The Family Recipe

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Jude

Word had spread faster than light could travel.

News of Jude’s theoretical nuptials made the gossip column in the local Vietnamese newspaper. It had even managed to make a Vietnamese Catholic priest and a Vietnamese Buddhist monk become bipartisan allies, perhaps even friends. Unlike how divided the rest of the community was over anything political, food (northern vs. southern style ph?), and religion, everyone came together to exchange information to try to get their daughters in front of Mrs. V?ong, Houston’s most respected numerologist. So, on a bland weekday, a queue of potential matches had formed outside the dinky coffee shop in a back alley on Bissonnet Street. Vietnamese women of all shapes, sizes, and ages lined up for a chance to play their hand at Duc’s inheritance. (And for Jude’s hand, of course.)

Son, I look at you and wonder if you will ever find your joy. It’s time you discover a different type of joy than what you’ve been chasing before .

Duc’s letter circled over Jude’s head, waiting desperately to land. Jude was afraid to acknowledge that his father’s letter to him had hurt. It hurt in such a specific way because it was filled with hard truths that he didn’t think his father had noticed about him: Jude was lonely, and he had no joy. It was not lost on him that even his absentee, eccentric millionaire father noticed that about Jude.

“Nervous?” Mrs. V?ong asked Jude, interrupting his thoughts, as she watched him wipe sweat off his forehead, mistaking his sweat for nerves and not because he was in another matching sweatsuit in the middle of summer. “It’s okay to be nervous. You could potentially meet the love of your life today. Someone with such a fortuitous birth like yours needs to find a good match.”

Jude looked at the old numerologist whom every pregnant mother in the city had sat in front of since time immemorial. Even he had, once upon a time, sat in front of her, flanked by his parents, while Mr. Ng? hovered behind, as usual. He distinctly remembered Mrs. V?ong telling his parents that he would grow up to become someone important, someone prominent, someone who would change the course of people’s lives. It was the one time he saw Duc be proud of him. Duc had placed a heavy hand on Jude’s young shoulder, affirming that he was his son, and Duc was his father. That their bond, though invisible, was indestructible.

But as the years ticked by, Jude became none of those things. Just the laughingstock of the town. Everyone claimed that the only economist anyone needed on speed dial was Mrs. V?ong—she could predict more accurate outcomes than Warren Buffett. Her birth chart matches had a 99 percent success rate. The 1 percent failure just happened to be her own marriage.

As Jude observed Mrs. V?ong’s prehistoric, graying hair, her diamond stud earrings, and her kind face, something about her sincerity seemed too painful for him to bear. She had a motherly quality to her, and it triggered Jude’s guilt. Guilt over what he could and should have done for his mother, way back then. He hadn’t told any of his sisters, but Jude had seen his mother that morning. That fateful morning, twenty years ago, when Evelyn stumbled down the stairs, lugging a giant suitcase behind her.

Jude had seen her walk out the door—and said nothing.

Mrs. V?ong patted his arm so lovingly and with such care, it alarmed Jude once again. He remembered faint glimpses of his mother doing that when he was young to help calm him down whenever he was upset or anxious.

Mrs. V?ong opened her first manila folder in a stack of thirty, reading off Phoebe Ph?ong’s numerology chart so casually, as if she were ordering from a menu. “The first young woman you’ll meet this morning is Phoebe Anne Ph?ong. Born in ’90 so she’s a horse, but her symbol is a tree, so she always needs to be near water,” Mrs. V?ong rambled on as she put on her reading glasses, letting them fall to the tip of her nose. Jude craned his neck and saw a whole algorithm written down, comparing the two birth charts—his and hers. “She’s a nurse over at HCA in pediatric care, and loves dogs.”

“Great,” he responded lifelessly. “Let’s get the paperwork done. Any chance you’re ordained? We can get married in this coffee shop.”

“Oh come now, don’t you want to know more before she comes?” she prodded, teasing him. “She’s a very impressive young woman. Even runs marathons for fun and sells her knitted creations on Etsy. Beauty, brains, creative, and strong ! What more could you want in a wife and a mother?”

“Nope, that’s all the information I need,” he said curtly, shutting her down. “Thank you.”

Mrs. V?ong, a bit taken aback by Jude’s reaction, attempted to keep her cheery disposition. “You know, she’s had a bit of a tough life, poor girl. Wouldn’t you want to know more to get the whole picture? Don’t you want to know why it makes sense for the two of you to marry? Perhaps, you’re even fated to marry?”

“We all have trauma, C? V?ong.” Jude waved his hand, dismissing her. “We’re Vietnamese children of refugee immigrant parents.”

A flicker of disapproval crossed the numerologist’s face, but she managed to retain the smile on it. “Alright, well, I promised your father I would find a suitable match for you and a good daughter-in-law for him,” she said through her teeth. “You know, your father liked Phoebe’s profile the most. He said that he enjoyed how close she was to her father and that she knew how to swim—”

Jude’s face grew red, then drooped with horror as the realization sank in. “My father is involved in this process? Why would he care if she knew how to swim? I barely know how to swim.”

“Because she can save you one day in case you are ever drowning,” she said, so surprised that Jude wouldn’t know the answer to the question. “You know he fears the ocean. The Gulf in particular.”

“But why has he been looking through the profiles with you? I thought he was unreachable?” Jude asked, still hell-bent on knowing why his father was so involved. “Also, wasn’t he a fisherman? How could he be scared—”

“Sit up straight,” Mrs. V?ong quickly shushed him. “She’s heading straight to us.”

Phoebe Ph?ong strolled into the coffee shop, not a single hair out of place, with her shoulders pulled back, showing her defined collarbone. Confidence radiated off her. She was in a soft lavender sundress that revealed her curves. Mrs. V?ong quickly shuffled the manila folders around, pretending to be distracted. Jude immediately knew that she knew Phoebe was too good for him.

Phoebe walked straight to the table, bowed toward Mrs. V?ong, and greeted her in a respectful way. It made Jude nauseous. Was her demeanor genuine? Or was she just putting on a show to get a stab at his father’s money? Jude took her in, trying to find kernels of truth. She did look familiar to him, but he couldn’t tell if it was because of growing up in Houston and every Vietnamese woman near his age reminded him of someone he knew. Was she attractive? Sure, she wasn’t hideous. Did she seem kind? Sure, but no one’s a saint. Did she have nice eyes? Sure, but most people have two eyes. She wasn’t special. None of the surface or internal things mattered, because he couldn’t help but recoil at the idea that Phoebe was handpicked by his father as his favorite match for Jude. Just because their birth charts aligned didn’t mean it was fated. Jude hadn’t grown up to become a “great man of prominence.” Mrs. V?ong’s own marriage ended in divorce. Jude’s mother abandoned the family. What was the point in believing in the numbers and stars when everyone always leaves?

Mrs. V?ong gathered up her documents, gave Jude a thumbs-up, and tiptoed over to the other side of the coffee shop as Phoebe slid into the empty space. She flashed Jude a smile and extended her hand.

“I’m Phoebe.”

“Jude.”

“I know.”

Coffees quickly arrived for both, and soon it was just the two of them, sitting in silence. Jude felt everyone at the shop staring at them, waiting for a performance. He saw the queue of women outside the window, pressing their foreheads against the glass, peering inside.

Phoebe coughed, attempting to break the silence. “So, did dating apps suck so much it turned you to numerology?” She laughed. “My dad said if I got married this year, it’d be lucky for me. So he put in a word to a friend of a friend, and got my application moved up the stack.” Her laugh was so distinct that Jude couldn’t help being drawn to it. It sounded like a wind chime on a front porch with a gentle breeze blowing by, soft and pleasing. Jude felt himself loosening up. Her laugh reminded him of his mother’s laugh. Jude closed his eyes and cringed at his own cringiness. Kill me .

“Hello?” Phoebe tried again, looking for an opening. Her smile revealed tiny dimple pockets. “Anyone in there?”

She really didn’t seem so bad. She seemed like a decent person. It dawned on Jude that all he needed to do was get married, sign some papers, and call it a day to please his father. In the grand scheme of it all, it would be far simpler to get married than to try to revive a dying sandwich shop in the middle of nowhere America. Marriages were a sham anyway—might as well do it for the right reasons. At least it would be one step above the reasons Evelyn had for marrying Duc. But certainly not above why Connie married Duc. At that moment, Jude understood Connie a bit more, because Jude now needed his own Connie. He needed a wife to get the money, and he wasn’t willing to go through hundreds more of these potential matches.

He cast a leery glance at the growing queue of potential matches outside, their shadows nearly doubling, and he felt claustrophobic.

This one should do just fine.

“So, you want to get married?” Jude asked, finally speaking, as all five senses slowly returned to him. “Let’s do this. You and me. Let’s get out of here.”

“Seriously?” Phoebe responded, dumbfounded by Jude’s curveball. “You’re not even going to introduce yourself first? Say hello? You’re not going to ask me questions about myself? My hobbies? Interests? What is my family like? Dogs or cats? What if I worship Satan and am a serial killer?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jude could see Mrs. V?ong on the other side of the cafe, her eyes peering at them over the daily Vietnamese newspaper, boring into his soul, trying to read their body language. His eyes lowered to see the stack of folders on her table, holding more potential suitors, who were all waiting to take a stab at Duc’s money under the guise of love. He could already envision the horrible, awkward wine dates, movie dates, ice cream dates, the job interview–like questions they’d each have to give to each other. All Duc had said in the letter was Jude needed to get married in the next year; he didn’t say anything about how long it had to last. He also didn’t say he had to love the person.

“No need. Kill anyone you want, worship whoever you want, it doesn’t really concern me. Dogs, cats, snakes, manatees, I don’t really care, morning person or night person, sleep in late, stay up late, do what makes you happy,” Jude said, leaning in closer so no one could eavesdrop around them, and dropping his voice. “Let’s be honest here. I know you won’t really fall in love with me, and I won’t fall in love with you, but we can mutually benefit from this arrangement. I can’t give you the whole Prince Charming bit, but if you marry me this year, I can give you a small cut from my inheritance as payment for your time. I just need a warm body standing next to me at the altar. Annulment, divorce, separation, whatever—I’ll sign whatever you want. Eventually, you’ll go your own way, and I’ll go my way. We’ll just both be a little richer than before we met.”

Phoebe leaned back, her arms crossed, studying Jude. “So you don’t even know why I want to get married? Or what I’ll do with the money?”

“No. I don’t need to know.”

He could see her mind churning through a million different calculations, scenarios, and the fateful question: “What’s the worst that could happen?” He couldn’t tell if he’d offended her, or perhaps surprised her. If there was one thing he’d learned from his father, it was how to piss off women. He braced himself, waiting for her to throw coffee in his face and storm out. To his surprise, she extended a hand toward him, a twinkle in her eyes that matched her laughter.

“ Before you have yourself a deal,” she spoke finally, “you’re going to have to ask my father for my hand in marriage, and convince him that this isn’t a sham. Even if it is a sham. I’m going to need you to convince him that you really do care for me.”

He shook her hand firmly, feeling how warm her palm was, and how easily her warmth transferred to his body. Heat rose all the way to his cheeks, as it now dawned on him how beautiful she really was. He took in her balmy brown eyes and her tall cheekbones. She was somehow soft but sharp at the same time. “Deal. Your father will be easier to deal with than my father. I’m sure he’ll be easy to convince.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he could read her thoughts piling up on top of each other, a game of hangman with easily guessable phrases. “You know my father respects Duc, for all that he’s done to ‘make it’ in America. I don’t know if he can say the same about you.”

Jude shrugged nonchalantly. It was the same judgment he’d gotten all his life, from outsiders who didn’t know what it was like to grow up as Duc’s one and only son. “Sure, my father ‘made it,’ but at what cost? Would you rather be hated by your own family, but loved by everyone else?”

Phoebe tightened her grip on Jude. For the third time that morning, he was alarmed by a woman’s uncanny ability to disarm him. She stared deep into his eyes, and for a split second, Jude felt the proverbial walls around him collapse, exposing all his vulnerabilities for this strange woman to witness. Suddenly, Jude felt embarrassed. He was embarrassed by his family, embarrassed by Duc, embarrassed by these inheritance games, embarrassed by what he was wearing (sweatpants in the summer?), but most of all, he was embarrassed for not having grown up to become a man of prominence, as Mrs. V?ong had said he would.

“Well, I don’t hate you.”

Jude’s chest tightened. There were so many different meanings behind what she just said. Did she mean that he was her family now? Did she mean that she liked him in a romantic way?

“Oh,” he stuttered nervously. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, finally releasing her hand from his. Jude squeezed his newly freed hand under the table, feeling the sting of her absence. He tried to ignore the nagging feeling that Phoebe was different from all the others who had tried to come before. “But you’re not out of the woods yet. Just remember, you need to win over my father.”

A week later, Jude found himself up at 5:00 a.m., in a fishing boat in the middle of Lake Houston, staring into the harrowing eyes of Mr. Ph?ong. The entire drive over, Mr. Ph?ong hadn’t said a word to him. He just clucked his tongue at the sight of Jude, who was wearing another pair of matching, ill-fitting sweatpants, sporting his usual diamond-plated necklace, yawning loudly, asking if there’ll be coffee on the boat. Mr. Ph?ong shook his head, gripping the wheel even tighter. It was the type of nod where one couldn’t tell if he was full of disgust, disappointment, or both. Jude once again felt embarrassed. Duc’s letter haunted closely behind, along with Mrs. V?ong’s prediction for him as a child.

Once they were out on the water, it was somehow even more silent between the two men. Though separated by a generation, and by a different set of traumas, the men only had one thing in common: Phoebe Ph?ong. They were the only two out on the water at this time. Jude shuffled uncomfortably on the plastic crate he was sitting on, and tried his best to break eye contact with Mr. Ph?ong, who seemingly never blinked. Mr. Ph?ong just continued staring at Jude, wearing him down, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

“So,” Mr. Ph?ong finally said, breaking the long silence. “Do you know how to fish?” His voice heavy with a Texas accent. Despite the freezing early morning, all the man had on was a ragged sweatshirt that said VIET COWBOY, his stomach protruding over his cargo shorts. He sported flip-flops, and a ratty Astros baseball cap sat on top of his receding hairline.

Jude laughed as if it was the funniest question in the world. “No, why would I?” He immediately stopped laughing when he saw how thin Mr. Ph?ong’s lips had gotten, and coughed nervously. “I mean, sorry, no, sir, I don’t go fishing a lot. My… father used to, though. He was great at catching fish. Used to be a shrimper back in the day, down in Seadrift. I actually wasn’t allowed on a boat, growing up. He wouldn’t let me.”

Mr. Ph?ong raised a brow. “Ah, the infamous Duc Tr?n. Strange that you weren’t allowed on any boat growing up, especially since he was a former fisherman. That life never leaves you.”

Jude shrugged. “He said he didn’t want us to ever work the way he used to work.”

“So, why hasn’t he reached out to us yet? You want to marry my daughter, why haven’t we all formally gotten together?”

This was the part Jude absolutely hated. How could he explain his eccentric parents and his upbringing to those who couldn’t understand? Mr. Ph?ong looked like the type of father who’d never abandon his family and someone who wanted to be there for every single milestone. Jude observed the seemingly endless lake, and felt a sadness for the first time in a long time. Here he was, with a different father, in the middle of a lake, holding a fishing pole, when Duc had never really taken him out fishing like he kept promising he would. Each time the promises were spaced farther apart until, eventually, it was never brought up again, lost to the ether.

Jude felt a heavy weight on him. He suddenly wanted Mr. Ph?ong’s approval. Not just for Phoebe’s hand, but he wanted him to like him. It’s not like he was in love with Phoebe or believed in the marriage, but after meeting Mr. Ph?ong, he could understand Phoebe a bit more, and why her father’s approval meant so much. It was because he cared.

“My father is… unreachable. I can’t reach him. No one knows where he is, he’s somewhere in Vietnam,” Jude said. “And my mother left when I was fourteen, so I don’t know where she is. My father took me crabbing a few times down in Galveston, but he never taught me how to fish. I mostly just… watched him.”

Silence overshadowed the boat, despite the sun having risen now. The morning air was crisp. Hidden birds chirped, nestled inside gigantic pine trees that towered over the water.

“Sorry to hear that, con,” Mr. Ph?ong said gruffly. Con. The man called him con. There was hope after all. There was affection in the con, almost as if he saw Jude as kin. Jude felt his cheeks flush with unexpected pride.

“Well, we’re here now,” the old man continued. “I’ll teach you how to fish. Learning how to catch your own food is how you’ll be able to provide for your family.” Mr. Ph?ong reached down to grab two fishing poles and handed one to Jude. “You need to work with your hands, it’s a lifelong skill. How do you expect to take care of Phoebe if you don’t know how to fish? What if there’s an apocalypse and you need to learn how to hunt?”

Jude fumbled the pole as he took it from Mr. Ph?ong, making a joke about how much taller a fishing pole was in person than in photos. Pools of sweat began forming under his armpits as he realized Mr. Ph?ong was expecting him to start fishing immediately. He looked at all the parts of the pole, and tried his best to remember how people did it in the movies… or how his father had done it. “You know, my wife left, too,” Mr. Ph?ong said abruptly. “But not in the way your mother left you.”

Jude looked up quizzically. He watched as Mr. Ph?ong broke character, sadness washing over his face. “She passed away when Phoebe was young. Around the same age as you were when you lost your mother.” His voice became gruff. “Cancer.”

Jude didn’t say anything. He never really knew what to say when it came to death, because he’d also experienced loss, just not in the traditional sense. How could he say “sorry for your loss” when no one had ever really said that in regards to his mother, who was still alive, somewhere out there?

“She’s a good kid, you know,” Mr. Ph?ong sighed. “She just doesn’t know how to relax. Carries all the burdens in her shoulders. I’m sick, too, you know.”

Jude looked surprised. “Are you… okay?”

Mr. Ph?ong laughed for the first time all morning. “Why does everyone always ask me that question right after I tell them I’m sick? I’m not not okay. I have kidney disease.”

“Oh.”

Mr. Ph?ong laughed again, as if Jude was the funniest person he’d ever met. “I bet Phoebe never told you. Explains why I don’t drink, right? She works overtime to help me pay the bills. But don’t tell her I told you that. I just need you to help her live a little again. If you’re going to marry my daughter, I want her to have the same marriage I had. One full of laughter and light.”

Even though he knew the wedding was just a front, Jude began to see Phoebe in a new light. He understood now why she had agreed so easily to get married to him. She needed the money to keep her last parent alive. Both of them would have only one parent in attendance at their wedding. They’d spent the last two decades grieving over their mothers in silence, putting on a mask, and pretending to the entire world that they were just perfect, completely fine.

“I will,” Jude found himself saying. “I promise.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad marriage after all. Being able to lie next to someone without having to explain your trauma.

Maybe it could even be a great one.