“You won’t.” I hug her back, only so she can’t see my face when I lie to her. “This is different from last time.”
~
The next day, Bri’s shift overlaps my flight time, and I can’t defend a five-hour wait at the gate. She’ll go to work, and I’ll stew in my feelings for two hours before I leave.
She’s showered, dressed, and ready to leave me. “I wish I could take you to the airport.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
She hugs me tight, her head on my chest beneath my chin. “We’ll make it through the holiday, then I’ll see you on my birthday, right?” She can’t stop the tears from reaching her voice.
You could let me stay. You could let me give you time for your dreams to come true. But you won’t.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say, not convinced I’ll survive that long without her. “No idea what to get you, though, since you’re going to have a new job that you love, that cute green apartment, and a new cat.”
“I’ll always accept cake.” She laughs through her tears, then kisses mycheek, driving in the knife. “See you soon, Hoodie. Love you.”
I can’t let myself say the words before she runs off, leaving me to bleed confusion from a wound we both caused.
~
I have barely any time to recover before having to go back to Tacoma and see my family. Thanksgiving shouldn’t even be a holiday, let alonea requirement to spend time with people you don’t want to see. The whole point was supposed to be about bringing people together for a day and giving them a chance to remember what matters most, but all I’m thankful for right now is the wine I brought to the function.
Mom is back in town to help with the restaurant during the takeout rush, then she is going right back. She should be here for Christmas, then May and I will go with her to be with Grandma for two weeks around Tét. In the meantime, my only blip of joy will be when Bri lets me go see her for her birthday. After our last conversation, I’m not sure she’ll see our visits as time together rather than an attempted repeat of Brooklyn.
Leaving felt wrong. I don’t like how our last visit ended. I don’t like how we disagreed about my intentions. I don’t like that I didn’t get to kiss her before I left. It’s eating me up inside.
At least the wine is good. I lost track of what glass I’m on, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I polished off most of the bottle by myself. I don’t have to drive, so who gives a fuck? Being around my dad, surrounded by my nonchalant mother and sister, makes my skin crawl.
I’ve set aside my feelings for so long I believed they didn’t matter. My issues stem from my abandonment, the feeling that my dad never cared enough to be in my life. Only when I followed someone else and fed off their happiness did I feel comfortable in my own world. But thatwasn’tmy world.
I don’t want to be with Bri because I want her love. I want to be with Bri becauseIloveher. She wants me to decide who gets to be around me, to choose who gets to be my family. Choosing to be with her is what she has been telling me to do this whole time. I know what I’m doing. She’s the one who needs to catch up.
“The restaurant is short this month.” My mother’s leading sentence pulls me back into the conversation. She places a hand on my forearm. “Can you help us cover the utilities for November?”
“No,” I say. All three of their heads swivel in my direction.Oh, I said that out loud?“We’re in the middle of layoffs at work. I got a big pay cut,” I explain. “And I don’t want to.”
“Liem,” my mother scolds. “We need a little help.”
“I don’t want the restaurant to fail either, Mom, but I can’t swing it anymore. It’s your restaurant and I’m not a bank.”
“It’s nothing for you,” my dad says quietly.
I stare him down, waiting for him to look me in the eye when I know he won’t.
“Nothing” is thousands of dollars. The real nothing is the relationship I have with him.
“It’s a lot for me, actually. And a lot more than you deserve.”
Finally, he looks at me, confusion stitched across his face. I’m drunk, bothered, and set on proving I’m in control of my life’s narrative.We’re doing this.
“We’re family by technicality at this point, Dad,” I say. “You left, then when you came back, you never tried to make amends, you only asked for money. I grew up without you. I went to school and fell in love for the first time without you. Do you even care?”
“Of course he cares,” my mom says.
“Then let him say it.”
Dad stares at me, the hint of some emotion displayed in a quick frown and the twitch of a furrow in his brow. “I care.”
