Chapter Nine
Eight years ago
I never had much reason to get excited for the holidays.
Since I lived with Dad all year round, the custody agreement gave Mom priority for Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays—any celebratory occasion she wished to spend with me.
I remember one year, she planned to visit for Christmas, and Dad prepared the guest room for her while I put together an itinerary.
I’d never been to the town’s Christmas market before and thought it would be perfect to see the lighting of the tree for the first time with her.
She canceled a couple days before her flight, promising she’d “make it next time.” But a next time never came, and there was always a reason: She snagged a last-minute spot at a gallery show, or a bout of vertigo made the thought of a fifteen-hour flight unbearable.
At some point, I finally visited the Christmas market on my own.
I did a lap around the square and grabbed a hot cocoa at the Pine Street Bakehouse before I decided I wasn’t missing much.
Holidays at the Trans’, however, are a big deal.
Chú always closes the pharmacy for the day, sometimes for the weekend.
On Christmas, we decorate the tree together, but instead of exchanging gifts, we receive lucky red envelopes.
The Fourth of July is Chú’s annual cookout—a chance for him to show off his mastery of Vietnamese grilled pork skewers, while C? serves her equally perfected chè Thái for dessert.
And on Thanksgiving, once all three football games have aired, Chú puts on a Vietnamese direct-to-video entertainment program called Paris by Night, blasting it loudly in surround sound.
Ever since the first Thanksgiving the Trans invited us over, I haven’t wanted to spend my holidays any other way.
This year’s Paris by Night special starts with an elaborate musical performance that turns into a one-act play that Chú has to translate for Dad.
I don’t think Dad’s following, but they’d cracked open a bottle of Hennessy some time ago, so he’s roaring with laughter now.
Parker’s parents speak mostly Vietnamese at home.
Dad’s first language is Mandarin; he only uses Hokkien when he’s phoning my grandparents.
My own Mandarin is conversational at best; I’ve heard Parker speak Vietnamese only on rare occasions, and Nathan has always been better at it.
With this patchwork of languages spoken with varying proficiency, we’ve always defaulted to English when we’re together.
In the kitchen, Parker and I are rolling cha giò for tomorrow’s lunch. He’s a lot faster, having completed a pyramid of spring rolls that puts mine to shame, but my rolls are cleaner—tightly folded with the optimal amount of filling.
“I can’t believe we’re already preparing food again,” I say. “We had a king’s banquet for dinner. I’m so stuffed, I don’t think I can eat until Christmas.”
“Ha, funny. When has my mom ever accepted I’m full as an excuse to stop eating?
” Parker uses his forearm to sweep his bangs from his eyes.
We’d been talking on video calls for so long that seeing him in 3-D again makes me hyperaware of every little change.
For the fifth time that day, I take in the blond streaks, the grown-out roots, and the body that has nearly doubled in size after a year of training and strength programs.
I’ve been hesitant to bring up football.
Parker doesn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about his progress, but he doesn’t seem too disappointed either.
The preseason was a crucial time for him to show the results of his redshirt year and secure a spot on the team’s depth chart.
While he’s not a starter, he now plays backup, which means real game time.
The head coach has subbed him in four times since the regular season started, although only in the fourth quarter of blowout games.
“I know she usually makes a whole feast, but does it seem like a lot more this year?” I glance around at the kitchen counters.
Among the carefully wrapped trays, I can see papaya salad, bánh xèo crepes—some made with prawns, which are my favorite, and a few made with pork, how Parker likes them—grilled lemongrass chicken, and heaps of vermicelli noodles.
On the stove sits a large pot of bún bò Hu? broth that has been simmering for hours.
He takes half of my egg roll wrappers, his share already depleted. “I think she’s just happy that we’re all home from school.”
Sure enough, C? is still in high spirits, even after spending half the day prepping dinner. She finds us by the kitchen island, holding a lotion container in her hands. Twisting it open, she reveals hair ties and bobby pins inside.
“Dani, I’ll tie back your hair for you. It’s too long. You’ll get food stuck in there.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, sitting up straight in my chair. “Thank you.”
She starts on a French braid, humming a folk song I’d heard on the TV earlier. “Have you two made plans for New York?”
“We talked about it a bit.” Parker shrugs.
“You don’t have plans yet? Con, you go next month.”
“We have a general idea of what we’re doing,” I say to C?.
Unlike Parker, who’s too cool to let anyone catch wind of his excitement, I’ve been grinning from ear to ear at every mention of his upcoming trip.
It’s hard to plan around the football season without knowing how his team ranks in the Pac-12 yet, so we’ve decided Christmas is the best time for him to visit me in New York.
He’s booked a flight to arrive on Christmas Eve.
“We only have a few days, but we can at least check off the must-sees: Fifth Avenue displays, the Rockettes at Radio City.”
“You’re gonna get bored with all the tourist stuff,” mutters Parker. “Didn’t you see it all last year?”
“Not all of it. And I don’t mind, I think they’re traditions for a reason. You should get the full Christmas experience for your first time in New York.”
C? taps on my shoulder. “You have to see the tree! And skating!”
“Rockefeller Center,” I say, chuckling. “All on the list.”
Parker shakes his head but slides me a teasing grin. “As long as you don’t expect me to wear matching I Love New York T-shirts and fanny packs with you.”
“Matching? Of course not. That’s all you.”
“Done! ??p quá!” C? tightens the braid and tidies it up with a bobby pin. She’s gotten quicker since the last time she practiced on me, taking only half the time.
“Parker, look. How’s my braid? Dani looks so pretty, right?”
I focus on my spring roll so as to give the impression that I don’t care how he answers.
“Your braid is fine,” he says, without addressing the latter question.
“Ugh. I don’t know how they drink that.” Nathan enters the kitchen, red in the face as he deposits an empty cognac glass in the sink. He takes in the cellophane-wrapped food along the counters and whistles.
“Má, you know we already had Thanksgiving dinner, right? Unless you were planning to have the entire Pacific Northwest over for an encore.”
C? shakes a finger at him, her jade bracelets dangling. “You! Always so sadistic.”
“You mean sarcastic. And I don’t want to know where you learned that other word.”
He pulls up a seat next to us just as C? steals off to the living room with a plate of dried squid. I wouldn’t know, but according to Chú, it pairs perfectly with Hennessy.
“What are you guys up to?”
“Planning Parker’s New York trip.”
“Christmas, right?” He frowns. “Should I be offended no one has mentioned visiting me in Philly?”
After Nathan moved for school, Parker and his parents had visited a handful of times.
But that was when Parker was in high school and Nathan was still an undergrad.
Although New York is a lot closer to Philadelphia than it is to Silverpine, visiting Nathan had never come up for discussion.
I think I just assumed Nathan had better things to do than babysit his next door neighbor.
“You’ve got grad school, an internship, and you’re working part time,” I count on my fingertips. “We would just be a bother to you.”
“But you weren’t a bother when you were begging me to chauffeur you around every weekend?”
Ages ago, Nathan had cancelled a date in order to drive us to Portland—Parker needed new cleats, and I wanted to take pictures at Washington Park for an art assignment—and now he never lets us forget it.
“Come to Philly. I’ll make time for you guys!”
Parker and I exchange a look.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot I’m talking to the two busiest sophomores on this side of the planet,” grumbles Nathan, his icy glare cutting through the lens of his glasses.
“Should I book an appointment between football practices? Does Miss Dean’s List take meetings, or do I have to sit in on one of your study groups? ”
“I don’t know if I made the dean’s list this semester,” I tell him. At least, I haven’t received official notice yet.
“You made the dean’s list last year,” Parker points out.
At this, Nathan snaps his fingers. “Hang on. Why don’t you ask Dani to tutor you?”
Since the football season started, Parker’s talked about nothing but games and practice. I’d almost forgotten he had classes on top of all that too.
“Do you need help catching up?” I ask.
“This is perfect. You two are already on video calls all the time—”
“I don’t need a tutor,” Parker cuts in, his tone rigid.
“What? You were just asking me if I knew anyone—”
“I was asking for someone else.” Parker rolls a spring roll with the final scoop of filling. Wordlessly, he takes the empty bowl to the sink and turns on the faucet. The sound of running water echoes through the room, and I almost don’t hear Nathan when he leans closer.
“Do me a favor and check in with him sometimes. You know, if something seems off. I think if he sees you’re doing well, it might encourage him too.”
I’m not quite tracking, but I nod, waiting for him to elaborate.