He found it peculiar that an American city would hold such high demand for a minority race. He wondered if it was simple math and actually proportionate. Perhaps there were more Asians in San Francisco than whites. At least when he delivered in neighborhoods like the Sunset and Chinatown it seemed true. And then it hit him, clear as day.

Viet suddenly understood what Huong was doing with the haircut and then the wedding ring. She was trying to protect him, their marriage. She wore it as an effort to ward off other men. A flood of emotion rose in Viet’s throat. The lump made him choke as he reached for his coffee. He gulped it without thinking and burned his tongue.

He had witnessed the way men stole furtive glances at her when they went grocery shopping, rode the bus, walked in the park with the girls. Surely, some of these men had greater means than he.

His mind wandered. Maybe she had already committed adultery. Maybe the co-worker she had cheated with wouldn’t leave her alone and now she wore the ring as a sign. Maybe she was copying the Buddhist nuns. They shaved their heads to show a shedding of worldly desires. Maybe Huong was now repenting her sin.

In the end, Viet knew it was nonsense. His wife was a beautiful, worrywart, insomniac, who worked hard and had a temper and still he knew he was lucky to have her. Today’s revelation was more proof of the greatness of that heart she attempted to confine in her crab shell.

To show his gratitude, Viet decided that he was going to clean the entire apartment, from top to bottom. He flipped on the TV for background noise to keep himself company. The girls last had it in on the music video channel and again that same rock band shimmying in tight clothes and big hair serenaded him. In America it appeared there was nothing wrong with a man exploring his yin side.

Viet dedicated the most time to the kitchen. They spent the majority of their time as a family in this room. He scrubbed down the stovetop, cleaned the oven, mopped the floors, and even cleaned out the refrigerator, which included wiping up some caked up spills that had built up several tenants ago. It took up the entire morning.

By noon, Viet had moved on the bathroom. He was in the tub on all fours with nothing on but some yellow rubber gloves when the doorbell rang. In haste, Viet grabbed his wife’s silky canary yellow robe from the back of the bathroom door and tied it on.

The young man outside said, “Hi, I’m here for your free carpet cleaning appointment?”

Viet said, “There must be a mistake, I didn’t make an appointment.” He hid behind the door and cracked it just enough to reveal his face and his steamed up glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose.

The young man said, “Don’t worry sir, it’s free. You just pick any one room you want me to clean and that’s it. Deal?” The man took a step forward and stuck out his hand. He had blonde hair neatly parted and combed to the side. He had what Viet considered all-American good looks, the kind of person Viet could imagine in commercials selling toothpaste and cereal.