22 Evie
22 Evie
H ? i An, Vi ? t Nam
“Is it just me, or has the sun grown twice in size today?” Fen mutters, lifting the folds of her silk shirt to air herself
out.
“Like the Grinch’s heart,” Evie adds. “Or was that three sizes?”
Fen shoots her a dirty look. “Don’t even mention anything covered in fur. My balls are sweating.”
“You don’t have balls,” Evie says distractedly.
“Metaphorical ones. My metaphorical balls are the biggest ones here, and today, they are the hottest.”
Evie laughs. “No one’s going to argue with you on that.”
“And why are you not drowning in sweat like the rest of us?”
Evie teases, “Maybe I’m just a better traveler than some pampered actresses we know.”
“Who am I to refuse the life of luxury I’m so richly owed? Anyway, I don’t know how you convinced me to skip the pool at the
Quy ? ns’ to go cook... hot noodles? Whose brilliant idea was that?”
“I think we’re remembering the story differently.”
The bus had dropped her, Fen, Pin, and Talia off in H ? i An to see the sights, while the rest of the group and their luggage traveled to the Quy ? n estate to settle in. The exploration group would convene with the others for dinner.
Evie had initially longed for a cold shower and a nap in her room after the six-hour (luxury) bus ride, but Fen had insisted that they not waste a minute of the trip, which began with a famous cooking class in the heart of the city. Evie reluctantly agreed, sliding a glance toward Adam brooding in the front seat of the bus.
Things had been awkward on the hike from the caves. Adam barely spoke to her, though every time she lagged behind, he was
right next to her, offering his arm or a bottle of water. The guide had chattered happily about the history of the caves,
H ? i’s newborn baby, and American politics at large. (“Why,” he’d wondered, “are American politicians so ancient ?”) Evie was glad for the distraction. Later, after they went their separate ways in the hotel, she felt a pit in her stomach,
growing ever wider by the second.
Had he regretted their time together? She certainly hadn’t. It was the best sex she’d ever enjoyed. But more than that—they
had just fit . She couldn’t get enough of him: the touches, the conversations, the silences. Sleeping in the cave beside him, even on that
bumpy ground on a damp tarp, had given her the best rest she’d ever had in her life. She felt... safe.
But then there was that awkward conversation about their fathers. Whether either of them would move. Layers and layers of
unsaid things. Hurts simmering beneath the surface.
And now he is withdrawing from her again. The constant push and pull. It’s enough to make her scream.
Fen loops her arm through Evie’s. They’re walking across the covered Japanese bridge in H ? i An, on their way to the cooking class. The bridge offers plentiful shade, a welcome boon in the heat, and they can see the
river below with its clusters of water blooms and smattering of narrow boats, shaped like minnows floating slowly through
the channel. Around them are colonial-style buildings with balconies and thatched roofs, each painted in marigold and sunset
pink. Lanterns hang from the eaves, still in the windless summer day.
“So-o-o,” Fen says, shoving an elbow into Evie’s waist. “Did you use that condom I gave you or what?”
Evie shushes her, glancing back toward Pin and Talia, who linger by the temple entrance built into the bridge. They aren’t paying attention at all, gesturing instead toward the carvings and statuary. Pin listens to Talia intently, blinking in time with her words, and Evie feels a clench in her gut. They make it look so easy to connect. Shouldn’t it be easy?
Well, at least the physical part was easy with Adam.
Her mind wanders to his fingers entering her in the cool water of the cave pool. The way he knew exactly how to stroke her,
how to bring her to the very edge before letting her come apart in his arms. How fucking hot it was to ride him on the sand, knowing that it was just them for miles and miles. Scream as loud as you want, baby. She fidgets at the memory of those words.
Fen crows, “You’re blushing , you little sex goddess! I knew it. Everyone knew it. Was it good?”
Evie sighs. “It was spectacular.”
Fen claps. “I’m the spicy fairy godmother! Raining condoms instead of fairy dust! Should have given you more .”
“Oh, we had plenty.”
“The aunties?” Fen asks knowingly.
Evie giggles and nods. “MVPs.”
“So are you going to stay with him in his room tonight? Sneak into his childhood bed like the depraved minx you are?”
“His parents will probably be down the hall. Gross.”
“Meeting the parents—a big moment across all cultures.”
“Well, I’m not sure it’s like that,” Evie says glumly. “The sex might be phenomenal...”
“Say more.”
“ But Adam is all kinds of buttoned up. And not in a romantic, stoic businessman way. Though, yeah, he has that too. Trust me:
he has zero desire to introduce me to his parents, no matter how good the sex is.”
“Because?”
“I live in America. He lives here. He holds himself back. I’m a mess. We don’t fit.”
Fen leans her head briefly on Evie’s shoulder. “Honey, maybe the outward circumstances of your lives don’t fit. That doesn’t mean your souls don’t. That your hearts don’t.”
“You’re a secret romantic,” Evie says incredulously.
“It’s not a secret at all. I have seen every single Meg Ryan movie ever bootlegged.”
“Even City of Angels ?”
“Even that one. Do I think Mei and I are going to ride smoothly into the sunset together? Hell no. But does that mean I’m
not going try my damnedest to get her on that horse with me?”
“That’s a lot of cowboy metaphors.”
“You Americans aren’t the only ones who like Westerns. Evie, you talk about fitting, but there’s no such thing as a perfect
fit. Love isn’t perfect, because life isn’t perfect. There’s no secret architect making it all happen for you. Sometimes it’s about chipping away at the circumstances
of your life to make the fit.”
Evie thinks about her father in his woodshop, the smell of pine and sawdust rising around them. How many hours had she spent
watching him bent over a piece of wood, lovingly sanding it until the surface became smooth? Maybe love could be like sanding
a piece of wood until its grooves fit perfectly into the joints. But where is the line between compromise and codependency?
“You are wiser than your years, young Fen,” Evie says at last, planting a kiss on Fen’s cheek.
The other woman raises an eyebrow. “Obviously.”
A long line snakes from the cooking class entrance, full of tourists eager to learn from the chef. Pin and Talia have caught
up to them now. All four eye the slow-moving line and the cramped, stove-fired interior of the building. A bead of sweat drips
down Evie’s neck. Fen stares for a second longer and then promptly grabs her arm.
“Yeah, no,” Fen says. “This fresh hell is not happening today. I’m taking you to my favorite tailor in H ? i An. They make the most gorgeous custom gowns.”
“I don’t know—” Evie begins.
“I promised to take you shopping. Plus, there’s air-conditioning in the shop.”
A few minutes later, they’ve said goodbye to Pin and Talia—both of whom opt to wait for the cooking class, like the good sports
they are—and make their way down the historic streets of H ? i An Ancient Town. Each balcony is loaded down with profusions of flowers, dripping off the rails onto the facades of the
buildings. Canopies of rainbow lanterns hang over streets teeming with small wooden shophouses.
Fen’s tailoring shop, The Silken Peacock, is on the second floor of a yellow building. The women sag in relief at the icy-cold
blast of air-conditioning that greets them, both reaching eagerly for the coupes of champagne on a silver tray. Fen’s tailor,
Jade, ushers her in, immediately stripping her to get a more accurate measurement. As she jots down the numbers, Fen reaches
to point to bolts of gorgeous fabrics, parading in her underwear through the shop with the dignity of a queen. Thankfully,
there’s no one there except for Fen and Evie.
Meanwhile, Evie sits on a velour ottoman and scrolls through her messages. Atlas sent a photo of the Tower of London, making
a joke about the Plantagenet ghosts—an obscure reference to the War of the Roses and the young princes who disappeared in
the tower. Classic Atlas. Just that right mix of dorky and brilliant and a little creepy.
She types back: It’ll be like The Shining but with doublets.
You get me.
Maybe I just get archaic true crime.
Same difference.
Evie grins. Things are easy with Atlas. Or they were before they ended their relationship. And despite the fact that he was technically her boss. In the long list of Evie’s great mistakes, Atlas was truly one of the more innocuous ones.
“Are you sexting with Quy ? n?” Fen demands, now half-clad in a pair of floor-grazing trousers with a bra on top.
“Just a friend back home.”
“All right, your turn,” Fen says, pulling her up from her seat. She hands her over to Jade, who appraises Evie from top to
bottom.
“Pretty girl. Dresses like shit,” Jade says.
Fen nods. “I know. She’s determined to hide herself under layers of depressing black. Don’t get me started on her footwear.”
“Hey,” Evie speaks up. “Standing right here. And I like my boots.”
“She needs a new dress. By tomorrow,” Fen says. “There’s going to be a big, fancy dinner at the Quy ? n estate—”
“Oh, the beachfront villas?” Jade asks, curiosity piqued. “They combined three to make that estate of theirs.”
“That’s the one,” Fen answers.
“Three?” Evie squeaks.
“They’re richer than kings. That beach the villas are on is private . They own half the real estate in this town—and five others. Dr.Quy ? n is like a god around here; everyone is terrified of crossing him. He’s a real dragon. You’re going to his estate?”
Though Fen only nods in confirmation, Evie’s mouth drops. She had no idea. Of course, she understood that Adam came from wealth.
But this sounds like a staggering echelon. No wonder he was so tense about the visit.
“Okay,” Jade says, looking up at the ceiling in concentration. “You need a Cinderella moment. This is a rush order.”
“Price is no object,” Fen says airily.
“Uh—it’s a little bit of an object?” Evie puts in.
“Charge it to my father’s account! He won’t notice.”
“You don’t need to do this—” Evie begins.
“Yes, she does,” Jade puts in, giving Evie a severe glare.
As Evie protests, Fen only crooks her head smugly, as if to say, You have no idea . An hour and three glasses of champagne later, the two women exit the shop with the promise of new dresses by the next afternoon.
“I need a nap,” Fen says.
“Let’s go back early,” Evie suggests, her eyes drooping just the tiniest bit. She could sleep some of the bubbles off too.
Slightly tipsy, they hail a cab to take them to the estate. Unfortunately, they’ve ended up with a driver who thinks he’s
in a NASCAR video game. More than once, Evie reaches over to clutch a laughing Fen as they squeeze through the narrow streets
at such twisting speed that she feels herself trying not to retch. Once they emerge from the city, they whizz past large almond
trees tipping with flowers. Coconuts and papayas cluster in the branches as the congestion makes way for the resorts and beaches.
When they pull in front of the gated Quy ? n estate, Evie’s heart begins to slow. Then, when she sees the buildings in front of her, she swallows. Hard. There are indeed
three villas lined up, like triplet sentries. The largest one stands tall in the center, with its marbled columns and hotel-like
entrance. Potted plants line the paved walkways, along with stately palms that lean toward the villas. Fitting with the theme
of the city, a string of red lanterns hangs from each porch. There’s a quiet elegance to the estate that Evie feels immediately
drawn to. Even if her head is still spinning.
“They really should warn us before we go to a place like this,” Evie mutters.
“You’ll be fine, honey. Just hold your nose up and pretend you’re unimpressed. Works like a charm with these people.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re a literal movie star.”
Fen casts her gaze around, gesturing to a stone elephant resting at the steps of the main villa. “No wonder Adam’s wound tighter
than a bowstring. With this kind of money, they must expect him to marry a Thai princess.”
Definitely not an unemployed, extremely broke poet from America who still can’t tell the difference between a stock and a bond. Evie tries not to think of any gorgeous Thai princesses as she stumbles out of the car. The champagne might have gone to her head a little, especially since they neglected to eat lunch. She thinks briefly but longingly of the noodle
cooking class, before setting one booted foot slowly in front of the other.
“Why is the earth moving so fast?” she asks.
“Slow and steady, girl,” Fen murmurs. “Right behind you.”
But it’s too much—the heat of the day, the bubbles, the slight nausea from the Vi ? t Vin Diesel’s driving—Evie catches her foot on a broken cobblestone and goes flying, like a yelping, inelegant seagull skimming
the water for her supper. At the last minute, she awkwardly lifts her arms to break her fall, but winds up sprawled flat on
her face anyway. Eye-to-eye with a pair of shiny black Jimmy Choo slingbacks.
“Cool buckle,” she says.
The person attached to the Jimmy Choos clears her throat. “Are you all right, child?”
Looking up, Evie sees an imperious woman in her late fifties wearing a pair of eggplant trousers and enough diamonds to sink
a barge to the bottom of the ocean. She resembles Ruby, with her high cheekbones and thick masses of dark hair. Adam’s mother.
Of course. And behind her is Adam’s father, wearing a three-piece suit and an expression of grave and unmistakable disapproval. It’s
all Evie can do not to tuck her head back onto the cobblestones and bawl.