warm."
Carter was wearing his black sweater. He removed it and handed it to Mary. "Here, you can wear this."
"But won't you be cold, too?" Mary asked.
"I'll be fine."
Desperate for relief from the biting air, Mary put on the sweater. It warmed her instantly, as if it had been sitting in the sun all day. "You're really warm," she chuckled.
He smiled and didn't say anything.
They took another cab to a part of town called "Little Asia." Chinese shops and restaurants sat on one block, and Korean businesses occupied the next one over. A couple Thai places and Japanese joints were sprinkled about as well. Not far away was a huge grocery store that was owned by Vietnamese people. There were smaller shops inside the grocery store, like a hair and nail salon, a cell phone store, a bookstore that only sold volumes in Viet, a clothing store, and an impressive food court. Tucked into the corner of the food court was a little booth that always had lines. They sold different kinds of soup, including Mary's favorite, bún bò Huế. Most non-Viet people knew about the traditional noodle soup called phở, which was often mispronounced like "foh." It actually sounds like "fuh."
"I've not had this before," Carter said. "What's in it?"
"Noodles and beef, similar to phở," Ba explained. "But it's a different style from the central part of Vietnam."
"It's also pretty spicy, because they put hot chili paste in it," Mary said. "We can ask them to leave it out if you want."
"I'll be fine," he said. "I'll have mine the same way you have yours."
They placed their orders, and the woman at the counter gave them a number to put on their table. Soon, their soups were brought out to them, along with a plate full of shredded cabbage, herbs, and the wicked hot little chili peppers that could burn holes in your intestines.
Carter watched Mary and Ba for a moment as they broke apart their disposable chopsticks and began eating. He took his chopsticks as well, but his fingers fumbled about to hold them. He tried picking up some noodles, but they just slipped back into his bowl.
"We can get you a fork," Mary said.
But he shook his head. "I just need some practice." He watched her hands and arranged his in a similar way. When he tried for the noodles again, he managed to get one into his mouth before the others splashed back into the broth.
Mary and Ba laughed.
"Maybe I do need a fork," he chuckled, wiping the splatters from his face with a napkin.
"I'll grab one," Ba said. "I want to buy some soybean drink, too."
She stood and headed for the counter. Mary took the bottle of red sauce that came with the other condiments and squeezed a little into her soup.
"What is that?" Carter asked.
"Chili sauce," Mary said. "Do you want to try it? It's pretty hot, so just heads up."
"Yes please." He took the bottle and added a little to his broth. He tasted it with a spoon.
Mary waited for him to start crying.
"It's good," he said. And he squeezed a bunch more in.
"Are you nuts?" Mary cried. "You're making it like a nuclear bomb!"
Carter stirred the soup with his spoon until it was bright red and took another taste. "I like it."
Mary stared at him. Then, she picked up one of the atomic grade chili peppers from the condiment plate. "Try this."
Carter bit into it like a pickle. "These are good, too. Can I put it in my soup also?"
Mary was too shocked to answer.
"Here you are, Carter," Ba said as she returned with his fork and three cans of soybean drink. "Oh, so you like the peppers?"
He nodded as he bit into another.
Ba chuckled. "You're like Jean-Marc. He loved spicy food, although it gave him bad heartburn some times. Oh, Jean-Marc was my husband. Mary's grandfather. He was such a fun man. He probably would have challenged you to see if you could eat as many peppers as him."
Carter chuckled. "He sounds like a wonderful person. How did you meet him?"
"We met in Vietnam, during the war," she said. "He was working in Saigon for a French-owned company, and I was making my family nervous. All of my sisters had husbands and children, and I was thirty-seven-years-old and still not married. My mother tried matchmakers and everything, but nothing worked. They said I was too stubborn and that no man wanted me. I was also told that I was too skinny and