I shrug it off and hand it to him. “Thank you.”
“Jamie’s told me all about you,” Bà Ngo?i says, her perfectly manicured hands folded together. She speaks with an accent the way Mama did. Like English bows to her. “I really wanted to meet you. I know it was short notice, so thank you for agreeing. We have a whole thing planned this week with Christmas. You see, my son-in-law is Christian, so we have the dinner and the tree and everything.”
I nod. “It’s no issue. Jamie has toldmeso much about you, I feel I’ve known you all my life.”
Bà Ngo?i smiles. “So we’re friends?”
I glance at Jamie, who’s beaming so widely, my own face hurts.
“I hope so,” I reply.
“Ready to order?” Chef Vuong asks, holding a notepad.
Bà Ngo?i asks him something in Vietnamese, which he answers, and then Jamie interjects. Chef Vuong nods and waves a hand, to which Bà Ngo?i points at the menu before pointing at Jamie. Jamie answers and then looks at me. I stare blankly back at him.
“Sorry, sorry.” He winces. “We’re asking if you’d be okay with duck?”
“I would be, yes. Thank you.” I feel I’m intruding into someone’s family, like I have no business being here.
“Anything to drink?” Chef Vuong asks.
“Water for all of us,” Bà Ngo?i says.
Chef Vuong nods and leaves.
Jamie glances from me to his grandmother. I think I know what’s on his mind. I thought she’d be grilling me about being Muslim and asking if I had any influence over Jamie’s decision.
Jamie’s gaze catches on mine, and then he asks his bà ngo?i in a low voice, “Are you disappointed?”
Bà Ngo?i takes a deep breath, staring at her napkin for a second before gazing up at her grandson. “I won’t pretend and say I wasn’t shocked. Confused too. I still am.” She looks at me. “You told me about Jihad, and I wondered if she was the reason.”
Jamie shakes his head. “No, I’ve been thinking about this for so long.”
Bà Ngo?i nods. “And then I remembered the questions you used to ask me when you were younger. Why so many people believed different things. If they’re all speaking to the same God. Why are we born if we’re just going to die. They were big questions. I was worried I wasn’t able to fully answer them.”
“But you always told me to keep asking,” he says quietly.
She places her hand over his. “I did. You were looking for something more. I just never realized it. But now you’re walking a different path than our ancestors took. I will always love you, but the confusion needs time to go away.” She looks at me. “This was the reason I wanted to meet you. I don’t care much about what the news says with their biases. I prefer making my own opinions. And from what Jamie told me about you, you’re quite something.”
Bà Ngo?i smiles kindly before gathering my hands in hers. I stiffen but don’t draw back.
“Please forgive me if I’m being too forward,” she continues. “But Jamie told me about your mother.”
I nod, a lump forming in my throat.
“How are you feeling?” Bà Ngo?i asks me, still holding my hands.
I dissect her words, trying to think of an answer. I’m not sure how I’m feeling. I’m scared to be happy again because I won’t survive if that happiness is ripped away from me. I think of my uncertain future and my sister who lives thousands of miles away. I just thought of a mural I could draw that would change Mama’s story for the better. Ithink of wanting to go to Opus so badly, I could physically bleed. I think of how scared I am I’ll never escape the apartment and Mama’s ghost.
I stare at the tablecloth. “Many things.”
“When I came to this country,” she says, “it was difficult for many years. And then one day I woke up and I realized it wasn’t difficult anymore. That it hadn’t been as difficult for a while, but I didn’t notice. My daughter was ten, and I remember I woke before the sunrise, and something about that light breaking the horizon stayed with me. I’ve seen countless sunrises, but it’s that one, insignificant day that I remember.” She taps my wrist. “This will happen to you too. It’s the natural course of life. I’ve been alive for sixty-six years; you can trust me when I tell you this is not forever.” She smiles. “Next time I ask you how you’re feeling, you may have a different answer.”
I take in a shaky breath.
Chef Vuong comes to our table, balancing a huge tray of food. Roasted duck with crispy skin and steamed rice placed beside it. Three bowls of beef noodle soup with bean sprouts and parsley floating on top. Several fat rolls filled with shrimp, drizzled with a sauce. Crepes with slightly curled edges, the beef filling nearly oozing out.
My stomach rumbles at the smell.
