He’s coming back. He’s coming back! And Khánh knows when he’s coming back so they can prepare something truly amazing!

The glow of happiness carries over to that day. Khánh hums happily as they stir the batter for bánh ướt. Once the rice flour is all combined, they set the bowl aside and begin prepping the fillings. Kai seems to like trying everything, and Khánh is eager to oblige. They toss some wood ear mushrooms into a bowl to rehydrate, then head outside. The warm spring weather has enticed the mint and Thai basil plants to thrive in the back garden somewhere amidst the general forest back there. Khánh takes several handfuls of each and heads back inside to wash them. Then, they make julienne slices of giò lụa, also called chả lụa. This Vietnamese sausage will be the first store-bought thing Khánh has fed him, but Kai doesn’t need to know that.

They take a deep breath before continuing with the next step. There are two ways of making this dish, one traditional and one more cognizant of the modern marvels known as the non-stick pan. Khánh already knows which method they will use. Though their parents might not be the most understanding about Khánh’s gender, they are the link to Khánh’s cultural heritage, and that means a lot. One of the bright spots of Khánh’s early life was standing on a stepstool at the kitchen counter watching their mom work hard at creating delicious meals out of simple ingredients for the whole family. Khánh had been fascinated with how you could take something that didn’t taste very good on its own and transform it into something that tasted better than all the parts that went into it. Unfortunately, the magic of that time is all kinds of complicated by the strained relations with their parents now.

They allow themselves a minute of wallowing for those carefree days. Then they wrap a cloth around their pot of water, fastening it securely and turning on the heat. Once steam begins billowing, Khánh ladles on a thin layer of batter, beginning the arduous labor of love that is making bánh ướt.

Utterly focused on the process, it takes Khánh a minute to realize that there are noises filtering through from outside that sound distinctly like hammering. They hurriedly finish removing the thin rice crêpe, adding it to the full plate, and rush to the window.

Kai has several wooden panels and metal strips at his feet and is currently pounding one such metal strip into the ground. He looks up and catches Khánh’s gaze, and they share a smile.

Khánh pops open the large window and calls out, “Sorry I didn’t greet you! Have you been working long?”

“No,” Kai replies. “I bought supplies and have everything I need out here, so I’ll just finish this up quick, you don’t even need to come out—”

Khánh looks up from where they are clambering out the large window that directly overlooks the outdoor table and chairs. A colander filled with fruit is balanced precariously in one arm, and one foot is planted firmly on the seat of a chair. Oops. “I thought you might enjoy some fruit to refresh you after you’re done,” they confess, putting on their best pleading eyes.

“Alright…” Kai says slowly. “I suppose a little bit of fruit is fine. I’ll try it after I finish with the fence, though.” He resumes his hammering, and Khánh takes a moment to admire his progress. Kai has removed all the wood in that section of fence and is using the metal strips to create a framework. It sounds simple, but Khánh knows if they tried it they’d probably take off the wrong panel of fencing or something and the whole thing would come crashing down. There’s a reason they didn’t go into engineering, and not just because their parents were pushing them too hard to pick a “sensible and respectable” career.

Shelving the thought of their parents once more, Khánh sets the bowl on the table and leaps back into the kitchen. There’s probably time to make some more rice crêpes, roll them into bánh cuốn, and heat up the fried tofu and chả chiên. Khánh can’t wait to watch Kai try all the variations of this dish; it’s one of their favorites because of how very versatile it is.

When everything is plated, Khánh uses the side door instead of the window to go outside and call Kai, attempting to act like they are a civilized human. Their efforts are moot, though, because Kai has his back to the house as he finishes putting what looks like varnish on the fence. Khánh settles in to watch as he finishes up, peeling and pitting the longan fruits as they wait. Or maybe since dinner is done, the little fruits can be dessert? Oh no, they forgot to plan dessert! Well, this will have to do for tonight. Hopefully Kai enjoyed the mango from last time (though Khánh can’t imagine what kind of person doesn’t enjoy ripe slices of tender mango).

Eventually, Kai sets the brush down and wipes his forehead with his arm. “I think that’s it!” he calls, turning around to look at Khánh. “I’ll have a little bit of fruit, and then I’ll be out of your hair—” he stops abruptly and his expression immediately turns to one of disbelief on seeing the table.

Khánh meets his gaze guiltily. “I think I may have gotten a little carried away…” they say, gesturing at the small mountain of longan before them. “Oh, but this is dessert! I mean, it doesn’t have to be after the meal, but I forgot to prepare something for after our dinner, so it might as well be dessert. You should definitely try one now, though!” They hold up one of the little fruits with a bashful smile.

“I…” Kai trails off. He stares at Khánh for a minute, gray eyes meeting Khánh’s own brown ones and having a silent conversation that not even Khánh themself is privy to, and then the distinct sound of his belly growling breaks the tension. Kai reddens, awkwardly touching his stomach. “Okay.”

As Kai steps closer, Khánh’s heart is suddenly pounding and they don’t know why. They don’t have any time to question it, though, because Kai is leaning down, and down (and why hadn’t Khánh noticed before how very tall Kai is?), until his lips reach the fruit in Khánh’s outstretched fingers, deftly popping it into his mouth without ever touching their hand.

“Oh!” he says, chewing blissfully. “You’re right, this is good.”

“Ah—yes, I suppose it is, isn’t it?” Khánh stammers. “Anyway, dinner’s inside. Come in and wash your hands! I’ll get this all cleaned up and meet you there.” So saying, they grab the colander of longan and flee into the house.

As they dump the peels and pits of longan into the trash and tip the prepared fruits into a bowl, their heart slowly returns to a steady rhythm. Maybe it had been too hot out there? Khánh really doesn’t know what came over them. They hope they’re not getting sick.

Kai appears in the doorway, their shirt slung over their shoulder, a loose black tank top underneath. “Is there somewhere I can hang my shirt? I got really sweaty out there and I want to let it dry.”

“Clothesline. In the laundry room,” Khánh chokes out, mouth suddenly dry. Their heart is doing that thing again. Perhaps they should make a doctor’s appointment to check this out, make sure there’s nothing serious going on with them.

“Thanks,” Kai says gratefully. Khánh hears the water in the bathroom sink turn on as Kai washes his hands as well. It’s a welcome break, allowing Khánh to calm down.

When Kai returns, he surveys the spread on the table. “Is, uh, anyone else coming for dinner? This is kind of a lot.”

Khánh shakes their head. “I may have a bit of a problem,” they admit. “But we can split the leftovers, if there are any!”

Kai looks skeptical at the prospect of no leftovers being an option but seems to decide that this is a conversation not worth pursuing. He sighs, then takes a seat at the table.

That’s Khánh’s cue. They begin by pointing out each topping, explaining the slices of chilled Vietnamese sausage, fried Vietnamese sausage, and fried tofu strips. They then move directly into demonstration mode. Lifting one of the loose sheets of bánh ướt, they lay the rice crêpe on their plate. Khánh puts a slice of each topping on their own plate, then grabs some of the herbs and sprinkles them on top. A spoon of nước mắm over top to round out the whole thing with sour fish sauce, and “...that’s it! Bon apétit!”

Khánh takes a bite and is instantly lost in the soft texture of the rice crêpe combined with the cold slice of giò lụa that comes with it, the flavor of the Vietnamese pork sausage working wonderfully with that of the herbs and fish sauce. “Mmm,” they moan, then look up to see if Kai enjoys the meal as much as they do.

He’s staring again, his face red. Khánh makes a mental note to send him home with some aloe vera for that sunburn. “Is it not to your liking?” they ask, worried.

“Ah, I haven’t tried it yet,” Kai hurriedly says. He stuffs a bite into his mouth, then gives his own enthusiastic hum of pleasure. “This is amazing! What did you say the difference was between this uh, bánh ướt and the other one? And what are those little black bits in it?”

Khánh smiles in relief and shows him how the bánh cuốn are pre-rolled, unlike bánh ướt, and also filled with slices of wood ear mushrooms that are cooked into the batter. This starts a conversation about the many types of mushrooms, and after he has had seconds and thirds, Kai ends up pulling up a list on Google so the two of them can rate every mushroom on how tasty it looks.

“I’ve never had any mushrooms with a texture like the wood ears,” Kai muses. “I feel like my world was so small before and I never knew it. You’ve made it a tiny bit bigger.” A small smile graces Kai’s lips.

Khánh beams. “That’s a very kind thing to say. It’s my pleasure to see you enjoy the food I cook and learn your likes and dislikes at the same time. And I am taking notes.” They laugh at the incredulous look on Kai’s face. “Just kidding.” That’s a teensy bit of a lie. Khánh isn’t taking written notes, but they do make a point to remember what Kai relishes most. Tonight’s winner seemed to be the cold giò lụa. Just like me, they think happily.

“Still, this is way more than the bit of fence repair I did last time, and I didn’t get around to watering your garden either. But I really should go home and work…”

Khánh gives a little pout.

“... so I guess I’ll just have to come back another day.”

Their mouth curves upwards at the corners. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

*

Bonus scene: