Chapter 5

Cooking Lessons

On Saturday, I’m finishing lunch. Where are you really from? Mrs. Smith’s question, her tone, her look still bother me.

“Anne, did you hear me?” Mom asks as she clears dishes.

“Pardon me, Mom?”

“After yoga, I’ll pick up a pizza and pick up Elizabeth from Rohan’s house. Help Jacob with his reading. Finish your homework,” she says.

“Yes, Mom,” I reply.

“Be good. Dad’s in his office but don’t disturb him unless it’s important,” she says before she leaves.

I know.

Dad works all the time. He’s a lawyer and helps people come to Canada. It’s the Vietnamese way that, as the eldest daughter, I care for my younger siblings. Like Auntie Hai does.

I take out Grandma Nội’s jade bangle. I slip it on and feel the rushing wind around me.

“Precious granddaughter, will you help keep the harmony with the ancestors?” Grandma Nội asks.

Anne chops carrots in the kitchen, with Grandma Noi instructing. Jacob draws with crayon at the dining room table in the background.

“Yes,” I say. She makes me feel safe. I want to tell her about ballet.

She smiles. “Good. I miss having đồ chua. Wash the carrots. And the daikon. Cut them like sticks,” she directs me in her firm voice.

“Like fries!” I’m very slow, trying not to cut my finger.

“What? Talking to me?” Jacob asks from the kitchen table, looking up from his drawings.

“No, to Grandma Nội,” I reply.

He tilts his head slightly. “I thought we only said prayers to her every new moon?”

I always tell Liz to watch out around Jacob. He notices everything.

“You can talk to her whenever you want,” I say.

He thinks about it. “Okay.” And goes back to drawing.

“Make a mix of water, vinegar, and sugar,” Grandma Nội continues.

First, I mistake salt for sugar. Then I lose count measuring the vinegar. Finally, I’m ready to add the vegetables to the bowl.

“After, pack the vegetables tightly in a glass jar,” she says.

Dad comes into the kitchen and grabs a banana. “Pickled vegetables? I love these. How do you know to make this dish?” he asks.

Grandma Nội’s right beside me but I guess he doesn’t know she’s there. Grandma did say what was between her and other family members isn’t for me to know. Just like her cooking lessons are between us.

“Grandma Nội,” I answer.

“When I was your age, she worked at the sewing factory during the day and at the nail salon at night. She cooked before I woke up so I never cooked with her.” He leaves.

Grandma Noi puts a hand on Anne and smiles at Anne's dad. Anne's dad, holding a banana and his laptop, smiles at Anne, too. Anne cautiously closes the pickling jar. There are cooking ingredients, and cups and spoons for measuring, on the counter in front of them.

“Your dad’s job was to study. There was a lot we had to do when we first came to this country.” Grandma Nội’s voice is sad.

I take a deep breath. “Grandma, did people ever ask you where you were from?”

She snorts. “All the time! People would yell at me to go back to where I came from. They would shout things like ching chong bing bang. And people would pull their eyes into slits at me.”

“That’s so mean, Grandma,” I say, feeling like I want to throw up.

What happened to Grandma Nội was much worse than what Mrs. Smith said to me. I guess I’m being too sensitive.