“My daughter Elle is twelve years old. My daughter Michelle is nine years old.”

“And how long has your family been in this country?”

“Four years.”

Huong’s eyes kept returning to the untouched cookies. “Please I invite you,” she said and opened her palm to encourage Irene Pachecho to partake.

Irene shook her head, smiled without showing teeth, and continued. “Is your family happy in America?”

Huong was used to people asking if she liked it here. And she always said yes because she imagined it was better than being stuck with the Viet Cong. But happiness, that was different. It was a personal question. On one hand, she thought the girls were happy. They seemed to like American culture. They only spoke to each other in English now. They barely spoke about any memories of the old country. They loved pizza, and roller-skating, pop music and sports, all things American.

But was she happy? She asked herself this every day. And Viet, was he happy? Did he prefer delivering mail to the lectures he used to give on Confucius and Kant? Huong sipped her tea and noticed Irene Pacheco tapping her pen against her clipboard. She finally decided to say, “Yes, we want to become American citizens.” Then she added, “You must like a drink? Coke? Coffee? Water?”

Huong was grateful Irene Pacheco at least agreed to water although it was a bit unexpected because she’d heard that Americans loved soda. She then thought that perhaps Irene Pacheco was on a diet because she was overweight. Americans were supposedly always dieting too. Huong went to retrieve fruit from her ancestral shrine.

Irene Pacheco said, “Please, you don’t need to go through the trouble. I had a late breakfast. I need your full attention.” She pushed the plate of sliced mandarin wedges aside.

Irene Pacheco cleared her throat. She said the words of the proceeding question slower than she had the rest. “How do you discipline your children, Mrs. Le?” Huong leaned in trying to listen better. She squinted her eyes. Irene said, “Let me rephrase it. What do you do when your daughter, Elle, does something you don’t like?”

Huong wondered if the woman was implying Elle was a bad girl. Huong said, “She a good girl. Good student. Helps me at home.”

“Children aren’t perfect, Mrs. Le. What do you do when she misbehaves? Disobeys you?”

“Ah, only sometimes. Like in the morning, I always say to them don’t run down the stairs. It is too dangerous. You can fall down. And this morning, I hear them running too fast down the stairs.” Huong crossed her arms and shook her head to show her displeasure.

“So you yell at them when they don’t listen?”

Huong wondered if it was a trick question. She said, “I tell them don’t run, everyday, don’t run. But they are stubborn. One was born in the year of the cat and the other a mouse. She is tricky.”

Irene Pacheco flipped through a few pages of notes and then continued. She hunched her shoulders forward as if she was going to confide a secret to a friend. She said, “Mrs. Le, I am here because Elle’s teachers are concerned about her…”