LITMIR.BIZ

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They passed the few remaining beer cans around. They made an excuse of it, saying, “We don’t want to waste anything.”

      The 49ers were ahead. The men jumped out of their seats cheering. On the screen, a man on the red team caught a ball thrown from a great distance. He leapt straight up into the air and with the very tips of his fingers barely grasped the edge of the ball until he cradled it in his arms and protected it against his belly. Afterward, he flung it into the ground. The other team members hugged him and some were so happy they even patted his bottom. He was a big bear of a man and everyone agreed he was the best athlete on the team.

      But Tri said, “Dwight Clark? No way, the best is right here baby,” pointing to the name Montana stretched across his back and then doing a stomp and clap before shaking his butt. All the kids giggled.

      Bao said, “Try some,” and handed his cognac to Kim. She acquiesced when the women egged her on. She liked how relaxed she felt after only two sips. Lam was rip-roaring drunk and didn’t object. He was busy strumming his guitar and singing pop songs from the old country for the kids. Marcel sat on the floor, resting his hands in his lap, mesmerized. Sophia pulled at her brother’s shirttail, needy for his attention. When this didn’t work, she meowed in his ear.

      Bao turned to Kim and asked, “Is there food left?”

      They went to the kitchen and Kim offered to make him a plate. She gave him a scoop of rice topped with chicken curry, pan-fried noodles, shrimp salad, and spring rolls. She wanted to give him everything, all the good stuff.

      Bao gestured to the freshly sliced peppers placed at the corner beside the basil. “That’s something my wife did.” He was looking at her as if he wanted to say something more, when Kim was certain there was nothing more, that there could not be.

      “Duc liked spicy food, too,” she said. She felt the alcohol simmering inside and feared she had had too much.

      “Any word on his release?”

      Kim ran cold water from the faucet and distracted herself by preparing tea. She found the kettle almost too heavy to bear. She had become a weaker woman than she used to be. She stood on her toes reaching for the cups in the cupboards overhead. Bao grabbed them for her and stood behind her so close the tips of his shoes tapped her heels. Her hands shook when he handed her the delicate cups. She thanked him without meeting his eyes.

      The kids were running down the hall. She heard their little footsteps echoing on the old floorboards. Marcel shouted, “Stop it or I’ll tell!” Kim froze, momentarily believing her seven-year-old son could see through walls, had seen through her.

      When she lifted her face to Bao’s she hoped it was composed, expressionless, withholding. She suspected she had failed because her lips were trembling. He sat next to her, closer than usual inside the arm of the breakfast nook. They were lit beneath a naked dangling bulb. Kim cracked open the window and rested her head against the windowpane. Her nieces Elle and Michelle were outside gossiping. Frenzied chatter rushed in with the fog. One of them uttered an American boy’s name, something like Tyler or Kyle and then both girls fell into a gaggle of a giggling fit.

      Bao blew out a defeated half-chuckle and said, “Me and you, we’re the same. We’re almost living, but not quite.”

      “We’re living. My children don’t want for anything.”

      “I’m talking me and you.” He squeezed her hand beneath the table. “I wish things were different,” he said. She settled her gaze into Bao’s red-veined eyes and wondered if he too slept with a pillow cradled between his legs, lost sleep because he cried at midnight, woke up before dawn grabbing for a warm body that wasn’t there.

      Kim was scared but continued holding Bao’s hand. He interlaced his fingers between hers, pushing deep so that the dips and grooves of bone and flesh became a solid fist. With his other hand, he reached over and touched the nape of her neck with cautious fingertips. He swallowed hard and she watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “I like your hair short. Brings out your face,” he said. “I’m glad to see it’s not wet anymore.” He inched in with cognac and cigarettes on his breath.

      Kim let him kiss her shoulder, while she watched the door. She let his lips graze her neck, while she studied for shadows under the slit of it. She let him place his hand on her thigh as she listened for approaching footsteps. She thought she could smell her own fear. She thought her heart would burst. And yet she couldn’t help but smell his scent, couldn’t help imagining how his mouth would feel opening upon her. Her husband had said move on, but would he forgive her? Or would she live with a lifetime of footprints stamped on her back?

      Kim understood desire in its true form as a thirst, as a yearning so deep, it meant risking tragic consequences for the promise of only one sip.

      Bao asked, “Can we go somewhere?”

      But where? She pictured her and Bao in the cluttered hallway closet the kids called the phone booth, panting and grasping between the interview clothes, reaching for an arm to discover a broom handle, squirming between winter jackets and cardboard boxes. From this nook in the kitchen, in the central room of a shared house, Kim heard her sisters in the living room asking the men if they were finished with their food. She heard her brothers grumble and sigh. There was the clatter and ding of plates being stacked one on top of the other.

      Bao said, “Please, anywhere,” and this time it was his lips that trembled. He squeezed her hand even harder, not letting go, leaning in closer, waiting for her reply. She could feel his warmth radiant on the tips of her lashes.

      The kettle began to cry but they ignored it. Kim wanted to give herself over. She wanted to be like The Pussycats, arched back and easy abandonment. She wet her lips and waited. Bao’s mouth had barely skimmed hers when the boom of her oldest brother’s voice jolted her backward. From the other room, Lam shouted something incomprehensible, although she guessed it to be the punch line of a joke when a huge wave of laughter spilled into the kitchen. The tide of laughter peaked and crested, crashing to the shattering of breaking glass, followed by her daughter’s wail, screeching louder than the crying kettle. These decibels of life coalesced layer by layer, until the pressure of so much wanting under one roof finally swept the kitchen door wide open.

      Sophia ran through and hopped into her mother’s lap. She cried about the glass she’d accidentally dropped and broken. Kim comforted her by smoothing down her hair. As was Sophia’s new habit, she meowed to show her gratitude. But this time, Kim didn’t scold her. She continued petting the sleek black hair. Beneath her hand, her daughter purred.

       EVERYTHING FORBIDDEN

      The healthy take care of the sick. A youth respects his elders. Older siblings take care of younger siblings.. It had rained recently and Golden Gate Park smelled of tamped-on eucalyptus leaves stewing atop damp soil. The pungent acidity of it sliced through her. It put a spring in her step. Her chanting matched her pace while her eyes scanned the park grounds. Huong needed the perfect stick to c o gió her oldest daughter with. She needed to treat the girl before Elle’s condition worsened.

      Beside Huong, her nine-year-old was on her hands and knees digging through a mountain of leaves. Michelle was small for her age and in her puffy brown coat with the white stitching looked like a little burrowing squirrel. Huong wondered if Michelle’s size was caused by their internment at the refugee camp. Maybe being surrounded by so much illness and death during her formative years had stunted the girl’s growth. In fact, she shouldn’t have been out at all on a day like today. Huong’s guilt caused her to snap at the girl. “Pull your zipper up. Cover your throat. God knows I can’t afford another sick child.”

      Michelle held out a branch. “This one?”

      “No, too big, it should be small enough to fit inside here.” Huong pointed to the hole in the middle of the Vietnamese coin. “About the size of your button,” she said and caressed the white plastic sphere on Michelle’s coat pocket.

      Michelle offered another stick.

      “That’s

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