“So how have you been, Brian?”
“I’ve been good.”
“How are you and R...ra—the one from San Francisco?”
“Ranier?” No point in hiding it. “We broke up a little less than two months ago.”
“Oh, honey I didn’t know!” I felt my mom’s hand brush softly up against the back of my head.
“Y’know,” she sighed. “That’s life. This happens. Don’t be sad okay?” She rubbed my head, kinda roughly actually. “Guys, they just come and go. There are more out there. Be patient ok?”
I rolled my eyes. Oh god, please don’t let this become another wear-protection conversation.
I nodded.
“So is Trung coming to dinner with us tomorrow?”
“Yeah, and I’m going to go hang out with him in a bit tonight.”
“Oh, what are you guys doing?”
“We’re just going to hang out with some friends and eat. Nothing special.”
I stood at the front door, my backpack and two baskets of clothes beside me, and I slowly checked items off a mental list. Cell phone charger, tooth brush, his present to me—check check check.
I tried to take in the living room around me one last time, my memories of home, but my eyes fell on something that I didn’t notice until now: a pot of yellow tulips sitting on the living room table. The pot was dressed with gold wrapping paper, which reflected patches of golden sunlight over my house’s white walls.
My mom came walking into the living room to ask me if I remembered everything. I nodded yes, but before leaving, I had to know about the tulips. I pointed at them and asked her, “Where did those come from?”
“Oh, Trung came by yesterday night when you were out to drop them off and wish me and Dad chúc mừng năm mới. Aren’t the tulips beautiful?”
Yesterday night? Yesterday night at 9 PM I got a text from Trung saying, “Stop having sex.” I was with Ranier at the movies watching Dear John for Valentine’s Day. We had been talking about ways that Ranier could win over my parents and outshine Trung, and now factoring in points for the tulips, it looked like the scoreboard read Ranier: 2, Trung: 999.
For my belated birthday celebration, my parents, my brother, Trung, and I went out to eat in downtown San Jose at Vung Tau, my mom’s favorite Vietnamese restaurant, which also happened to be my entire family’s favorite restaurant, which also happened to be pretty much the only Vietnamese restaurant we ever went to. Prices had gone up over the last fifteen years to ridiculous rates. (I don’t know why. The restaurant was kinda fancy, but not that fancy, like not fancy enough to merit formal attire. My mom wore an orange t-shirt with a black hoodie and jean shorts, my dad sported a striped polo and tennis shorts, I dressed like a failed wannabe hype beast, my brother looked like the typical nerd, and Trung was Trung.) I had pushed Trung to order something very cheap, and he already felt bad enough that my parents were treating him out. He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu: four eggrolls for six bucks. At least the eggrolls were pretty big.
My family dinners were always quiet. (Trung would later tell me that he felt uncomfortable because he thought the silence was awkward silence, but no, it was just our normal, regular silence.) We were focused on our food, but what mattered was that we could all take breaks out of our own individual lives and be together again for, at the very least, dinner. Every once in a while though, conversations popped up. Was Jack Bauer going to die in the 24 series finale? What the fuck is going on in Lost? Have I been losing or gaining weight? My mom also brought up Trung’s dance performance and dramatic performance in UCLA’s Vietnamese Culture Night show (I had shown my mom a DVD of the show earlier in the day). I remember one of her particular remarks (in Vietnamese): “Trung, your group’s dancing was actually very fun to watch. It actually looked clean. Remember Brian’s students at Breakthrough?” She chuckled.
Yes, we remember, mom. Thank you.
The bill came out to seventy-nine dollars, so Trung’s six-dollar eggrolls didn’t have that much of an impact on the bill. Once we got back to my house, we all gathered in the living room and my mom brought out a cake on which two giant candles resided. The candles read “2” and “0.” The cake was the same mocha cake with almonds we got every year, except smaller. Even though my relatives didn’t come down this year for a birthday party, my mom still couldn’t resist twenty-year-old traditions. She lit the candles, backed up, and counted down, “3, 2, 1, everybody! Haaappy birthday to you...”
My dad, brother, and Trung all joined in as I sat in front of my cake, totally not embarrassed at all. My mom started to clap along to the song, and Trung enthusiastically joined in as he continued to enthusiastically sing “HAPPY BIRRRRTTHHDAY DEEEEARR BRIIIIAN.” I blew out the candles as my brother took pictures on his cellphone. The yippies and yays and hoorays died down within five seconds, and my mom pulled out a knife.We all each got slices from the cake, and as we finished our cakes, we slowly dispersed: my dad into the family room to watch the Sharks on TV, and my brother upstairs to his room. Trung, me, and my mom remained. Trung and I were anxious to leave to Trung’s house for his sister’s graduation party, but my mom kept us behind with some stories. She pointed out pictures of some ancestors we had in our display case.
“That one is your dad’s step-mom, the one that burned herself to death.”
I knew about the self-immolation, but I didn’t know that it was my dad’s step-mom and not his biological mom. I learned that his biological mom died when he was only two.
“Your dad came from a rich, famous family, which is why the communists took everything from them when they invaded Phan Thiet. Your dad’s mom burned herself in her own house out of despair and protest. Because of this, your dad and his family became even more well known. If you go back to Phan Thiet today and ask around about her or your dad, everyone should be able to tell you at least one thing about them. Your dad’s mom haunts the house that she burned herself in. No one, including communist soldiers, has ever lived in it because they knew this.”
I rolled my eyes at that last part, just a little bit.
My mom delayed us by about twenty minutes, but the rich history lesson was worth it.
After my mom joined my dad in the living room, Trung and I drove over to his place to catch the last few hours of his sister’s graduation party. I mainly wanted to go because there were always oysters at Trung’s family parties, and they were always delicious. (I’m typing this entry while hungry right now and it’s making me regret that I didn’t eat more than one oyster.)
Cars filled Trung’s driveway and the street, so I had to park around the corner. The place I parked at was certainly a parking space of many memories. Lots of interesting things happened here. But, I digress.
We barely stepped foot into Trung’s house before a wave of body heat washed over us, before Vietnamese chatter and commotion filled our ears and perfume and cologne cocktails filled our noses. From wall to wall stood laughing, gossiping guests, who looked like they were here to celebrate an Asian production of The Great Gatsby, them being extras within the play. Lighting was dim; their faces glowed orange and blurred with each angle change as the guests cheered and chortled.
Shuffling through all the guests felt like going through a maze blind. Trung and I found the backyard, where his sister and her friends took refuge and where the oysters dwelled inside the barbeque grill.
“Oh my god, this is your graduation party right? Who are all these people?” Trung cried immediately upon greeting his sister.
“I have no idea!”
Apparently, Trung’s relatives were here earlier in the afternoon and evening—Trung was there for that; he was in the middle of his sister’s graduation party before I picked him up to go eat with my family—but once night fell, Trung’s parents brought over all of their friends. Adult friends.
I had to venture back inside eventually to find Tobasco sauce for my oyster. Alcohol and dishes of Vietnamese food littered the tables. Everyone was trying to grab at something.
I slipped back out, Tobasco in hand. Trung followed me out, a Corona in his hand.
“Look! They didn’t run out of my favorite!” Trung had his sister’s friend pop off the cap of his Corona, and he downed a several gulps.
I doused my oyster in Tobasco sauce and sucked the oyster off its shell.
I was enjoying my oyster very much when roars of applauses erupted from inside the house. Trung and I ran inside to investigate the commotion: Trung’s mom, looking more glamorous than ever, floated down the hall in a pink, laced bodice and an equally pink billowing tutu.
Trung’s dad appeared beside her in a suit, and he managed to seek me out among his wife’s crowd to tell me, “‘Ey boy!”—his (and sometimes Trung’s) usual greeting to me.
Trung and I eventually escaped to his room, but, his room being on the first floor, it didn’t offer much protection. An ice chest sat next to his door, and every few minutes a guest popped in to dig out a beer.
I planted my ass on Trung’s bed. I felt so dazed. I wanted more oysters but I didn’t want to go back out there. I reached around Trung’s bed and found a source of comfort and relief: Dinoblanket, my gift that I made for Trung for Christmas 2008. It was a blue cloth blanket sewed (mostly fabric glued) with differently colored fabrics. They depicted a large green dinosaur standing on a flower bed with brown mountains in the distance. Three clouds floated in the sky, and each cloud had a checklist item: Eat (checked), Poop (checked), and Sleep (unchecked). Shutting all the noise and commotion away, I huddled underneath the blanket and let myself fall into a deep, soothing nap.
Trung, who sat at his desk with his laptop, woke me up half an hour later. The party was still going on, but at least my mind felt clearer and less overwhelmed.
“You’re going home now?” he asked.
“Yeah. Fun party.”
“You want a beer?”
“I’m g—”
“Just kidding I don’t want you to crash and die. No beer for you.” He patted my head.
“—I’m good, thanks.”
I stood up for a hug, and shortly after he walked me out to my car. Back down the street around the corner, here in this parking space underneath some trees and a street light.
It was where, a very long time ago, I would park so Trung and I could, over the course of nearly two years, make out, argue, have naked fun, almost break up, steam up the windows, actually break up via me reading my break-up letter aloud to him, and have a long conversation about the future ahead of us. Good times. But, I digress.
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