The Bride Test

by Helen Hoang

“I meant it when I said I’d marry you,” Quân said. “It’d just be a temporary thing, anyway. I’ll do my thing, and you’ll do yours. Separate rooms. We can divorce when the time comes.”

  “But . . .” She shook her head in bemusement. “Why help me?”

  A sad smile stretched over his lips. “Because I’m his big brother, and I need to make things right.” Then his smile warmed and reached his eyes. “And I like you and want to see you make it. It’s a small thing for me to do, but it means a lot to you, right?”

  The breath seeped out of her, and all she could say was, “Yes.” It was everything to her.

  He pushed the dress back toward her. “Really, it’s not a big deal to me, and my mom loves having you help at the restaurant. I don’t see any downside to this.”

  Tension built up inside. She had to tell him. He deserved to know. She stared down at the garment bag, unsure if she should pull it closer or push it away. It depended on how he reacted to what she was going to say. “I have a little girl. Jade. She was home. In Việt Nam. Khải . . .” She bit her lip and ran her finger along the zipper. “He does not know about her.”

  When a long moment of silence passed, she peeked up and found Quân smiling at her. She saw no judgment in his eyes. “I like kids.”

  “You do?” she said on an exhaled breath.

  “Sure.”

  “D-does Anh Khải?”

  He thought about it for a second before saying, “I think he’d like your kid.”

  “Do you still want to marry?” she made herself ask. Sweat misted her skin, but she continued, “I want her to come live with me—with us. And my má and ngoại.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Let’s do it. The more the merrier, right? It actually doesn’t matter much to me. I’m hardly home.”

  Her throat choked up, and she swiped the moisture from her eyes with the back of her arm as her body weakened with relief. “Then I am happy and grateful to marry you. But we do not need a nice wedding.” Honestly, she wanted a cheap one. She was going to owe Quân for the rest of her life, and she didn’t want to add an expensive wedding to her tab.

  He shook his head at her. “I can see you worrying. Don’t.”

  “But—”

  “It’s really fine, Esme.” And this time, there was a hard edge to his tone and expression.

  She nodded. “Okay, no worrying.” But that was a lie.

  Marrying Quân was the solution to all her problems. Once she married him, she could apply to schools as a legal resident and work for her tuition. She wouldn’t need a scholarship in order to pursue her new dream.

  But a large part of her still hoped Khải would intervene, and worried that he wouldn’t. Her future, even an empowered one, wasn’t perfect unless he was in it. And not as her brother-in-law.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Today was the day.

  Khai had done everything humanly possible to find a way out of this mess. He’d spent money, pulled strings, found encouraging leads—if he bought a racehorse, he could say Esme was a horse trainer and get her a special visa that way—but he needed more time. He was out of time.

  The wedding started in an hour.

  He’d changed into his tux and was ready to go, but he couldn’t bring himself to get into his car. That old playground song kept looping in his head. Esme and Quan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G . . .

  He’d lose his fucking mind if he saw Esme and Quan kiss. She was his to kiss, his to have and to hold, his to—

  His to what?

  He couldn’t stand looking at the now-empty glass on his coffee table, so he fled. He didn’t have a destination in mind, but of course, he ended up there.

  In the garage.

  He pressed the garage button, and as light filled the dark space, he advanced toward the bike. Dust particles sparkled in the sunlight like fireflies, and he breathed the old mustiness and gasoline-on-concrete smell into his lungs. For a moment, he shut his eyes, letting the scent take him back to a different time.

  He yanked the tarp off the motorcycle and ran his fingers over one of the black handles. Bumpy texture, the grooves that fingers had worn into the rubber, cold, lifeless. It was always this way. Always disappointing. Just like when he’d walked it home after Esme took it to the store.

  He ran his fingertips over the deep scratches on the side. He half expected to find blood in there, but his fingers met nothing but rough metal. Against the odds, this was all the motorcycle had to show for its collision with a four-ton semitruck. Andy hadn’t been so lucky.

  He’d been that 0.07 out of 100 who ended up in a fatal motorcycle accident. Because of Khai.

  Khai had asked him to come over. Maybe asked wasn’t the right word. He’d said something along the lines of, “Come over. Let’s do stuff.”

  There’d been grumbling about summer school homework, and Khai had told him to bring it and they’d do it together. More like Khai would just do Andy’s homework for him, but Khai didn’t care as long as Andy was there.

  “See you soon,” Andy had said.

  The drive from Andy’s parents’ place in Santa Clara to Khai’s mom’s place in East Palo Alto was about twenty-five minutes if you took Central Expressway, and Andy always did. He said the trees made him feel like a badass.

  But twenty-five minutes had passed. Thirty. Forty. An hour. And still no Andy. Khai had paced back and forth, aggravated and impatient, sick, and he’d flipped through the pages of every book he could find until the corners were permanently upturned like ski slopes. When the phone had rung hours later, an incomprehensible knowing had claimed him. He hadn’t picked it up. He’d stood still, rooted to the floor as his mom answered the phone. When she’d gone pale and sank against the counter, she’d confirmed his suspicion.

  “Andy’s dead.”

  Khai’s head had gone quiet and crystal calm. No feelings, no pain, no more sick worry, just pure logic. In that moment, a pattern had arisen. Two points made a line, and you could extrapolate the slope and direction from there. His dad had left their family for a new one. Andy had died.

  Bad things happened when he cared about people. But did he really care about them? Not if you compared his apparent level of caring to other people’s.

  He was pulling the motorcycle helmet over his head and straddling the bike before he realized what he was doing. A turn of the key in the ignition. The deafening roar of the engine.

  He shot out of the garage and sped down the street.

  He didn’t plan to, but his hands guided him to Central Expressway. To the soaring pines. Sunlight in a cloudless sky. The pressure of the wind on his body. How many times had Andy experienced this? Hundreds maybe. Before everything had changed, Khai had planned to get a bike so they could do this together. In a way, they were doing it together now. The engine drowned out the crashing of his heart, but he felt it inside. He felt everything. Exuberance, fear, excitement, sorrow. Most alive when you might die.

  He reached the place where three lanes merged into two, and a choking heat swelled over him. His lungs hurt, his muscles ached, his eyes stung. He brought the motorcycle to a skidding halt on the left shoulder and stumbled away, kicking up rocks and debris until he could brace himself against a pine tree.

  This was the place. Andy had died right here. But there was no more caution tape, no more deep gouges on the road, none of that stuff. Sun, rain, and ten years of time had eroded the site of the accident, so it looked like anyplace. Just like time had dulled his emotions to the point where his brain could process them. It wasn’t too much.

  But it was a lot. It was the death anniversary all over again. But now there was no Esme, and he was alone with this sadness. It dragged and crushed, swallowing him. He tore his helmet off so he could breathe, but the hot air suffocated him instead. He raked at his hair and rubbed at his face.

  And
when he lowered his hand, his fingers came away wet. For a second, he thought it was blood, but the shiny fluid shone clear in the daylight.

  Tears.

  Not because of dust in his eyes or frustration or physical pain. These were sad tears for Andy. Ten years late.

  He shook his head at himself. That took “delayed reaction” to an extreme. But he was an extreme kind of person.

  His heart wasn’t made of stone, after all. It just wasn’t like everyone else’s. Even without the tears, he’d know. He recognized he’d been deluding himself for a while. Quan was right.

  It was easier to keep people at arm’s length when it was for their own good instead of his. That way, he got to be a hero instead of a coward.

  But now, he didn’t care if he was a hero or a coward. All he wanted was to be Esme’s.

  When he checked his watch, he was dismayed to see it was 10:22 A.M. He’d been wasting time with an emotional episode—him, emotional—and the wedding started in thirty-eight minutes. He was going to be late, especially because it was impossible to find parking in San Francisco.

  For a car.

  A motorcycle, however . . .

  He swiped his sleeve across his face, pulled his helmet back on, revved the engine, and exploded onto the streets. Central Expressway W, 85N, 101N. He’d never ridden a motorcycle on the freeway, and it was terrifying and exhilarating. There were no layers between him and the cars speeding at seventy, eighty, ninety miles an hour.

  Most alive when you might die, indeed. He would have attempted a hundred miles per hour just for the hell of it, but he didn’t want to willfully push himself into that 0.07 percent.

  Once he reached the long stretch of the trip, he mentally tackled the problem at hand: He had a wedding to stop.

  And there was only one thing that would make Esme change her mind. Only one thing she wanted to hear.

  Three small words.

  And the last time he’d tried to say them, he’d almost gotten himself into a car accident. He might as well practice now since he was living on the edge.

  “I . . .” He tried to get the next word out, but his mind and body stubbornly resisted. Ten years of training were difficult to undo in such a short period of time. He forced the word out. “Love.”

  His heart jumped and started sprinting as fast as the motorcycle.

  “I. Love.” He took a heavy breath and plowed ahead with determination. “I love. I love. I love. I love, I love, I love.” The wind stole most of the sound, but he still felt ridiculous talking to himself.

  Until he added the last word.

  “Esme.” Everything softened inside of him. “I love Esme.”

  That felt good. That felt right.

  He hoped he wasn’t too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The minute hand on the clock ticked onto the six. Ten thirty A.M. and still no Khải.

  Esme hugged her hands over her stomach and stared at her reflection again. The bride in the mirror looked sophisticated and beautiful—a ten-thousand-dollar Vera Wang dress would do that to anyone—and pale as death.

  Khải wasn’t going to stop the wedding. She had to marry his brother.

  She’d told herself a thousand times he wouldn’t come, and yet, the reality of it still crushed her like a mountain. Tears threatened to spill and ruin her makeup, and she quickly blinked them away. She told herself to be happy. Any other girl back home would say this was a dream come true. Handsome husband, designer gown, city hall, extravagant floral bouquets, tons of guests, and on top of all that, she and her family would be able to stay. They’d have that new shiny life they’d hardly dared to hope for. She could follow her dreams and be a proper role model for her daughter.

  But it was the wrong handsome husband. Quân was great, but he wasn’t Khải. He hadn’t rushed to see her at the doctor’s office or carried her to the car afterward. He hadn’t kissed her like she was everything. He didn’t reserve his best smiles for her only.

  Without Khải, this wedding felt like a farce, but she was going to go through with it anyway. She’d told Quân everything, laid her secrets and flaws bare, and he still wanted her to have this opportunity. The government didn’t care about her, the schools didn’t, the scholarship organizations didn’t, but this one person did, and sometimes one person could make a world of difference. She was going to do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t regret helping her. She was going to make a difference to this world.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, feeling determination burn deep within. She wasn’t impressive in any way you could see or measure, but she had that fire. She felt it. That was her worth. That was her value. She would fight for her loved ones. And she would fight for herself. Because she mattered. The fire inside of her mattered. It could achieve and accomplish. People might look down on her, but she was making her way with as much integrity as she could with limited options. The woman in the mirror wore a wedding gown and high heels, but her eyes shone with the confidence and drive of a warrior.

  If that wasn’t classy, she didn’t know what was.

  “Má.”

  Esme turned away from the mirror just as a small body launched itself at her. Little arms wrapped around her waist, and her heart burst with incandescence. She hefted her girl up and hugged her tight, pressing their cheeks together like she always did, and that enormous love bloomed inside of her. Baby smell, baby-soft skin, little body—well, not as little now.

  “Here my girl is.”

  A little face snuggled close, and over her girl’s shoulder, Esme saw her mom and grandma walk into the room.

  They’d just arrived from Việt Nam yesterday and had to be exhausted and jet-lagged, but they’d both dressed in their fanciest áo dài and were grinning from ear to ear with excitement. Her mom even wore makeup. Esme had never seen her so beautiful, and suddenly, she was glad Quân had decided to have such an extravagant wedding. Weddings were as much for families as they were for the bride and groom, maybe more.

  “Already, let your mom go. You’ll ruin her dress,” her mom said as she urged Jade to climb down. Then she hugged Esme tight, and Esme couldn’t help catching the light smell of fish sauce from her mother’s clothes and hair and grinning. Esme had to be half Americanized now if she detected that scent. She didn’t mind it, though.

  Her mom pulled away and sighed with maternal pride as she looked at Esme in her gown. “Girl is sublimely beautiful.”

  “Truly beautiful.” Her grandma hugged her briefly, an extraordinary display of affection since older generations didn’t generally hug, and Esme caught the smell of more fish sauce. Instead of worrying about venting out the room, she breathed the smell deep into her lungs. It reminded her of home. She was a country girl, after all. Her origins didn’t define her, but they were a part of her. She refused to be ashamed of them.

  “Má looks like a fairy,” Jade said in awe before her forehead wrinkled. “Will Cậu Quân be my dad after this?”

  Esme sighed and brushed her fingers over her girl’s soft cheek. “I don’t know. Maybe. But don’t get your hopes up, okay? Cậu Quân is just marrying me to help us. It’s not a real marriage. Do you understand?”

  Jade’s expression turned solemn. “I understand.”

  “This place is too nice for it not to be a real marriage,” her mom insisted, looking at the fancy crown molding and furniture. “So clean, so big, air conditioning. He has good intentions, Mỹ à.”

  Esme didn’t have the energy to explain, so she sighed and lifted her shoulders. The four of them settled onto the couches, Jade right next to her mommy, and caught up on the gossip from home as the minutes ticked by on the clock.

  Esme grew antsier with each passing second until finally she hugged Jade close and shut her eyes, too distracted to concentrate on the talking.

  A knock sounded, and Quân
cracked the door open, walked inside, and shut the door behind him. He nodded at her grandma and mom and winked at Jade before focusing on Esme, looking dangerously handsome in his suit and tattoos. Maybe he appeared a little dazed, too. Esme had never looked so stunning, and she knew it.

  Recovering, he said, “It’s time.” He shrugged his shoulders to adjust his suit coat. “He’s not here, so let’s do this.”

  “Are you sure?” Esme asked.

  “Absolutely. Are you?”

  Esme stood up, brushed her skirts off, took a big breath, and nodded. “Yes. Thank you. For everything.”

  His eyes met hers and crinkled at the edges as he smiled. “Of course.” He opened the door and led Esme and her family into the hallway, where an older man in a suit waited with an elaborate bouquet of white roses in his hands. “This is my uncle. He’s going to walk you down the aisle.”

  The man smiled and bowed his head at everyone, murmuring polite greetings.

  “No, I’ll walk her down,” her mom said before she grabbed Esme’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve been both her mom and her dad since she was little. I should do it.”

  Quân smiled in surprise. “Okay, then. Bác will let you know when it’s time to walk. See you there.” He nodded at her once and ushered her grandma and Jade toward the ceremony location, leaving Esme and her mom there in the hallway with his uncle.

  She took shallow breaths and flashed a tight smile at her mom and Quân’s uncle as she battled a rising sense of panic. She was doing the right thing; she knew it. But her heart didn’t care. It wanted what it wanted, and that was not Quân or a fake marriage. Her heart wanted Khải, forever.

  Loud footsteps echoed down the marble hall, and for a second, her hopes rose. Maybe he’d come after all.

  But the footsteps faded before anyone appeared, and Esme’s hopes plummeted again.

  A cello started playing somewhere in the distance, and Quân’s uncle said, “This way.”

  He handed Esme the bouquet, and her hands went numb. Loud silence filled her head.