Page 46 of Okay, Cupid

“Thôi, con nói bạn đi về đi. Khuya rồi.”

“Mới seven p.m. mà!” I have no clue what Huy’s saying to him, but the frustration is tight in his voice.

“Khuya rồi. Và tiếng xe ồ n ào quá. Má không thích.”

“Rồi, con hiểu. Để con chở Jude về trước đã. Không thì Jude phải đi bộ.”

Huy’s dad waves his son off. “Đi đi. Con lái xe cẩn thận nhé nhé. Ba mới sửa xong.”

“Con biết, con biết.”

I watch as Huy’s father gives me a short wave that I return, and he walks out through the garage door and up toward the gate in front of their apartment door.

“Everything okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Huy’s voice is quiet, which feels so rare for him, so wrong. “Can I drive you home?”

“No way,” I tell him. “I can take the bus, it’s fine.”

“Jude, please. If I drive you home, I don’t have to go upstairs.”

Oh. I didn’t really expect that.

“Well, sure.” I settle back in my seat, strapping the seat belt over my chest.

The music from Huy’s tape fills the space between us as he drives me home. I want to say something, ask him if everything is okay. But I can’t bring myself to do it, can’t brave the wall that’s gone up between the two of us.

His father sounded frustrated. Not quite angry, but definitely annoyed.

I wonder if that’s a feeling that Huy is familiar with.

I close my eyes, listening to the music, the heat from the truck’s vents warming me nicely. I could totally fall asleep right now. I almost do, actually, which is how I don’t immediately notice we’re driving past my apartment.

“I think you missed a turn,” I tell him, looking at Google Maps on his phone, which no longer has a route on it.

“Oh, I didn’t. Trust me.” He smiles a sly grin.

“You’re not going to murder me?”

“I swear.” He holds his hand up as we reach a stoplight. “I’m just … correcting something.”

“And you’re trying to convince me you’re not a serial killer? You’re not very good at this.”

“Just wait.”

We’re getting closer to the Presidio, and then we cut through MacArthur Tunnel. The dark turns orange as the music plays and I get my miniature Perks of Being a Wallflower moment. But the true treasure comes when we exit the tunnel, when Huy drives through the tollbooths and through the merging lanes.

Even through the night I can see those tall red arches, the wires connecting the bridge to the road. Huy rolls the windows down, letting the sharp wind blow through our hair as I stare at the night sky. There are no stars; this close to the city it’s mostly a deep void, a helicopter flying around somewhere, but it’s still very magical. Huy turns up the music to add to the moment, and I watch the bridge around us as it rises and falls all over again.

Before I’m ready for the moment to end, it does. And Huy’s turn signal leads us off the main road and down a short driveway toward a parking lot that I’m sure makes for a great photo opportunity when the sun is out.

“There,” he tells me, shifting into park. “Now you can’t say you’ve never been across the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“It lived up to all my wildest expectations,” I tell him.

“I’m glad.” He shifts into drive once more. “Ready to see it again?”

I smile at him, feeling a pull in my chest. “Of course.”