The Reeducation of Cherry Truong (45 page)

“This has nothing to do with Stephan,” Xuan says.

“He was married,” Cam reminds him. “He was never going to leave his wife and family for you.”

Xuan catches Cherry's eyes widening. “They're separated,” he explains. “She lives in Madrid.”

“I'm glad he dumped you,” Cam says. “You never would have ended it. But that's another Truong flaw. We love the wrong people and everyone suffers.”

“I haven't,” Cherry admitted.

“You're protecting your heart,” Cam says, patting her head. “That's a good thing.”

“Not always,” Xuan says.

“Show me the evidence, Monsieur Truong,” Cam says. “My relationships, yours, they've all combusted.”

“Two examples! What about Lum and Tham?”

“They're not married yet.”

“You're a pessimist.”

“Our family should go back to arranged marriages.”

“Those don't work out, either,” Xuan says.

“Grandpère married the right woman,” Cam says. “It's the wrong one who caused so much pain.”

“It's not Ba Cuc's fault,” he says.

“Don't defend her,” Cam says, sounding annoyed. “Grandmère raised you, too.”

Xuan turns over on his stomach to look at Cherry. “You knew, right?”

“Yes,” Cherry admits. “I wasn't sure you did.”

“We all suspected,” Cam says, “but then the woman's family had to come over to our house after she died, bringing back all of this stuff he'd given to her. It was awful.”

“Grandmère couldn't get out of bed for a week,” Xuan says. “It was like Grandpère dying all over again.”

“I didn't know that,” Cherry says sadly.

Cherry turns over to stand, while her cousins talk. She reaches into her messenger bag, pretending to look for her phone, but digs deeper until her hands feel the bundles of letters at the bottom. Her head tilts back to look at her cousins, engrossed in a peek-a-boo game with Anh, their gestures in complete sync. Her cousins' closeness continues to amaze her, more like siblings than she and Lum ever were. When they talk, they unwittingly blend their Vietnamese with French, speaking so quickly, that Cherry cannot always keep up. Cherry's fingers tighten over the envelopes, listening to their chatter, as she debates, considers.

“I think I hear Lum's truck,” Xuan says.

Her hands still clutching her bag, Cherry walks to the window. Indeed, Lum is double-parked in front of the house. He stands in front of it, cupping his hands over his eyes to shield them from the sun. She smiles, reaching out one hand to press against the recently washed window, unreasonably happy to see him.

N
EWPORT
L
AKE
, 2001

She lasted three months during her first trip to Vietnam before her parents' guilt-laden phone calls brought her back to California. Cherry knew they wouldn't forgive her if she missed Christmas with them. Her father cried at the airport gate when he saw her. Her mother made obvious efforts to keep her happy: cooking her favorite dishes, letting her sleep in as long as she wanted. But her mother was unaccustomed to her being home all the time, not at school or volunteering—a lazy Cherry, someone who read magazines in the living room when Tuyet wanted to watch television, or finished the last of the tangerines without replacing them. Tuyet kept asking if Cherry wanted to drive to UC Irvine or try to speak with someone at the medical school.

“It's too late,” Cherry said. “I've already deferred.”

“But you've always been good about catching up with schoolwork. Remember after the accident?”

“I don't want to catch up,” she said. “I'm fine with the year off.”

Her mother didn't believe her. When the salon's receptionist quit on short notice, Cherry took over daily duties at the front desk. Her mother loudly declared to her sisters that it was only temporary, until Cherry found an internship at a health clinic or lab.

“We didn't invest four years of college for you to answer phones,” Tuyet said. When she wasn't pestering Cherry about medical school, her mother wanted to know all about Lum's fiancée: her family, education, work prospects, whether she was tricking Lum to try to get to America. “But if that brings him back to us, fine,” she said, while they cleaned out expired cosmetic products at the salon. “They can divorce after a few years and she will have a visa. And we will have our son.”

“They're having a baby,” Cherry said, pulling out another tray of half-empty nail polish bottles to dust.

Her mother winced, still adjusting to the news of becoming a grandmother, though she had had weeks to process the information. “Times are different,” she said. “If they are not happy in a marriage, why should they stay together?”

“Why are you and Dad still together?” Cherry asked.

“Don't be crass,” she said, picking up each bottle to clean individually.

“Then why did you say you regretted marrying him?”

“I never said that!” her mother cried. “Daddy and I are happy. Is this why you left? Because Daddy and I were arguing?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, her eyes so intent that Cherry instinctively leaned back. “You can tell me.”

But when Cherry opened her mouth, no words emerged. Not yet. The days she spent at home watching her parents' quiet routine of meals, television, and early bedtime, reminded Cherry why they kept quiet for so long, how increasingly necessary these silences had become. Her father's forgetfulness had worsened in the months she'd been away. He was working shorter days at the plant and spoke often of accepting the early retirement package his boss had offered. Her mother had quietly taken over most of the household duties, but said nothing to Cherry about it. Another topic they couldn't discuss. Her father's remaining household chore was the gardening, which he took pleasure in, spending long hours in the backyard tending his rosebushes.

Cherry's mother finally managed to announce Lum's news to the relatives, though with some creative editing: she claimed that Lum and Tham had already married, and were so in love and eager to start a family that they already had plans to conceive a child. (
Just let me do it this way,
Cherry's mother had said after catching her disapproving frown.
I know what I'm doing. What harm can come? They're in Vietnam.
)

The relatives dutifully exclaimed their happiness at the news, and in her benevolence, Cherry's mother decided to throw a California reception for the newlyweds. So what if the guests of honor couldn't attend? Or didn't even know about it? Their parents could collect the gifts for them. And they would need the wedding money to help with the baby.

Their mother put down a deposit at a Chinese seafood banquet hall in Garden Grove. Since she didn't have a wedding picture, she improvised with a candid shot from Cherry's trip, taken during a walk along the Saigon River. Her mother asked the clerk at the photo shop to blow up the picture, airbrush the smog from the boats, and crop out Tham's belly. After enlarging the picture to near life size, she bought a bright-gold picture frame. The picture sat on their dining room table for a week before the reception, so Cherry would occasionally startle when passing it.

Though their mother wanted to invite more people, hoping to beat Dat and Quynh's 300-plus reception attendance, their father held firm that the guest list stay under 200. Cherry's mother requested she wear her red
ao dai
at the reception, along with Duyen and Linh, as if they were bridesmaids just arriving from the imaginary ceremony. Her mother grew obstinate over the smallest details—fighting with the banquet manager over the appetizer choices and refining the song list with the band daily. Her moods worsened as the reception neared.

“Just humor Mommy,” Cherry's father pleaded the morning of the reception, after her mother barked for her to call the florist again. “She will be better after this day is over.”

Bold red tablecloths and matching roses decorated each table of the ballroom. The Vietnamese variety band that had played for Quynh and Dat's wedding—the one Cherry's mother believed was exceptionally talented, and worth the inflated fee—had already set up their instruments on the stage and were performing a microphone check.

Since only Cherry had ever met the lovely bride, the guests congratulated her and expected her to intuit her new sister-in-law's thoughts about the marriage. Of course, Tham was thrilled. She loves Lum very much. She is eager to meet the rest of the relatives. Oh yes, she cannot wait to start a family. Hopefully it will happen soon!

Cherry's smile endured until dinner. She sat at the honored table next to Grandmother Vo, who wore her blue velvet
ao dai.
Dat and Quynh arrived late, during the shark fin soup appetizer, weaving through the tables to find their places. Quynh had also dressed in a red
ao dai
. Cherry hadn't seen them since leaving the country before their wedding.

After dinner, the banquet hall's floor manager projected a slideshow onto the wall above the buffet tables. Cherry's mother coordinated pictures of Lum growing up to his favorite Vietnamese music, three old love songs, played on a loop. Some of the pictures Cherry barely recognized, the sepia-toned photographs taken when their family lived in Vietnam and Malaysia. Tham only showed up in the last few frames, all pictures Cherry had taken in Vietnam. When the lights turned back on, Cherry noticed her mother grasping her father's hand on top of the table, tears shining in both of their eyes.

The MC and band returned to the stage, entreating guests to join them on the dance floor. Linh dragged Huy to dance. She believed her longtime boyfriend planned to propose soon. Duyen danced with one of Dat's colleagues, a pediatrics medical resident. Cherry sat at the table with her parents and grandmother, continuing to greet and accept gifts from people she'd never met. With the lights dimmed and while no one was looking, Cherry unfastened the top two side snaps of her constrictive
ao dai,
indulging in the luxury of breathing after so many hours.

Dat finally found Cherry in the hallway, stepping from behind a ficus plant and surprising her as she came out of the restroom.

“So, how is Lum?”

“Jesus,” Cherry said, putting a hand on her chest. “He's fine.”

She and her cousin silently watched as guests took calls on their cell phones or passed them to reach the restrooms.

“It all worked out, didn't it?” Dat asked. “Quynh and myself, and now Lum and…”

“Tham,” Cherry said, rolling her eyes.

“Right. We've all been through so much, but we survived. We prevailed.”

“Yes,” Cherry said, nodding. “Especially with the family sending Lum off. That worked out perfectly for you.”

Dat snorted. “When are you going to let it go? There's a reason some of us succeeded here, and others didn't. Maybe Lum never should have left Vietnam in the first place. Maybe he's where he belongs.”

“Well, then I hope we all get what we deserve,” Cherry said. “Especially you.”

“We've all gotten over it,” Dat said, tilting his head. “Except you. You're the only one. If you think you need to talk to a professional, I could help you find someone reputable.”

His face was serious. Before she could respond, a tipsy Duyen wandered over, her head bopping to the samba music, pulling Cherry away to complain about the pediatric resident's body odor. Once they returned to the table, Cherry spied Dat whispering something into Quynh's ear, and the couple quietly left during her mother's final toast of the evening.

After the guests had departed, the rest of their relatives packed the minivan with leftover floral centerpieces, food trays, and the wedding presents, though most guests had observed custom and simply left money envelopes for the newlyweds. At home, Cherry's mother displayed the roses on every available counter and tabletop space available. Cherry knew in a few days they'd start to wilt and darken, and that her mother would wait until the last possible moment to trash them. She missed having flowers in the house. While her father went to bed, exhausted from the day's events, her mother stayed in the living room to organize the presents. Around two in the morning, Cherry noticed the lights were still on from under her bedroom door. She wandered out of her room and found her mother sitting on the living room floor, still in her lilac
ao dai,
reading each wedding card and filing every check and cash gift into a manila folder. Early the next morning, her mother left for the bank to deposit the money into a savings account she'd opened under Lum's name.

*   *   *

A week after the reception, Grandmother Vo called. Unfortunately, Cherry picked up.

“Come over,” she said. “I need help with my closets.”

“I'm busy,” Cherry said. Just because she was unemployed and not in school, her grandmother thought she had nothing better to do. This afternoon she and Duyen planned to go to the beach.

“Your mother just told me you were watching television,” Grandmother said. “And bring over some
banh cuon
from that deli on Magnolia. I'm hungry.”

Though her closets really did need a thorough cleanout, Cherry suspected she also felt lonely. Without anywhere to go during the day, Grandmother wore a long-sleeved oatmeal blouse and simple black pants. She didn't bother tying up her hair, and her thin gray mane hung past her knees. Since Ba Nhanh's stroke, she no longer spent much time with the twins; most of her days consisted of television and nagging telephone calls to her children. She didn't like sitting at the salon because she tired easily and had no convenient place to nap. But she did miss talking to people, talking at people.

After she finished her lunch, though Cherry was still eating hers, Grandmother seized her opportunity. “Your mother is concerned about you.”