Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
Evelyn
One of the worst things about living in that gaudy mansion was that it became an echo chamber for the children. The day I had overheard Duc and Huey’s private conversation and had begun packing my life into one suitcase, I could hear the children murmuring at the kitchen table, which quickly turned into an argument, a crescendo I knew wouldn’t end well. Georgia laughed alone in her room; she was still young enough to need me, my scent, my body, to sleep. But her laugh comforted me; it convinced me that she was going to be okay.
At least, that was the lie I used to comfort myself.
Why do rich people prefer to live in gigantic houses? How could anyone ever see anyone in such a big, empty home? I missed our first starter home, a small duplex off Wilcrest and Bellaire, so much. When we were crammed together in a room, I had eyes on everyone at all times. Life was so much simpler back then.
“Give that back to Paulina, Jude!” Jane’s strong voice, demanding restitution. Jane, my eldest daughter. Selfless Jane. Always defending her younger sisters while leaving herself defenseless. I knew she had gotten that trait from me. I felt the failure of motherhood, plunging its knife into my back slowly.
“What’s yours is mine!” Jude screamed back with all the might in his lungs. But he was still one against four. Despite being born the exception, the only son in a sea of daughters, the odds were stacked against him in this kind of battle.
I was always awkward with Jude when I should have embraced him more, but it felt safer to hold him at an arm’s distance. If Jude came too close, old memories would resurface, and it reminded me of how quickly I could lose everything.
He reminded me too much of him.
“Eat shit, you entitled rat!” Bingo, my second-eldest daughter, and the one I worried about the most. Prone to outbursts and always shunning logic, she was the worst combination of both Duc and me, and I often wondered how she would brave the world as she got older. I knew Duc shouldn’t have been around us for so long; his influence was rough and there was a lack of care about the children. I knew he cared, but he didn’t care .
“I’m telling Má about your dirty mouth!” Jude fought back.
“Go ahead, like she gives a shit about any of us. Can’t even be bothered to leave her room for weeks. She might as well be dead.”
I froze then, midway between shoving some winter clothing into my suitcase. Paulina, the most cutting of them all. Dead? I scoffed. How little they knew.
Meanwhile, Georgia had reached max capacity—her screaming filled her lungs, akin to a cat climbing a tree, unable to find its way back down. She pleaded to be picked up and comforted, her toys too useless to distract her. I was torn between running to her and running away. How could I have possibly ever have prepared for such a life? I never even graduated from high school. Guilty, I let Georgia keep crying.
Once I finished packing the essentials, I proceeded to put on my usual makeup: pencil-thin eyebrows, white-powdered face, and a neatly curled bob. I stared at myself in the mirror, embarrassed by how tired I looked, especially for such a young mother. The deep, dark bags under my eyes revealed my insomnia. Sleep eluded me and was replaced with hallucinations of my childhood in Hà N?i, my teenage years in Oklahoma City, and my twenties spent down in Seadrift. Every place haunted me. I’d been stuck in Houston for over a decade now, wondering if this city was my final resting spot. Vietnamese women were meant to be migratory creatures; it had been a strange adjustment to stay so still. What was I doing, pretending to live a lie so long? Who was I anymore? How could Duc and Huey do it, day in and out, for decades?
But most importantly, what really happened to Tu?n on that boat? What were they keeping from me? What did they not want me to know?
I got up from the chair, walked past my closet stuffed with designer clothes with the tags still on them, and instead put on the same ratty clothes I had on the day I left my parents’ home in Oklahoma. I remembered that day well, carving the memory into stone. I had prayed for my life to become biblical, so that I could return laden with the type of stories my mother could only dream of achieving. I dreamt of returning to my mother’s arms, rested and fulfilled.
I hadn’t seen my mother in ten years, and for the hours leading up to my departure, I wondered if that cycle was doomed to repeat. Would my children be okay if they wouldn’t see me for ten years?
As I slowly finished dressing, I saw Duc and Huey through the window on the lawn, in their usual positions. In the past months, Duc and Huey had begun treating me as if I had an incurable disease, that perhaps I should be locked up. I debated having one last conversation, but the thought didn’t last longer than flipping a coin for heads or tails. I didn’t even care which one it landed on. I wanted out.
I silently crept downstairs, lugging my suitcase behind me. The children didn’t even notice me. It seemed almost too easy. It shouldn’t be this easy to walk out on your family. But it was. I walked through the arched wooden front door that morning, and the last thing I heard before I shut the door was Jude laughing at the kitchen table. We locked eyes for a brief second, and I was worried he could see right through me.
The moment I made it down the long driveway, in an old pair of ratty slippers, and past Duc and Huey, I didn’t look back once. But I allowed myself one more memory: I closed my eyes and preserved my only son’s laugh, wondering if I’d ever hear it again. His laugh sounded so sweet yet sickly, like eating so much chocolate you get a stomachache from it. It didn’t help that Jude’s laugh reminded me too much of his laugh.
The ghost I couldn’t let go of. Not until I became a ghost myself.
The rumor mill let me know that nobody realized I’d been gone for days, not even when the children brought it up the first time, the fourth time, or the sixth time. I had left it all behind. Duc, the empire, the money, the children, the mansion. I had heard whispers, yes; everyone in Houston cupped their mouths in horror, clutching their jade necklaces, and spread rumors faster than the speed of light. They’d all wondered if I’d been possessed by an evil spirit, or perhaps I had found a richer man to attach myself to. Maybe I had gotten greedier when Duc came into money and wanted more. Maybe Duc cheated on me with a younger woman and I went into hiding from shame. Where did Evelyn go?
Yes, where did I go?
Rumors said that I followed the trail out west, to Orange County, like most other Vietnamese immigrants. Others said I went east to Miami, where I started my own empire. The old men who played Chinese chess in the park and smoked their off-brand cigarettes said the local monk had predicted I would move to Australia one day—claimed that I’d always talked about moving to Sydney, and how the Vietnamese community over there was stronger than the one in America.
Something must have been the catalyst for my abrupt departure, because why would an immigrant woman, who came to America with nothing to her name, walk away from a life her own mother would have traded her soul for? Everyone had a fantastical story behind my reasoning, but no one had ever asked the most crucial question, which only needed a binary answer:
Are you okay?