Elle reached her arms above her head in a manner so perfectly formed and agile, it reminded him of the Separating the Clouds tai chi posture that was part of his practice. She shook her younger sister’s shoulders and ordered, “C’mon hurry, go get it.”

Michelle did as told, obeying the pecking order of siblings. She sprinted. Her favorite rock band was performing. When Michelle was out of earshot, Viet said to his eldest, “You could have gone yourself. She likes them more than you. Remember to be nice.”

Elle said, “Dad, nice guys finish last.”

He didn’t see Elle’s face but knew she rolled her eyes when she said this. Her sass was bewildering given how close they used to be.

His wife said, “Watch your tone young lady.”

Viet looked down at the chopping block and smiled inwardly. Huong’s rare defense of him and loving attention felt like a warm wave washing down his spine. The feeling didn’t last long because in her next breath she said, “My god, I asked you to finely dice the jicama and you give me these chunks big enough to chip a tooth on.”

Viet joined his daughters on the couch. On the screen, men with make-up and frosted hair wiggled their hips to a crowd of adoring women. Huong was pounding away at the jicama with a cleaver.

She asked, “When will you hear back about that accounting job?”

“Tomorrow or the next day.”

Viet could hardly understand what they were singing over the hysteria of screaming fans and electric guitars. The camera scanned the audience and in the crowd a girl who looked Elle’s age had tears streaming down her pink face as she mouthed along to the words of a song she knew by heart. The lead singer had large blue wide spread eyes and pillow lips the color of strawberries. He was pretty in a calendar girl way. It made Viet squirm in his seat.

Huong said, “How many resumes did you send out last week?”

Viet nudged his daughters, “Which one is your favorite?”

“Him,” they chimed in unison, signaling the lead. No surprise. Everything was reversed in this country. Even his daughters weren’t immune.

Huong said, “Did you hear me?” and set the cleaver down.

“Three,” said Viet. “I sent out three.”

The pounding started again.

After dinner, Huong said she would retire to bed early. She said she was exhausted from the workweek. In fact, she hadn’t slept well the entire week. The sight of the messy house made her even more tired.

Viet cleared Huong’s bowl and chopsticks from the table. She had her hands on the table’s edge and was about to push her chair out when she looked down at her dainty hands as if noticing them for the first time. “Remember when they used to be pretty? Now I have man hands.”

He said, “Rest. We’ll be quiet, right girls?” He smiled at Huong but she didn’t catch it. She was still studying her hands, the backs and the fronts of them. She sighed loud enough for the entire family to hear as she disappeared into the bedroom.