Page 89 of Okay, Cupid

“Seriously? That’s amazing, Huy!”

“Yeah, if only my parents shared the sentiment,” he tells me. “They think I’m being unrealistic.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah … at the end of it all, I just told them what they wanted to hear. There was no getting past them.”

“So just like that, you’re giving up on your dreams?”

“I mean, I don’t even know if that’s my dream. I don’t know if I want to play professionally. It’s not exactly a popular sport in America. I just … I wish that they would’ve listened to me.” He lets out a sigh. “When Hương wanted to play violin they tossed her into lessons. They joked the other night about the second mortgage they’d take just to get her into a nice arts school.” He leaves the rag on the counter, his face sinking. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about this.”

“You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. They’re not a bad thing,” I tell him matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but you’re not my therapist,” he says, with a quiet frustration to his voice. “It’s just hard. Sometimes …” He pauses, looking around like he’s suddenly conscious of the idea that people might still be around, but the door is locked, the lights off, and there’s not a soul to be seen anywhere outside. “I don’t know, sometimes it feels like they don’t like me.”

“I’m sure they love you, Huy.”

“No, not love. Like, as a person. I wish that they liked me.”

The tears are welling up behind his eyes, and I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around his body. I don’t know why I’m doing this, it just feels natural. He needs a hug. I know that feeling all too well. It’s such a simple concept, the touch of another person, their warmth next to you, that pressure that you feel, that comfort.

A simple concept, sure. But a life-changing one too.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me. “I didn’t mean to get so intense.”

“It’s okay.”

“I guess I’ve never talked to anyone about how I felt before.”

“I’ve got ears. I can listen.”

“Thanks, Jude.” He finally returns the hug, pulling me close to him. I can smell the vanilla and taro smells that stick to his clothing. The sugar on his skin.

Finally, he pulls away and says, “We have some curry to address.”

With the two of us eating, it’s easier to sink to the floor, sitting next to each other with the container between us.

“God, I could marry this curry,” Huy says with his mouth half open.

“I don’t know if that’s allowed just yet.”

“Just wait, one day, we’ll approve human/curry unions. Mark my words.”

I can’t help but notice how close our knees are right now, pressed together ever so slightly. He’s wearing his pair of jeans with the holes in the knees, the sparse black hairs poking out.

“I’m sure the streets will be filled with people celebrating.”

“All the smart people will.” Huy points his fork at me. “So …”

“So … ?”

“You’re really okay, after the other day?”

“The other day?” I know what he means, but in my delusion, I hope that pretending I don’t will free me of having to have this conversation. “How was I acting?”

“I don’t know, kinda weird. You rushed out of the house so quickly my dad asked me if I’d said something to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh, no … I mean, I’m fine. I promise.”