Chapter 21

As their senior year drew to a close, the young couple was overwhelmed with things that must be done. Slowly, they could tick jobs off their list. Don won the state swimming competition, and calving season is over, but they still work two jobs, and both have final exams and Lanh’s valedictory speech. But number one was their wedding, of course.

“Phew! You smell like cows!” complained Lanh’s mother Mai as they walked into the Nguyen family’s dining room one afternoon. The Nguyens lived in a house that was attached to the back of their Pho restaurant where Don and Lanh work, but the two also work at Don’s family farm. This afternoon was a total scrub down of the milking parlor, and the birthing of a late calf. It’s a tough job, but Don’s dad pays them well to do it, and that money goes straight into their wedding fund.

“Love you too mom,” said Don as he bent to kiss his future mother-in-law on the cheek before laying his schoolbooks on the table. “Is that any way to greet a man who just delivered your next freezer full?” Don and Lanh’s last calf of the season was a male. It will be neutered, and grass fed and eventually become the starring part of the pho sold at the Nguyen’s restaurant. Lanh soon entered with her own stack of books, and she and Don shrugged off their soaked jackets.

“Is it raining out?” called Lanh’s brother Bao from the kitchen.

“Uff da!” replied Lanh loudly. “It be snowin’ hard, yoo betcha!” Now, this wasn’t an unusual response to that question in rural Minnesota, but to hear it from a girl with a slight Vietnamese accent was ... interesting, to say the least. And “Uff da!” is as Minnesota as you can get, it’s a Norwegian expression of shock, dismay, anger, surprise, it’s the Nordic equivalent of “Oh shit!” Lanh looked at the shocked and amused looks she was getting from her mother and brother and responded “What! Half of my future in-laws are Norwegian farmers; I want to speak their language.”

Mai looked at Don with a questioning look. He just shrugged, “Everyone in the Odegaard side of my family talks like that, ja sure, yoo betcha. Kim-ly told me uff da is the same as chết mẹ.”

Mai just shook her head. “You did this to my daughter Donovan Aloysius Campbell!” she stuck an accusing finger into Don’s face. “Once upon a time she wouldn’t say a word, this house was quiet and restful! Now all I get is ‘uff da’ and ‘fer cute’ and ‘ja sure yoo betcha,’ I might as well have the lot of them move back in!” She was referring to Lanh’s five older siblings.

Don brushed her finger away and gave his future mother-in-law a kiss on the cheek. “Duong is right, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

Mai returned the hug, then broke free. She threw her dishtowel over her shoulder and wandered off into the kitchen muttering to herself in Vietnamese, her native language, it was obvious she was going to have a talk with her husband Duong, her faux anger caused Don and Lanh to break out laughing. But they soon stopped because tonight they had homework in AP calculus.

They made quite a sight studying at the kitchen table, both high school social outcasts who found solace in each other. Don has become a fairly good swimmer, and has some medals to show for his efforts, but that isn’t enough to lift him into the high school societal upper echelon, he’s still a dirt-poor dirt farmer who shops at thrift stores for his clothing. And Lanh, even though she’s the captain of the state champion debate team, she’s a shy, tiny, skinny, Asian girl in a high school full of curvaceous blonds. There’s no clique whose bond she can break through.

Lanh’s older brother Bao Nguyen watched them study and occasionally helped when they got stuck on a problem, although only two years older than Lanh, Bao and his twin sister Kim-ly were currently working toward their CPA License and are math wizards. Bao waited until Don and Lanh finished scoring each other’s practice quiz, then asked, “What are you dweebs going to wear to the Prom?” They looked up at him through their thick glasses like a pair of nearsighted deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. They’ve been outcasts their entire lives, so Bao is speaking to them in a language they can’t understand. “I’m talking to you! You guys clean up well, you looked great at Tien and Quan’s wedding last summer.”

Don and Lanh looked at each other, then back at Bao uncomprehendingly. Prom? Us? Their expressions were in complete disbelief. “Come on! It’ll be fun! Kim-ly and I have been asked to chaperone,” said Bao.

Again, Don and Lanh looked at each other through their thick glasses. Bao and Kim-ly acting as chaperones? That could be entertaining. “I have the perfect dress to wear,” said Lanh.

“You’re beautiful now,” said Don softly, their foreheads touching. “Will I be able to handle your beauty in a formal gown?”

“I hope you do,” she said with a nervous smile, praying that her brother didn’t hear her.

“Hey, you two,” Bao snapped his fingers to get their attention back. “Eyes up front, now, is that yes?”

“I got nothing to wear.”

“Me too.”

“We can fix that,” called Lanh’s mother from the kitchen.

The next morning, Lanh’s oldest brother Huy (pronounced hwe) accompanied Don to the local thrift store. Although he’s six years older than Don, Huy is as close to Don as any real brother could be. They bonded two winters ago when Huy went out to “brief” Don on how he expected Don to treat his little sister and was pleased to find that Don was amiable to Huy’s demands. In return Don showed Huy how to operate a chain saw and a log splitter and the stressed young lawyer discovered something that millions of men know all about - sawdust therapy. They have been tight friends since that frosty January morning. “I’m just looking for jeans,” Don insisted. “These things that I’m wearing have patches holding the patches together.”

“Do you have a suit?” asked Huy.

“We’re wearing black tuxes; I think you already got fitted for yours.”

“Not for the wedding,” sighed Huy, “for your Prom.”

“We’re going to pass,” said Don, “we have so much to do and not enough money...”

“Look, bro, this really isn’t for you or Lanh,” Huy looked around to see if they were being overheard. “This is for mom and dad,” he said in hushed tones. When Don looked confused, Huy clarified. “Look, we all graduated early, Trung graduated at sixteen, Bao and Kim-ly graduated at fifteen, Tam and I graduated at fourteen. None of us went to any dances, none of us had a senior prom, we were too busy working our asses off for scholarship money. Lanh is the only one of us to spend all four years in high school, this is Mom and Dad’s only chance to get all weepy and send their little girl off to a fancy school dance.”

“I don’t know, we don’t really like anyone in our class and...”

“Fuck them,” said Huy a little too loudly. “You’re not there for that bunch of idiots, you’re there for Lanh. Go show off my sister. I know you guys have been practicing dancing for your wedding up in the hayloft, go kick it up on a proper dance floor. Think of it as a practice for your wedding reception. Besides, Lanh says that her buddies will be there, you know the ones I’m talking about, that nutcase...”

“Rosa.”

“Yeah, and the one with the boobs...”

“Sydney.”

“Yeah, her. Just sit with them, have a good time and do a little dancing, make a sophomore fetch you everything on the snack table. Oh look, here’s a black suit for you to wear.” Huy magically produced a black suit jacket from the rack they were standing nearby. It wasn’t in bad shape, and it had a matching vest and pants. “See? Here you go, twenty-five bucks and you got a tux.”

“It’s not a tux...”

Huy gave him a look that said, ‘give me a break.’ “Look, bro, what’s the difference between a suit and a tux? The tux is black, other than that the only difference is the lapels and the shirt. No one knows the bit about the lapels, and the shirt we can work with. Throw on a nice shirt and a black bow tie and you’re in like Flynn.”

“But...”

“Go look at any James Bond movie ... except the Roger Moore films, Moore dresses like he raided an upholstery shop. Look at those films, especially when he’s playing baccarat in a casino, then tell me about his tux.” He held up the suit again for Don to inspect. Don still looked undecided. “Look, if you can swing the suit, I’ll buy those jeans for you ... did I mention I have an aunt who can tailor the suit?”

Don pulled a crumpled wad of bills out of his pocket, he had sold some hay that morning, if he splits the money with his dad, after farm expenses he should have enough ... still, a tailored suit ... a tailored suit is ‘way out of his price range, here’s one for twenty-five dollars. “Let’s do it.”

That afternoon, Huy, Don, and Lanh drove down to Minneapolis and stopped at their Aunt Suong’s house. Aunt Suong was Mai’s younger sister; unlike Mai, she was born in the United States after the family escaped Vietnam. After introductions were made, there was some kind of negotiation in rapid fire Vietnamese between Suong and Huy, with Lanh occasionally adding to the chatter that had Don utterly befuddled. It appeared they were haggling over price and Suong was holding firm, but Huy said something and all three went silent, then turned and stared at Don. Then, with trembling hands, Suong reached out and lifted Lanh’s hand and inspected the tiny engagement ring on her petite ring finger. With a cry of joy, Aunt Suong threw her arms around Don. “Your mother-in-law never told me!” she gushed.

Shocked that she was speaking English, Don could only respond, “It’s still not in the bag, I need to pass my exams and maintain a 3.5 GPA or the wedding’s off, I promised her dad.”

“Oh, that old fuddy-duddy,” Suong waved a dismissive hand at Don. “You’re over 18, I say elope! Then go finish school and I’ll make a maternity graduation gown if you would like.” She gave Lanh a big knowing wink that made Lanh blush as she took the suit from Huy. “Ok, put the trousers and jacket on and let’s get you measured up.”

“I didn’t know you spoke English,” said Don as he stepped into a dressing room.

Aunt Suong shrugged. “I didn’t know you were family.”

Grant Valley High School had their Senior Prom on the second Friday of May, which was May 13th that year and, as school tradition dictates, the Prom was held in the school gym. Grant Valley is in rural Minnesota. Many of the students are low-income farm kids, so having the Prom in a big fancy hotel in Bemidji isn’t affordable for many students. The traditional prom is for seniors and the freshmen and sophomores wait on the seniors. Dinner is a traditional potluck, plenty of hotdish and salads with desserts making up most of the meal.

It took Ralph Campbell three tries before he could get Don’s bow tie tied. Ralph’s friend Sandy tried several times before giving up in frustration. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she groaned. “All the women on TV and in the movies are able to tie these things.”

“They’re not really tying them,” said Ralph. “they’re actresses, they’re just pretending to tie them.” He snugged the tie up tight and patted it flat as Sandy took picture after picture of the father preparing son for the Prom. They had a clip-on tie just in case they couldn’t get the bow tied, but the clip-on looked horrible compared to a properly tied bow tie.

Don looked incredible; the suit really looked like a tux. Suong had sown black satin on the lapels and strips of satin up the side seams of the trousers, both of which could be easily removed if wanted. She matched the shade of the satin so exactly to the suit that you noticed it, but it didn’t stand out. It was a subtle bit of craftsmanship. There were several rips and worn spots that Aunt Suong fixed so well, it was impossible to tell there was an imperfection in the suit. She also replaced the faux gold buttons on the blazer with a single black button, eliminated unused buttonholes, put the same black buttons on the vest and she removed the buttons on the jacket sleeve. It fit like a glove, and thanks to Don’s hours of practice with the swim team, he was lean, trim at the waist, and his shoulders were broad and powerful. Suong’s little adjustments made a $25 suit look like a thousand-dollar Saville Row tuxedo. Everything else was all Don.

Sandy nearly wept as she adjusted Don’s red pocket square yet again. She had ushered four daughters off to their proms and then onto their altars; a boy was just as touching, but in a completely different way. And even though Don isn’t her son, she’s known him since birth. He was the only son of her best friend, and she watched him become the man she’s grown to love. Girls don’t really leave your life. In fact, they come back with little people that they made, but when a boy sets sail, you never know where he will land. Sandy knew that this thought was causing Ralph a lot of turmoil because he was going to be sending his son off to war soon.

“What’s wrong Sandy?” asked Don. All his life Sandy has been “Mrs. Robertson” she gave him piano lessons, and she was close to his mother, but lately she had been begging him to call her Sandy. Deep down he had a problem with that; it caught in his throat, yet he knew in his heart that he would call her mom someday. She and his dad always looked so happy together.

“Oh,” her voice shook with the tears of joy that she fought back. “Just wishing I had a boy of my own to send off to the Prom.”

“Well, if you ever get around to marrying my dad, you will have one.”

“Hush you!” she swatted him in the arm, “let us worry about getting you to the Prom first. Let me look at you ... oh come on! You look like you’re going to your own funeral.”

“I’m nervous,” muttered Don.

“Of what? You’ve known Lanh for a couple of years, you’re engaged, she’s not going to dump you...”

“No, it’s not that it’s...” he couldn’t find the words.

“It’s the other kids,” said Ralph. “Both Don and Lanh had been the targets of some horrible pranks. That’s how they met.”

Sandy didn’t exactly have the same problem with her daughters, her four girls would beat the hell out of anyone who tried to harass one of their sisters, but she had a lot of experience with teenage insecurity and eighteen-year-old Don was a walking billboard for teenage insecurity. She stood him in front of a full-length mirror where he could see himself. She stood next to him and said, “What do you see?”

“Me standing next to my piano teacher.”

“That’s because you’re slouching, your drill instructor is going to eat you alive!” said Ralph, a veteran himself.

“Ok,” said Sandy, “Roll your shoulders forward, now lift them all the way up, good, now roll them back as far as you can.” Don did his best to follow her instructions. “Now just let them drop and hang naturally.” This little exercise put Don in the most perfect posture he’s ever had. “Now look!”

Don looked, and she was right! The slouching Don looked like a beaten wimp, inviting another beating. Now he saw himself standing straight, tall, and proud. “Look at you! Suave, debonair, a gentleman spy sent to infiltrate this soiree.” Don looked at the man looking back at him, dashing, man-of-the-world, man of action, Agent Double Oh Seven and five-eighths. “Are you ready to take on the world Donovan Campbell?”

“Yes, Missus Ro ... uh, ma’am ... uh, mom.”

Over at the Nguyen home, Lanh was being prepared for her first formal date. She and Don have been inseparable for two years now, but dating is something they haven’t really done. They’ve worked together at the restaurant, the farm, and at school, and in their spare time they’ve gone to movies, or the truck stop for dinner, ice skating at the hockey rink when it was too cold or too warm to skate on the pond. When they went out, someone was always with them. Normally it was the twins Kim-ly and Bao, or their friends Rosa Mendez and Sydney McCloskey. The four of them would go to the truck stop for French fries and coffee or to the Outdoor (drive-in movie) with folding chairs, a radio, and a cooler full of refreshments. Even though they were together in school, this was going to be completely different. In school, they were invisible, only seen by the other students when the socially acceptable felt the need to taunt or torment someone of a lower caste. A prom is where people go to be seen and that terrified Lanh.

Lanh’s mother, Mai, and her sisters Tam and Kim-ly were desperately trying to get Lanh ready for her prom, while Lanh was fighting back. Chattering and laughing in Vietnamese, they at least got the dress on her, but Lanh’s shyness caused her to fight against them every step of the way. They zipped up the dress and stood Lanh in front of the full-length mirror. “See?” said an exasperated Tam.

“What...” said Lanh, “it looks fine.” The reflections showed her mother and sisters peering at her over her shoulders, and they all shook their heads.

“It looks like you’re wearing a backpack under there,” sighed Mai.

“I have to wear a bra,” insisted Lanh. “I don’t want everyone in class to see my ... my...”

“Nipples?” asked Kim-ly in a voice loud enough to embarrass the hell out of her little sister. “We all got ‘em, what’s the problem?”

Lanh covered her small, firm breasts with her forearms. “I’m not sharing! They’re reserved!”

“It’s a silk dress,” said Tam softly, trying to mellow out Lanh. “The bra straps show through, you look like you’re wearing a pack frame under that dress honey.” Kim-ly lives to get their little sister agitated. It seems like all Tam does any more is calm down Lanh.

Kim-ly wouldn’t give Lanh a break. “And what’s with the granny panties? It looks like you’re smuggling towels.” Lanh tensed up and began shuddering, her hands bunched to fists under her chin, her eyes were screwed closed, and she was getting ready to scream. Kim-ly whispered in Lanh’s ear, “I got the fix, don’t worry.” She then looked at Tam and Mai and said, “This is sister stuff. You two have to give us room.”