Page 40 of Dirty Husband
Of course, Shepard could afford that kind of thing. What does it run, a billboard asking for marriage, announcing love, telling the worldshe's mine?
I pull back with a sigh. Focus on the taste of oolong. It's no good. I can taste him. And I want more. My entire body is screamingmore, more, more.
My cheeks flush. My chest too. I brush my hair behind my ear. Offer my best smile. This is supposed to look real. So Dad doesn't ask questions.
"I'll find something to eat," Shepard says.
"Take her somewhere nice after this," Dad says. "You can afford it."
I can't help but laugh. Shep does too. And Dad. It's easy. Like old times.
Shep nodstake your timeand lets himself out.
Dad motions for me to move closer. He turns the kettle to a hundred ninety degrees. Lifts the gaiwan's lid.
He focuses on fixing oolong, pouring the water, stirring the leaves, straining the tea, letting my anxiety build. The same thing he did when I was younger.
It worked so well. He always got me to confess. Not that I did a lot that needed confessing. I've always been a model daughter. I've always known what was expected of me. My parents didn't leave Vietnam so I could waste my potential.
"Dad…" I try my best assistant smile, but it's awful.
He sees through it immediately.
I used to act, didn't I? It was just high school, but it was something. I found a way to believe my words. I found my character's motivation.
I can do that now.
No assistant smile. No fakeness. Only the reality.
Shepard is making my life easier. I'm moving into an amazing apartment half a dozen blocks from the river.
Beautiful view. Plenty of tea. Lush leather couch.
And time. The one resource I haven't had in so long. The one resource that isn't renewable. The one resource I've been clinging to.
That's all I want, more time for Dad. This is my best chance. Even if treatment doesn't work, I have more time.
More time with him.
"I should have said something sooner," I say.
He doesn't reply. He just hands over a cup and motionsdrink.
I do. Better on the third steep. More guilt inducing too.
Is this something they teach in classes in Vietnam? Or is it a skill parents learn on the way to America? Maybe in Aunt Mai's restaurant. Or Dad's office. The temple where he practices. He never was all that religious until Mom died.
Ahem.
"I wanted to say something." I try to find the truth in my words. I wanted to tell him how bad the situation was. How many hours I was working. How far I was falling behind. But I didn't want to burden him. He did so much for me. Gave up an entire life. A long work week is nothing. "But I didn't want to worry you."
He makes thatmm-hmmsound parents love.
"Things didn't end the best with the two of us. I know I never shared the details, but I could tell you didn't approve."
He does it again, but louder and lower.
"I wasn't sure if it was my decision. Or if you didn't approve of his behavior. I know you think I overreacted moving to New York, but that wasn't about Shep." That was only part of it. "I wanted to be here. To go to Columbia." To get away from all those reminders of Mom. To somehow fill the hole in my heart.
