A Pho Love Story

by Loan Le

  Lo and behold, she isn’t the only middle-aged Asian oohing and ahhing at the flowers being thrown to the crowd. With swiftness that surprises me, my mom jumps to grab a bunch, holding them over her head victoriously. Ba makes some joke, though I can tell he’s proud of her.

  Just then, I see the familiar swish of hair across the street, standing behind the fence. Linh. She leans over, peering for the next float to come by, and she’s smiling. That’s my girlfriend across the street. A real girlfriend. As opposed to…? says a voice strangely like Việt’s in my head.

  Could she be more beautiful? This time, she’s tied her hair in a side braid and is clapping along to the music.

  Linh is with her parents and another woman who must be her aunt. She has long hair just like Linh. She mentioned she was visiting. I push my way up to the front, earning some elbow jabs along the way, but I can’t help but feel as if something is pulling me toward her. I wave my arms wide, yell out her name.

  She notices.

  What are you doing? her panicked eyes seem to say.

  There’s nothing to be scared of anymore! Our parents know we’re seeing each other, I say back with my eyes. When nothing changes in her expression, I realize that we haven’t mastered telepathy just yet. Behind me, I hear my parents calling my name, confused.

  The crowd is so ferocious that it crushes me against the fence. Linh still looks scared. At this point, neither her parents or her aunt have noticed me… but then she does. The aunt, at least. Her face goes slack, stopping me in my tracks. I’ve never seen anyone turn white that quickly, but why at me? But her eyes don’t lock on me; they slide right past me… zooming in on my parents, who, I turn and realize, froze in the middle as well.

  It’s like the meeting at the Buddha temple again.

  Then something weird happens. Linh’s aunt turns…

  And runs.

  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.

  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.”