Chapter 7
“Mom.” Derek sighed before continuing in Vietnamese. “Tap the circle made of two arrows.”
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d catch a glimpse of his mom’s face during their weekly Sunday morning calls. If only he had
a sibling to abdicate his tech support duties to the way Zoe had with her brother, Eddie.
No matter how many times he’d shown her how to video chat, a good chunk of their calls gave him a clear view of the yellowed
carpet of his childhood home. He could make out the stain where he’d knocked over a bottle of black nail polish during his
emo phase.
His mom’s place was the complete opposite of the shiny, modern apartment the theater had set up for him while he was in DC.
It was swanky but generic, lacking warmth. He leaned back on the black couch and stuck one of the million pillows behind his
head. He wondered how many famous directors had stayed here. Maybe they had left behind some of their creative energy.
“Sang.” His mother drew out his Vietnamese middle name to bring his attention back from her lack of technical ability. “Where
are you now?”
“In DC,” he replied to the carpet. “Working on a new musical.”
His mom’s phone shook for a few seconds before he was rewarded with a close-up of her eye, her brow knitted in concentration.
“It’s working!” She propped the phone against something on the coffee table and leaned back on the same IKEA couch they’d owned since moving in fifteen years ago. “Which c ? i l ?? ng is this?”
“It’s not—” Derek laughed. He didn’t know the Vietnamese word for musical , but this song-driven storytelling was similar to traditional folk operas. “It’s a new rock musical that I’m writing with
my friend Th ? o. The one about T ? m and Cám.”
“That’s a kid’s story,” she scoffed. “Why would anyone want to see that?”
By anyone , she meant people who weren’t Vietnamese.
“People love Cinderella stories. Our version is better. It’s got everything: suspense, romance, and danger. Murder, too.”
Some of his favorite childhood moments had been when he curled up in bed with his mother while she embellished his favorite
scenes from T ? m Cám .
Her eyes softened. Maybe she was recalling the same memories he was.
“You loved acting out all the parts, especially when T ? m sang to the magical fish.”
“I became a storyteller because of you. That’s what theater is for me. A chance to share our stories with the rest of the
world.”
Even though her lips were pressed together in slight disapproval, she nodded. The small glimpse of pride in her eyes gave
him confidence to continue.
“M ? , if this show does well, mine could be a household name! People would celebrate our culture and myths. More importantly,
it would create more jobs for Asian actors.” Derek had fought for every acting and directing gig he’d gotten. It wasn’t fair
that he had to compete against his fellow Asian actors for a handful of roles. His musical could make a difference.
“And if it doesn’t? Do you have a backup plan?” she countered.
Her question wasn’t due to lack of confidence in his skills but to practicality. Raising a child on her own meant pragmaticism was her default. She always had backup plans for her backup plan, because she couldn’t afford not to. She’d sacrificed her own needs for him.
“The world will be singing T ? m Cám songs by next year. I promise,” he proclaimed emphatically. He didn’t have a backup plan. “Then you can retire.”
“Are you saying I’m too old to work?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I like staying busy.”
“No, but you could do something you enjoy instead of being the business manager of my old high school.” She’d taken the job
so his tuition could be waived, but the rest of his experience at the elite private school was best forgotten.
“And when you can’t find your next job? Who will take care of you then?”
“We’re workshopping the show in DC,” he said, ignoring her questions about his future. “If I buy you a plane ticket, will
you come to opening night? I have a guest room here.”
“That sounds expensive.” She shrugged. “I don’t even know if I can take time off.”
“M ? , please?” He didn’t expect her to agree right away. She didn’t like traveling, so he wanted to warm her up to the idea first.
“This is the most important job I’ve ever had.”
“I’ll think about it.”
His shoulders slumped in relief. That was a start. Two months was plenty of time to convince her.
“If it’s that important, you should get back to work then.” The tone in his mother’s voice meant the discussion was over.
“I will.”
“And don’t work too hard,” she reminded him. His mother’s concern meant she cared and worried about him.
“I won’t. I love you,” he said quietly in English. Declarations of love were too awkward in his semi-fluent Vietnamese. Love was usually expressed through home-cooked meals or neatly folded laundry.
“Okay, make sure you eat. You look too skinny.”
“I will.” Derek smiled. He never expected her to say “I love you” in return, but that didn’t stop him from saying it every
time they spoke. “Bye, M ? .”
She nodded and fumbled with the phone until it hung up.
Derek’s work had kept him away from Auburn, New York, for too long. But he’d rather move his mother closer to him than return
to the semi-rural town that barely tolerated their existence. Once the musical made it to Broadway—to rave reviews—he could
finally take care of her instead of the other way around.