Page 33 of RomeAntically Challenged
Lynn wasn’t just Annie’s first friend in Rome. She was also Annie’s first Vietnamese friend.
Oh sure, Annie kept in touch with the girls she’d met at Heritage Camp. When they were too old to be campers, they became camp counselors, and when they were too old for that, they started planning girls’ trips every summer. But they were like her, born in Vietnam, raised by white parents.
They called themselves the In-Bees, in betweeners, with a foot grounded squarely in two separate worlds. Born with Vietnamese features and raised in white communities, In-Bees felt extreme pressure to represent both. And every July the In-Bees reunited for a week of girl bonding, which included drinks that came from a shaker, food that was prepared by someone other than them, and stories and struggles that only an inbetweener could ever understand.
Annie loved her parents for providing a group of friends she looked like and whom she could relate to, even if it was just for a week. Her parents had gone above and beyond to give Annie a taste of her heritage, but she always felt there was a piece missing.
Questions unanswered.
Important questions that she needed to explore before she could be whole. She knew a meaningful connection to her culture wasn’t going to be achieved by going to Thet celebrations, Vietnamese restaurants, or a summer camp. But while she was growing up, it was all that was available to her.
Since moving to Rome, Annie had learned more about what it meant to be Vietnamese from Lynn than she had in all her years in Connecticut. Rhode Island wasn’t her dream destination, but it gave her the distance and freedom to explore who she was. And she was starting to find her place here. No way was she ready to leave.
Not yet.
“That would be great,” Annie said. “Thanks for offering, and let me know if you hear of something.” She shot Beckett a stern look. “That isn’t a result of premature death.”
“Your loss.” With a shrug Beckett reached over to open Lynn’s bag.
In seconds the break room filled with a warm, spicy smell that made Annie’s lunch feel as if it belonged in her Backstreet Boys pail.
“What is that? It smells amazing.”
“Wonton soup.My mom’swonton soup,” Lynn clarified. Using her hands, she waved the heavenly air in Annie’s direction. “I’m bringing the recipe to the next Pho Shizzle meeting.” Her face became animated, and she clapped her hands. “You should totally come. You’d help bring the age average down, and you can ask around about rentals.”
“I’ve asked you a dozen times for that recipe and you’ve never invited me,” Beckett said,aftershe helped herself to some of Lynn’s lunch.
“I invited you once. You chickened out.”
“That’s because Nurse Tran was there.” Nurse Tran was Rome General’s very own Nurse Ratched. Well, to the staff she was. To the patients she came off like everyone’s favorite grandmother.
“Wait.” Annie held her hands up. “Nurse Tran, who could scare Satan into wetting his pants, is part of a cooking group named Pho Shizzle?”
“She started the group,” Lynn said, tilting the bowl and scooping rice into her mouth. “We meet once a month to share family recipes. It’s a nice term for a bunch of competitive old ladies who get together and argue about whose recipe is better. Slurs are thrown, egos are tested, and enemies are made. But everyone always leaves with a full belly. You should come.”
“Sounds like a blast,” Annie deadpanned.
“It’s for serious cooks only,” Nurse Tran said, suddenly standing in front of Annie. The woman was old enough to have been Buddha’s first disciple, and the look of challenge on her face made Annie wonder if there could be truth to the rumors that Tran had made a murderous biker gang leader cower.
“We all make the same dish and compare—”
“Argue,” Lynn corrected.
“—recipes. Then after the winner is chosen—”
“After the other participants are threatened into voting her way,” Lynn interrupted again.
“We share secrets and useful tricks—”
“Steal, only to claim your family invented the trick during the Tang Dynasty.”
Nurse Tran shushed Lynn before she continued. “This month’s dish isMì Hoành Thánh.”
“I love dumpling soup.” Annie smiled ridiculously big, as if she’d just proven she was fluent in the language rather than adept at reading a takeout menu.
“Good, then you have a family recipe to bring?” Tran said, launching into “Head Nurse” interrogator mode. “It has to be a family recipe, not something from theJoy of CookingorMartha and Snoop’s Potluckor whatever your generation uses.”
Annie looked at her friends and, using every silent gesture from the Wing Girls handbook she knew, silently pleaded for someone to throw her a line. One line would be fine. Even just an encouraging smile of support while she faced the most feared person in the hospital would have helped.
