I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME | ✓

▬ 05: miles the mender

I didn't think it was possible for me to love Ziri more than I do, but as I watch him play bầu cua cá cọp with Ông Ngoại and Iris, love somehow finds room to grow. In Ziri's world, the heart is an infinite thing, not the last orange a family has to share during war.

Ông Ngoại always spoke broken English, and since his stroke, it's difficult to understand even his Vietnamese, but Ziri waits patiently. He doesn't touch his wheelchair to move him around, and doesn't stare at his amputated legs. It's so low a standard that it shouldn't surprise me, shouldn't fill me with appreciation, but it does.

Ông's smile reaches his eyes when he starts to tell a story — that Iris, judging by her groan, has heard at every family gathering. She reminds Ông that it's his turn to bet. I can't hear a word over the bustle in the lounge, four different games going on at once, but the way Ông smiles feels like he's offering his blessing to our relationship.

He didn't say anything when I told him about Ziri and, at the time, I feared it was because his impaired speech stopped him from expressing his disapproval, but maybe he's fine with it. I think Bà Ngoại would've been fine with it.

'Oh, you're reet smitten, aren't ya?'

Diu elbows me and I realise I've been holding the jug of lime juice for five minutes. Ears burning, I place it on the end of the serving table, currently holding up a buffet that could feed an entire village, but I make no effort to deny the accusation. Of course I am.

Má is the middle of five children, but she had me when she was nineteen, which makes me one of the oldest cousins, and Diu is the only one who keeps me sane at family gatherings.

We return to the kitchen.

Since the only family Ba had in England was his parents, we always attend celebrations on Má's side. We bring Bà and Ông Nội because the only family they ever had in England was Ba, but it's always painfully awkward.

Bà Nội seems to go out of her way to make it awkward. She's already criticising how Má's carrot slices are too thin and they'll go soggy in the stir-fry whilst Má stares at the knife like she's wrestling the urge to stab someone with it.

I drag myself to the hob to check the stuffed bitter melon soup before I help Diu with the summer rolls.

'So are you gonna get married when it's made legal?' she asks.

'If,' I correct miserably. 'If it's made legal. And I dunno. We've not talked about it.' We have a silent agreement not to talk about it, not to get our hopes up.

'You're planning to get married?' Má's voice is shrill.

'I don't know. I just told ya we've not talked about it.'

'But... why would you need to get married?'

The rice paper tears under my touch. I go to respond that we're in love, ain't that normally why people get married, but Bà cuts over me. 'What I don't understand is if you're going to be with someone who is so close to being a woman, why can't you just be with a woman?'

I'm so dumbfounded that I can't help but stare. 'That's not how any of that works.'

'You told us that you're gay,' she says with a generous dose of scepticism. She slides vegetables into a hot pan and raises her voice over the crackle of oil. 'That means you fancy other men. How can he be attractive to you?'

'He's beautiful,' Diu says.

'He is beautiful,' Bà agrees. 'But women are beautiful.'

'It's not the same.'