherry hoped when it was all over and done she’d stay with him. Cherry didn’t know if Lum could handle losing Quynh, too.
Quynh wandered off to pick up some drinks, but after ten minutes, Duyen delegated Cherry to go fetch her. Cherry found Quynh in the food court, sitting next to the water fountain in front of the stage, where they used to hold the annual beauty pageants and local variety shows. For Tet, the business association had stocked the fountain full of fresh goldfish. Most of them would die within a few months, but for now, the water glittered with bursts of gold and silver. When Cherry was little, she used to count them, charting how many survived each day. The last one would hold on for a week or so, swimming alone, until it, too, floated to the surface. Cherry always pitied the last goldfish—imagining its loneliness, its anxiety. Quynh sat in the white plastic chair, staring at the bubbles from the waterfall.
“You can call Lum,” Cherry suggested, pulling up a chair next to her. “They must take a break, right?”
Her brother’s girlfriend reached over to flick the water gently, and six fish immediately scattered from her disturbance. “You know I love your brother.”
“Yeah,” Cherry said cautiously.
“But if I know he’s doing something wrong,” Quynh said, “something dangerous, I should say something, right?”
Cherry leaned forward. “Tell me,” she said.
Quynh’s eyes remained transfixed on the goldfish as she confessed how Lum had learned about Dat’s plan. He’d known for several weeks. Lum had approached Thinh one afternoon when Dat wasn’t around to inquire about a loan. Feeling guilty about borrowing so much of Dat’s money, Lum wanted to pay him back and start a separate line of credit with the poker club. Thinh then assured Lum that his cousin had plenty of funds—both to bankroll his playing and to pay the club to control Lum’s game.
As Quynh continued, Cherry struggled to listen, but her heartbeat was growing louder, crowding out everything else. Her arms and legs had stiffened, her fingers clenching the chair. Lum wanted to confront Dat, but Thinh talked him out of it. He said he liked Lum and wanted to help him out. Thinh thought the two of them could team up, squeeze Dat for even more cash, and split the money.
It would culminate at the Tet Tournament. While Dat expected Lum to lose early on and for the club to finally kick them out, Thinh would instead offer Lum another buy-in. He’d then continue to lose his bets, anteing up more, far beyond what Dat had already arranged with Thinh. Dat could try to stop it, but could he really stand up to Thinh and the rest of the poker club? And at the end of the night, when the house was looking to settle, they’d remind Dat that he was responsible for Lum’s debts. Every penny.
Cherry closed her eyes, imagining across town the panic Dat must have been feeling. “What if Dat doesn’t have the money?” she asked.
“They’re going to beat him up,” Quynh said sadly, almost matter-of-factly. “It’s what Dat was planning for Lum.”
“That’s not true,” Cherry said.
“It is,” Quynh said, shaking her head. “I didn’t want to believe it, either, but Thinh had Lum listen to a voice mail Dat left on his cell phone.”
“Oh God,” Cherry said.
“I tried to convince your brother to hold them off,” Quynh said. “They might give Dat a few hours to leave and collect the money, but I’m scared. Lum thinks he can trust Thinh, but you met the guy. He’s a punk. What if he’s trying to scam both of them?”
“We have to warn Dat.”
“It’s too late, it’s already happening.”
“They promised me they weren’t going to touch Lum,” Cherry said, breathing deeply, trying to calm her voice. “They promised.”
Quynh tilted her head, looking at Cherry. “Who is they?”
Cherry took in a breath, saying nothing.
“You already knew,” Quynh said.
Cherry finally nodded.
Quynh slapped the plastic table next to them with both of her hands. Hard. “Who else?” she demanded.
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“Say it.”
She looked to the floor. “Dat’s getting the money from Grandmother Vo.”
Quynh sat back in her chair, blinking.
“I wanted him to stop,” Cherry said. “We all did.”
“I should have known,” Quynh said. “Dat never would have done this on his own. Of course your grandmother was using him.”
Cherry wiped the tears from her eyes again and looked at her watch. She didn’t know how long the game was, or even where it was taking place. “I need to find them.”
“No!” Quynh yelled, standing, holding up her hand, looking revolted. “No. I will tell Lum. You stay here. You don’t do anything until I tell you, okay?”
* * *
“One Hundred Hands and Feet for the Children” grew a line around the corner, edging out the popular kissing and karaoke booths at the festival. Everyone, from little girls to grandmothers and even high school boys, waited their turn, fanning themselves with the discount coupon flyers. The allure of cheap foot rubs was too good for fairgoers to resist.
Cherry worked the registration table, trying to remember the occasional smile. She couldn’t have her mother or cousins asking her any questions. Not yet. She hardly slept last night, waiting for Lum to come home, which he never did. Cherry had called Lum and Quynh, but neither had called her back. She tried Dat’s cell phone, but he never picked up. So instead, she sat at her family’s festival booth, scanning the crowds, bracing to find one of their familiar faces.
“Can’t we cut off the line?” Linh complained, as yet another sweaty pair of feet slipped out of its sandals into her swollen hands. “I bet we’ve rubbed at least two hundred hands and feet by now.”
“We are honoring every coupon,” Duyen said. “We have a reputation to uphold.”
“But I’m tired,” Linh whined, reaching for another squirt of the lavender-scented lotion, a fragrance Cherry had come to revile.
Around lunchtime, Cherry spotted Lum standing a few feet from the booth. Cherry frantically waved, but he shook his head, holding two fingers to his lips, and walked away.
“I need to pee,” Cherry said, putting down her stack of coupons and standing.
“Well, hurry back,” Linh hollered. “And could you get us some more soda?”
She’d lost him in the crowd. Festival attendance had reached its peak. Cherry passed through the cultural village, where children pawed at the farm animals in the petting zoo and families posed in front of the blossoming plants, and the food booths, where even the aroma of charbroiled pork and spicy rice noodles could not distract her. The game vendors heckled that for only one dollar she could toss a ring and win a giant stuffed cow to celebrate the Year of the Ox. Cherry even circled the charity booths.
She finally found Lum in the second row of seats at the cultural stage, his arms spread across the chair backs like he was sunbathing, watching a group of children perform a traditional folk dance routine. There weren’t many people in the audience, only proud pare
nts shouting encouragement and taking photographs. The back rows were sparsely filled with sunbathing teenagers, loudly talking throughout the show. Her mother made her perform in one of these Tet dance groups when Cherry was six. She’d cried so hard during the show that her mother agreed afterward she never had to do it again.
Lum didn’t look up when Cherry stood in front of him, his eyes following the performers. A picked-over plate of noodles sat in the chair next to him. She picked up the soggy plate and sat, facing her brother. A toothpick dangled between Lum’s teeth.
“Where is Dat?”
“Oh, that’s funny,” he said, picking a scallion from his teeth. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Cherry looked around the audience. “Do you know if he’s safe?”
Her brother finally looked over at her for a moment, his eyes wide, mocking. “I had no idea you had so much concern for our cousin.”
“You have to call Thinh and his boys off of Dat.”
“Why? If he thought this was the perfect lesson for me, I’m sure he can learn from it, too.”
“Dat isn’t like you—”
“What are you saying? That I deserved it?”
“No,” Cherry said, struggling to still her hands in her lap.
“Let’s not worry about him for a moment, okay? Why don’t we talk about you? Because I am curious to know how my perfect little sister could tear herself away from school long enough to betray me.”
Cherry closed her eyes. “I wanted to help—”
“Help me!” Lum laughed, loud enough that a father in the row in front of them turned to give a disapproving glare. “Because our family is so good at that, right?”
Cherry cringed. “Fine,” she said. “That doesn’t mean siccing these goons on Dat is the answer.”
“He owes us money.”
“It was never yours.”
“I disagree,” Lum said. “I worked very hard to earn that money. I smiled and talked with that idiot even though he lied to my face every day. I watched him drool over my girlfriend. I let Grandmother and Dat believe they were conning me. I played to lose, which I never do.”