The Reeducation of Cherry Truong (23 page)

Cherry's brother worked part-time as a delivery boy for a flower shop in Little Saigon, and often brought home the rejected orders at the end of the day. Ex-girlfriends, former wives, and even pissed-off mothers, refused to sign for the most exquisite flower arrangements; their consistent anger and resentment kept the otherwise sterile house fragrant and beautiful. Their mother could count on several fresh floral arrangements a week.

Lum walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a dinner their mother had set aside. He popped it in the microwave and took a seat next to Cherry. She edged away, and he deliberately moved closer.

“We're meeting at Quynh's to watch a movie,” he said. “Wanna come?”

It was tempting. She'd been cooped up in the house all day, listening to their parents bicker. Their only day off together in the week and they spent it arguing.

“I have school tomorrow.”

“So what?” he said. “Haven't you been good enough all weekend?”

“But it's already eight o'clock.”

“I'll get you back early.” Lum stood to retrieve his dish from the microwave.

“Promise?”

He smiled as he pulled the plastic wrap from the bowl, the steam rushing to his face. “Whenever you want.”

While their mother only nodded when she saw them leaving, their father stepped in front of Lum's car before he could pull out of the driveway. A pile of shrubs and branches that he'd been gathering from the front yard all afternoon lay by the side of the house.

“You said you were going to help me this evening,” their father said to Lum. “Trash pickup is tomorrow.”

“Sorry, I forgot,” Lum said. “Just leave it. I'll do it in the morning.”

Their father shook his head. “You won't wake up in time. You never do.”

“I said I was sorry,” Lum said, tapping his foot on the brake so the car jerked forward a little. “Do you want me to do it now?”

Their father waved his hand, turning to his pile of greenery. The back of his T-shirt was dark with perspiration. “Never mind. Go play with your friends.”

They turned off the cul-de-sac, passing neighbors who likewise were collecting the week's garbage, garden waste, and recyclables. The subdivision wasn't even a year old, so the houses and landscaping still felt brochure-quality fresh, with artfully arranged trees dividing the roads, the smoothly paved sidewalks retaining their sparkly grains. The week they moved in, Lum deliberately spit his gum on the sidewalk at the end of the driveway and ground it in with his heel. The next morning, they couldn't find his gum stain. Cherry was pretty sure their mother had scraped it off. Cherry looked over at Lum. He was still scowling.

“So what movie are we watching?” she asked, once they'd merged onto the freeway.

“He knows I just got back from work,” Lum said. “Why isn't that enough for him?”

“You did say you'd help him,” Cherry reminded him. All afternoon, while Cherry finished an essay for her English class, she watched their father bend over the flower beds and strain for the too-tall tree branches. They hardly saw their dad during the week since his promotion at the plant as a shift manager, and when he was around on weekends, he seemed equally stressed with all the chores required to maintain the new house.

“Did he ask you to help him?” Lum asked.

“I tried,” she said. “He kept telling me to go study.”

“Well, he never says that to me.”

“That's because he knows better.” She tried to say this jokingly, but she'd never been good at teasing. Last May, after graduating from high school, Lum had been denied admission to every UC and Cal State school he had applied to. Their cousin Dat had received a Regents Scholarship to UC Irvine the previous year. Lum's girlfriend, Quynh, had the option of either attending UC Irvine or Riverside with generous financial aid. Even Linh, who only aspired to work at the family's salon because she could work any hours she wanted, had been accepted to Cal State Fullerton.

Lum promised their mother he wouldn't give up, that he'd study hard in community college and transfer to a Cal State. But instead of enrolling in the college with the high transfer rate down the street from their new house, he enrolled in the same junior college that his friends were going to. Plus, instead of reducing his hours at the florist shop, he took on more after their father refused to pay for a life-drawing class.

“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, maybe,” 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.