The Family Recipe

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

Jane

Jane couldn’t remember the last time she had woken up in another man’s arms. She’d kept to herself for so long, she had forgotten how to seek pleasure for herself in all the intimate, tender ways a woman needed to feel alive. To be able to arch your back, hear whispers in your ear, have calloused hands following the mountains and peaks of your curves, fingers tangled in your hair, and to feel the weight of someone wrapping their arms around you after it was all said and done.

Jane wanted to cry. Why had she denied herself happiness? Why had she spent so much energy in not becoming like her father, that she ended up becoming like her mother? Why did she stay away from the act of love for so long?

The sound of Henry’s soft snores reminded her of a life she could have had, had she stayed in Houston for college, had she stayed for law school, and had she continued staying with Henry after high school. But her desire for leaving and going as far away from her family as possible led her down a different path, one she hadn’t thought would be so lonely.

If she had stayed, would they have been married by now? Kids? Was that the life she wanted for herself?

Jane lay curled on her side, facing away from Henry. The clock—neon red, bright and unforgiving—spelled out 3:43 a.m. She groaned softly. There was no point in trying to sleep anymore. Hearing the news that Duc wasn’t her biological father had haunted her. Why had she allowed herself to be steeped in anger for so long at this man? Her entire life had been dictated by anger. Anger for herself, for her mother, for being born the eldest daughter, at Duc for being absent.

She wasted so much time.

Jane slowly pulled the blanket off her, wrapped herself up in one of Henry’s sweaters, and tiptoed around his apartment, her bare feet light against cold hardwood floors.

It was the first time she’d been to his place since she moved back to Houston, and she finally allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, in more ways than one. Jane needed comfort, now more than ever. She just decided to choose a different kind of physical comfort.

The entire living room wall was covered with photo frames, mismatched ones that almost went all the way up to the ceiling. From the outside looking in, his life was full of people, adventure, and good food—all the markings of someone who was well loved and well lived. She recognized old faces from high school, faces she saw randomly on her social media feeds. Sometimes, if she was in a generous mood, she would like or heart their post, but most of the time she kept scrolling.

If she moved permanently back to Houston, would she be able to fit in seamlessly with all the other squares? Would she be just as loved as Henry by everyone? And would she have the same smile on her face as everyone did on this wall? Jane shivered, hugging herself. She wouldn’t be able to fill a wall like this, full of precious, fleeting moments that occupied the time between the mundane. Now that she was grappling with who her real father was, and why Duc would send them on a whirlwind goose chase for the past year, and that her mother was in New Orleans, where Georgia was, she couldn’t imagine fitting into any of these squares. Her life couldn’t be as neatly summed up as everyone else’s.

“Jane?” Henry’s quiet voice from behind made her jump, and she turned around, unsure why she looked so guilty.

“Sorry, I was just looking for a glass of water,” she said, her voice high-pitched. The lie sounded like a lie, and she flinched from it. He stood there in his boxer shorts and ran his hand through his hair. There was an awkward lull between them, as if they both had amnesia and were pretending they hadn’t been intimate just a few hours ago. Funny how two people could find warmth together in bed, but become strangers when their feet hit cold hardwood.

“Are you okay?” he asked, finally breaking the tension.

“Great,” she responded quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Yeah, sorry, I was… dehydrated.”

Jane walked to the kitchen and rummaged for a glass, opening and closing cabinet doors aimlessly.

“Are you thinking of leaving again?” he asked softly, his eyes on the photo wall. Jane found a glass and went to the sink to fill it. She took large gulps, the sounds exaggerated and forceful, and she was thankful for the darkness, grateful that Henry couldn’t see all of her face—how guilty she looked.

Again. He had used the word again . It landed like a mosquito bite, but Jane was worried that by morning light, the itch would grow worse. But she was contemplating two modes now: fight or flight. She could either curl up like a small child looking for a fort to hide away in, or end the war permanently by blowing it all up.

As always, she opted for the latter.

“You know I was always meant to be here temporarily. I only came back to Houston because Duc set up this obscene scheme for us. And now that he isn’t even my father—I don’t know. And Jude is my half brother apparently?

“What’s the point of being here? I never felt like I belonged here,” she continued slowly, her mind beginning to dissociate. She knew this dissociation well. She gestured around his apartment, pointing at random artifacts that screamed bachelor: his Jeremy Lin Houston Rockets jersey, the acoustic guitar in the corner, the giant vintage poster of the NASA Space Center. “ None of this is me.”

“What’s wrong with all of this ?” He mimicked her gesture, hurt splayed across his face.

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything was wrong with it! I just said, it’s not me . You were right earlier. That shop isn’t me, this city isn’t me. It was never me . I don’t really see myself fitting in here as an adult,” she said meekly. “I’ve felt that way my entire life, growing up here. That’s why I left in the first place. It’s not… personal.”

The moment the last word left her mouth, she knew she had messed up. Henry’s face buckled and she realized she’d have to be the one to deliver a lethal blow, not him.

“Are you joking? Of course it’s personal! What do you want, Jane?” he asked, exasperated. “All I’ve done since the moment I ran into you at that coffee shop, almost a year ago, was try to get close to you. I’m sorry about your father—I mean Duc—whoever he is—I’m sorry about everything your parents put you through, but look what you’ve done with your life so far here. You’re happy for once. The shop is ridiculous, yes, but look at the life you’ve made for yourself, the people you’ve reconnected with. You’ve smiled almost every day going into the shop. Why can’t you just let yourself be happy for once?”

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Jane could see the sun start to rise. It was now or never. She knew she didn’t deserve Henry, not when she had so many issues to work through with herself, her family, and her own traumas. She needed to sever this.

“I just know I won’t be happy stuck here with you,” she blurted out. What a train wreck. “Your life is just too simple for me. Houston is too simple. I know myself. I’m always going to want more. My mother wanted more—and look what happened. Look what happened to her mental state when she stayed. She’s probably been happier out there, living in her truth. I need to do the same.”

Henry stood there shell-shocked, his eyes downcast. She braced herself, waiting for him to react negatively, raise his voice, or throw accusations at her. This was the type of ugly love she was used to. This was the ugly love she’d seen her entire life. To push, push, and push people away until they had no choice but to want to leave on their own.

“Well then,” he eventually said, blowing out air. There was a tremble in his voice. “I hope you get everything you want, Jane. I hope you get to see yourself happy one day. Because I know I won’t be around to see it.”

He turned to retreat to his bedroom, and the soft lock of the door confirmed that he was done, leaving Jane alone to watch the sunrise. In the moment, Jane couldn’t help but feel anger toward Jude. Had he not encouraged her to say I’m sorry to Henry, perhaps all this could have been avoided. Jane could have just simply run away, as she was always prone to do.

Like mother, like daughter.

Bác Cai shuffled into Dakao Plaza and the store the next morning around 6:00 a.m.

She was still in her house slippers and her hair was pinned back under a silk scarf. Despite Jane changing everything about the store, one thing that didn’t change was Bác Cai’s routines. She’d wake up at an ungodly hour, go into the store, water the bamboo plants, and get ready for the day in the store’s bathroom. She’d kept the same morning routine for the past thirty years, even using the same old Christian Dior white setting powder on her face.

No one in the twenty-first century had ever seen what she looked like before 6:00 a.m.—until that morning.

The moment Bác Cai entered the back room, she saw Jane crumpled on an old cot, her body shriveled, eyes puffy, and cheeks so tear-streaked, it formed freeway lanes on her face. The eldest Tr?n daughter had done something once again, she surmised, to prevent her happiness from ever coming to fruition.

They locked eyes, each one disturbed by the other’s state.

“Oh my god—” Jane’s voice muffled.

“Tr?i oi—”

“Is that your real face?”

“What did you do this time, con?”

Jane almost forgot her troubles as she stared at Bác Cai’s natural state, before all the primping and priming she did to mask her real age. She saw the dark spots around her eyes, how deep-set her wrinkles were. Bác Cai was old, there was no way around it, and her fragility was on a timer. And there was Jane, much younger, lying in the fetal position, unable to find her way.

“You really shouldn’t still be working at your age, you know,” Jane said quietly as she sat up. “You should consider retirement. I’ll take care of you.”

“And how exactly are you going to take care of me all the way from Los Angeles?” Bác Cai raised her eyebrow.

Jane stammered. “I never said I was going to move back anytime soon.”

Bác Cai scoffed. “It’s all over, is it not? I know you know. About Duc. That he isn’t your real father.”

Jane looked at her suspiciously. “You knew. You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

Bác Cai laughed, hard. “Con, it’s the worst-kept secret in Houston.” She then shuffled into the bathroom and began to get herself ready for the day. Jane observed from a distance. She watched as Bác Cai unraveled her headscarf, tucked bobby pins around her thinning hair, and curled areas into bobs to make it look fuller. She took out a thick black liner and began to flick her eyebrows, filling them in, her age somehow disappearing with each new trick she did.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jane asked softly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It’s not my life’s story to tell,” Bác Cai called out. She carefully applied an old, crusty tube of red lipstick to her lips. “It’s your mother’s story.”

“No, it’s our story,” Jane said angrily. “I’m part of that narrative.”

“What does it matter? Did Duc not treat you right? Did he not provide a good life for you? Why are you so ungrateful, con?” Bác Cai’s voice rose as she turned around to look Jane hard in the eyes. “He gave you everything you needed. His presence shielded you all from the outside.”

“He was barely sentient,” Jane shouted back. “He always confused our names, our birthdays, and didn’t know a damn thing about any of us. He always favored Jude, which is crazy, ’cause he’s not even Jude’s real father, either! What was the point of any of it?” Jane suddenly erupted into tears, there was no weather warning of any kind. Tears fell rapidly, and her chest began to heave, up and down, her breathing shallow, and she could barely get out the next words as her panic attack began to overpower her: “Whataboutourmother?”

“Oh, con, my sweet Jane.” Bác Cai rushed forward, and tipped Jane’s head onto her shoulder. And just like the day when they realized Evelyn had abandoned them, she held Jane and rocked her back and forth.

Hiccupping, Jane tried her best to get out the next words. “It’snot aboutaboy. It’snotaboutHenry.”

“I know, con.”

“It’snotaboutHouston.”

“I know, con.”

“WhatamIsupposedtodonow?”

Bác Cai stroked her hair, and continued rocking her, her sleeve soaked in Jane’s tears. “I don’t know, con. But perhaps it’s time you all end this charade that Duc has put on, find a way back to your siblings, find a way back to your mother, and then figure it out from there. Somewhere, out there, your mother’s been waiting for you, for all of you, and only she holds the truth.”

Though Jane nodded into her shoulder, she continued to sob, releasing decades of eldest-daughter hurt, crying for the loss of her mother, into the arms of the mother figure who stayed.

Jane had entered a fugue state. The thought of opening up the store for the day made her want to hide. She felt like a fraud, concealed inside a Duc’s Sandwiches when she didn’t know the truth of anything anymore.

Someway, somehow, we always make our way back home.

She reread parts of Duc’s letter to her. Almost one year into this journey, and she wondered who was really behind those words. Who had known her so well to know that Houston was her kryptonite? Who had cutting, intimate knowledge about her in that way?

Jane stared at the front door of the shop, expecting another empty day with no customers. What was the point of all of it? Bác Cai had resumed her position in the corner of the store, snoring loudly. It was barely noon.

But to her surprise, the bell rang, not once, but four times. Bác Cai snorted awake, yelling out: “Welcome, welcome! Don’t Duc with us, we’re the best bánh mì in town!”

“No, you don’t have to do that anymore,” Jane said forlornly, settling her down. “We can cut out that catchphrase.”

“Oh, thank Buddha,” Bác Cai muttered, sitting back down on her stool.

Like passengers of a clown car, Th?y from the nail salon supply store, Duy from the travel agency, Xuan from the sketchy CPA’s office, and Linh from the refillable, filtered water store filed into the store, one by one. Jane was surprised to see the four henchmen of Dakao Plaza, shuffling around her shop sheepishly. They began to poke, prod, and stare at everything in the store, taking in all the new changes. Their eyes settled on the black-and-white photos of Duc and Evelyn, and Jane grew embarrassed at the gaudiness all around her. Now she could see what a fraud she had been, painting a rosy picture of their family, when everyone in town knew the truth. Bác Cai greeted them enthusiastically, perhaps too enthusiastically, asking how business was going for everyone.

Linh muttered under her breath. “It’s better than this place, that’s for sure.”

Xuan was the first to walk up to the counter and order a sandwich. The special, of course. Soon, everyone else followed as well.

Jane, ringing them up, couldn’t help herself. “What prompted you all to come in today? Out of all the days that we’ve been open?” Bác Cai handed them all their food in the familiar thank you for coming plastic bags.

Duy, immediately ripping open his sandwich and stuffing his face, began to talk with his mouth full, with absolutely no care about manners. “We got a call.”

Linh, Xuan, and Th?y all nodded in confirmation. “Someone told us to come in and order sandwiches from you. Said they would even pay for our lunches.”

Perplexed, Jane looked at Bác Cai, who shook her head.

“Who was it?” Jane asked cautiously, her paranoia fueling her into thinking that it all tied back to Duc somehow, as everything always did.

Everyone shrugged. Th?y chimed in, attempting to be helpful. “He sounded young. Probably handsome. Could be dangerous.”

Jane’s face turned red as she realized who was behind it.

Linh carefully took a bite out of her sandwich. “This isn’t bad, you know,” she admitted. “It’s much better than the old Duc’s.”

“Could use more paté and cilantro, though,” Xuan grumbled. Jane accepted that as the highest compliment that would ever come out of an old Vietnamese man like him. “A bit stingy, if you ask me.”

Jane and Bác Cai watched as the four of them finished up and returned to their respective businesses, complaining more about the shop on their way back. The store returned to a comfortable silence as Bác Cai stared at Jane, trying to read her. “You know, con, that was probably better than sending you flowers. He knows you, you know. Are you sure you still want to move back to Los Angeles? Don’t you want to stay and figure it all out?”

Jane didn’t respond.