She shook his hand and said, “Good meeting you, Mel.” Then she stepped away, turned to Viet and said, “My friends are waiting outside.”

Viet walked her to the doorway and watched her clicking down the halls, stirring up dead air with her swinging arms. Viet was in awe of his daughters, their quick minds, their ability to adapt in this new world. He admired their pliable female tongues that danced and twirled in a storm of lyrical English. He marveled at their grace and courage, forced to age beyond their years. His wife always lectured them, “Be thankful we made it here. In Vietnam, they don’t even have food to eat.”

In such moments, Viet often thought his daughters did nothing to deserve their adult mess, their ugly wars. It seemed to belittle the human spirit, to always be grateful that things could be worse. Of course he’d never speak these thoughts to Huong. She already thought he was too easy on the girls. Instead, he left Huong to her couch, with her remote control, vigilantly watching the twenty-four hour news channel, waiting for the next cruel blow to hit.

When Viet returned with his sure quiet steps, nobody noticed. Melvin was at it with another one of his stories. He said, “Shit, the girls be lovin’ the Mel machine.” Viet went about his last-minute chores. He barely listened while the other men surrounded Melvin with their eager attention. “Girls these days, might be lookin’ like nice little schoolgirls but you know they be all nasty in the bed.” The other men agreed, what with the make-up these girls wore, all done up, difficult to tell their age. Only young David rolled his eyes and mumbled something beneath his breath.

Viet put on his jacket and grabbed the can of stale breadcrumbs for the birds he’d feed from the park bench across the street. He was about to leave when he heard, “That Elle, wouldn’t mind having baby in bed.”

Viet couldn’t believe he heard his daughter’s name come out of Melvin’s mouth. “Who would’ve thought? Fine little thing coming outta…” Melvin continued on.

The room bulged. Viet’s vision flattened out and grew fuzzy all at once. In his ears there was a sound like ball bearings rolling and grinding against each other. Viet grew so hot his fingertips burned. He could feel the wet between his toes. He held on to the back of a chair to brace himself. When he took a seat, the cool of the metal folding chair shocked him. He tried taking deep breaths and even imagined himself back in his living room doing tai chi. None of it helped. Viet put the can and the bag on the floor by his feet. He leaned over and massaged his temples. Over the roar, he heard the bragging baritone voice saying with a chuckle, “Then at the end, she said Mel, playing all sweet and cozy like.”

Viet sized up the room. He looked at the sooty cloth bags bulging with mail, the bins overflowing with envelopes, and the dingy lockers. Melvin and his mouth stood exactly ten steps away. Viet counted. Melvin’s foot rested on the wood bench in the center of the room. He was bent over with his elbow on his knee. The other men hovered around him like ants devouring dead debris. Viet picked up his lunch bag. Inside, the blade poked out from the paper towel.