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There were pictures of Ngoại holding hi to pick up a watermelon In one picture, chubby toddler Michael wore a little suit--was it his first suit?--in between a young couple The wo, very beautiful version of hisa white traditional Vietnamese dress with pink flowers embroidered on the front The man had to be his father He was tall and blond and had Michael’s crooked grin

"You were beautiful, Mẹ," Stella said, running her fingertips down the flowing dress "I love the dress"

"I still have that aó dài You can take it hoht if you want"

"I can really have it?"

"It doesn’t fit me anyht over the jewelry, but that’s all gone" Mẹ’s voice was subdued, and her eyes lingered over the blond man’s face "This is Michael’s dad Very handsoe without a word

His chubbiness was gradually replaced with gangly limbs and male beauty He smiled often and was full of life and fun There were dozens of pictures of him and his baby sisters surrounded by passels of full-blooded Vietnamese cousins He looked out of place next to them with his paler skin and non-Asian features, just as he must have looked out of place next to all of his peers at school for the exact opposite reasons What had it been like not fitting in anywhere?

Maybe it hadn’t been that different fro up

There were pictures of early teens Michael playing chess with his dad, his face creased in intense concentration, pictures of hi over science projects, pictures of hiear like a little badass, where the front flaps of his uniform displayed his last nae quickly and shot her an alar she hadn’t seen it She wasn’t good at lying, but she kne to pretend she was okay She’d been doing it around people since she was little

She hated doing it with him

Was it that important to him that she didn’t know his real name? What did he think she’d do with the infore that he didn’t trust her diiven her Was she foolish for hoping she could hts to notice the photos again, they’d almost reached the back of the alburown Michael as so gorgeous she couldn’t help sighing He stood next to his bea father, chess tournament trophy in hand, kendo tournament trophy in hand, science fair trophy in hand

"That’s a lot of trophies," she commented

"Dad liked it when I won, so I tried really hard"

"Michael was valedictorian at his high school," hisat Michael with boundless love

Stella smiled "I knew you were sured out how to test well You’re way smarter thanwhy he discounted himself like that "I wasn’t valedictorian I only did well in math and science"

"My dad would have preferred that"

Michael flipped to the last page

There, he graduated from the San Francisco Fashion Institute His shoulders were squared, his expression determined His parents were in the picture, hiswith proud happiness while his father looked like he’d been forced into the photograph His hair had gone mostly white over the years, and while he was still an attractive older one

"He didn’t want you to go to design school"

Michael shrugged "It wasn’t his decision" His voice was flat, his usually vivid eyes dull

Stella covered his hand with hers and squeezed He turned his hand over, interlaced their fingers, and squeezed back

"Michael is very talented When he graduated, he had five job offers He worked for a big designer in New York before we needed hiazed off into space, the set of her mouth bitter, before she blinked and focused on Michael "But I’ yourself Too many woood one"

His , and Stella felt a terrible, deep wanting well up inside Right now, she was considered a good woman What would his mom think if she knew about the labels Stella had been purposefully withholding? Would she suddenly become unsuitable for her son? What kind of hter-in-law and possibly autistic grandbabies?