My father’s diplomas from Vietnam are water stained. There is a PhD in philosophy and a law degree too. They’re yellowing and hanging on the wall above the TV. In contrast, beside them are the new bright white diplomas from America. He went to night school and earned a computer-programming certificate. After that, he got a BS in Accounting too. My father believes education is the ticket out. He says you can choose to be a doctor. They help others and are respected in society. He says you can choose to be an engineer. Decent paycheck and math comes easy to you. He says be a professor, excellent benefits and the students will keep you young.

Phoebe’s dad says, “Follow your passion.”

Out toward the East, Stan points to the hydraulic boatlifts and says, “George Lucas was sitting right here looking out at ‘em when he got the idea for the ATs-ATs in The Empire Strikes Back.” The boatlifts look mystical and foreboding, rising out from the sea like post-industrial dragons. Although I’ve heard some people call them dinosaurs and others call them Dobermans, I know them as guardians. They stand at attention on the edge of the coast. They’re perched and ready, here to protect the inhabitants of the Bay. If my parents knew this maybe they wouldn’t stay tucked inside their apartment all the time, hidden behind two deadbolts and a squeaky screen door.

Stan once played a gig at the Lucas Ranch estates. He was instructed to wear a tux and bring a blindfold. Kristen didn’t like the idea of him going alone. She said that if Stan loved her he would sneak her in. She could pretend to be a backup dancer. “It could be my big break,” she said. When Stan said it was out of his hands, Kristen said, “Everything slips through your hands.” She squeezed hers into tight fists. The biceps she’d gained from teaching her Taut-N-Tone classes bulged.

Later that night, Phoebe overheard Kristen saying she was too young to have given up her acting career for him and for a daughter who wasn’t even hers. That’s when Phoebe told me about the survey. They did a survey where they asked a bunch of people, if you were on a sinking ship and you could only save either your spouse or your child, who would you pick? Ninety percent of the women chose the kid and ninety percent of the men chose the wife.

Phoebe asked, “Elle, who would your father choose?”

Stan balances on one arm, lifts his hips off the wall, and fumbles for his back pocket. Phoebe says, “Careful, you’re scaring me.” He pulls out a corkscrew and uncorks the bottle from his bag.