He blinks. “Are you sure? There’s this one diagram that’s particularly enlightening—”
“Oh, I see Dr. Song,” I say, spying Mat’s dad across the aisle. “He loves hoi tod. I think I’ll take him some.” I whisk up a plate and stride away.
“You forgot the sriracha!” Mama calls after me.
But I don’t turn around. Dr. Song is just going to have to enjoy his oysters without the chili because I can’t risk one more moment in Papa’s company.
Chapter Nineteen
“Dr. Song!” I call, flagging down Mat’s dad.
If Mat is my sworn enemy, then his father is the opposite. I’ve known him my entire life—literally—since he was the obstetrician who delivered me. He’s as close to me as a real uncle, and the only reason I call him “doctor” is because the title holds more reverence than “uncle.”
“Orrawin,” he says, my full name warm and affectionate on his lips.
There’s a moment of awkwardness as I lower my head over the plates I’m carrying, in an attempt to wai him. If I were a true Thai girl, instead of the Americanized version, I’d know the proper etiquette. Do I put down the plates first before greeting him? Where? On the ground, as there’s no nearby surface? Or do I hand him his plate and then wai him?
I don’t know the answer because I’m just a bumbling Thai American, who doesn’t belong fully to either world. And so the plates go up with my hands and kinda get smashed together as I pay my respects.
He smiles indulgently. “Hoi tod is my favorite. How did you know?”
“Because you were the one who taught me to eat it,” I remind him.
I remember the moment as if it were yesterday. I was five years old and on the verge of a tantrum because I didn’t have any champagne to toast, like the adults. Dr. Song swooped in, handing me a plate of hoi tod. He showed me exactly where to stab, to procure an entire oyster, and we held our seafood high in the air so that we could “chaiyo” like everyone else.
It was the first time anyone had treated me like a grown-up. His example set the bar for how I should act, rather than the way I wanted to act.
He gobbles down a bite now. “This dish always makes me wonder how Mat is my son. Refused to go near oysters ever since he was a kid, that one.”
“One of his many faults,” I say, forgetting that I’m speaking to his father. Oops.
But Dr. Song’s not insulted. “You always did keep him on his toes.”
We both pause to chew and swallow. I hand him a napkin, and he pats his lips and regards me quizzically. “So. How do you like dating my son?”
I almost spray out the final bits of mashed-up oyster. “Er, okay. I guess.” My mind whirls. Does he read the composition notebook along with my parents? Maybe he thinks I’m a dating disaster. I wouldn’t mind if he pulls Mat from the project—but will that make my parents consider me a failure? “I mean, it’s going really well. I’m having such a wonderful time.” Great. Now he’ll think I’m in love. “The truth is—it’s…” I let out an exasperated breath. “The truth is, I don’t know what it is. What does Mat say?”
His eyes twinkle. “You know Mat—he doesn’t say much. But last Saturday, I caught him trying on half a dozen shirts before going to the mall with you.”
Wait, what? He changed his clothes before seeing me? Why?
I rack my brain, trying to even remember what he wore. Black jeans. A navy thermal shirt that hugged his solid chest. All in all, the outfit was pretty nondescript, even though he looked good. I mean, he always looks good.
I shake my head, but the muddled thoughts refuse to clear. “We’re not dating for real. It’s just a favor he’s doing for Mama. You know that, right?” I peer at him. “Since you gave Mat permission to trek across Asia? Another day for his trip for every day he fake-dated me.”
Dr. Song chews thoughtfully. “That’s right. As much as I’d like to, I can’t just hand over the funds for that trip, you know. Gotta make him work for it, even though we’re all each other’s got.”
I blink. “What do you mean, you’re all each other’s got? What about Auntie Nit? I know she’s in Thailand, taking care of her dying mother. But you still have