Free Be Good by Dakota Madison Page A

to think about that for a moment. Then he nodded. “Okay. But I want you to know that even when we fight, which I’m sure we’ll do more of, because you’re you and I’m me, don’t ever think it means I don’t love you and want to be with you.”
    Brett said he loved me a lot but always in some indirect way. I wasn’t ready to be in love . I wasn’t even sure I knew what it meant or if I’d ever feel that way. And I still wasn’t sure why Brett seemed to feel that way about me. Was I worth loving? I still wasn’t sure.
    Brett kissed my cheek. “One of these days, you’re going to let me love you.”
    Maybe, I though, just maybe.
     
    ***
     
    After we exhausted ourselves at Filoli, Brett said he had another surprise for me. “I hope you’re hungry.”
    W e turned down a side street and parked next to an Asian restaurant. “Have you ever had Vietnamese food?”
    “I’ve had Chinese take-out. Does that count?”
    Brett laughed. “You’re going to love this.”
    The small place only had about 12 tables and they were all packed. We had to wait 15 minutes for a table but Brett said it would be worth it. When we were finally seated and the waitress gave us our menus I had no idea what to order. Nothing sounded familiar to me. I glanced around the restaurant and it looked like everyone was eating out of giant soup bowls with chop sticks and weird looking spoons. I had spotted a McDonalds down the block. I wondered if Brett would be upset if I asked him to take me there instead.
    “What’s wrong,” Brett asked. I was trying to act casual but Brett could see how uncomfortable I felt.
    “I have no idea what do order,” I admitted. “Is it too late to leave and go to McDonalds instead?”
    Brett carefully removed the menu from my hand and placed it on the table next to his. “How about this? I’ll order two of my favorite dishes. We can share them. If you don’t like it, then I’ll take you to McDonalds.”
    I nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll give it a try.”
    Ten minutes later, the waitress brought out two bowls filled with what looked like meat, noodles and vegetables.
    “This one is Pho Ga.” Brett pointed to one of the bowls. “It’s a Vietnamese Chicken Noodle Soup.”
    I t didn’t look like any chicken noodle soup I had ever seen. But my experience was limited mostly to Campbell’s whenever I got the flu as a kid.
    “And this one is Pho Bo. It’s a Beef Noodle Soup.”
    “And you eat it with chop sticks and a ladle.”
    Brett grinned. “It’s a soup spoon.”
    “It looks more like a ladle to me.”
    Brett picked up a set of the chop sticks. “Have you ever eaten with chop sticks before?”
    I shook my head.
    “It’s easy.” He positioned the chop sticks in his right hand. “Hold them like this.”
    I took the other set of chop sticks and positioned them in my hand the way Brett was holding his.
    “This is how you open and close them.” Brett demonstrated the movement and I followed his instructions. “See, you’re picking it up quickly. You’ll be a pro in no time.”
    “I just want to learn enough not to starve if I ever find myself lost somewhere in Asia.”
    “Okay, now try picking up a piece of food and bringing it to your mouth.” Brett demonstrated with a piece of chicken that he easily grabbed from the bowl and popped into his mouth. “This is good,” he said taunting me. “Now it’s your turn.”
    I managed to pick up a piece of chicken but it slipped and fell back into the bowl before I could get it to my mouth.
    “You almost had it. Give it another try.”
    I sighed and tried to pick up the chicken again. But the cho psticks went sideways on me and the chicken fell back into the bowl with a splat.
    “Maybe I can just use the spoon?” I suggested but Brett shook his head.
    “No, don’t give up so easily. I know you can do it. Try it again.”
    It took me three more tries but I was eventually able to pick up a piece of chicken and get it into my mouth.
    Brett