Free The Bride Test by Helen Hoang Page B

like a fiancée.”
    Esme shook her head quickly. “No, he’s been good. We ate together this morning and ...” She considered telling Cô Nga her son had abandoned her at his house all day yesterday, but she didn’t have the heart.
    Cô Nga raised her eyebrows. “ And ... what else?”
    “Nothing else.” Esme took the large pepper container from Cô Nga and continued filling pepper shakers where Cô Nga had left off.
    After a while, Cô Nga said, “There’s a secret for dealing with my Khải.”
    “A secret?”
    “He doesn’t talk a lot and is really smart, so people think he’s complicated, but in truth, he’s simple. If you want something from him, all you have to do is tell him.”
    “Just tell him?” Esme couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice.
    “Yes, just tell him. If he’s being too quiet, tell him you want him to talk to you. If you’re bored at home, tell him you want to go somewhere with him. Never assume he knows what you want. Because he doesn’t. You
have
to tell him, but once you do, nine times out of ten, he’ll listen. He doesn’t look like it most of the time, but he cares about people. Even you.”
    Esme considered the serious expression on the lady’s face. Cô Nga believed what she was saying. “I ... Yes, Cô.”
    Cô Nga smiled and squeezed Esme’s arm. “Now let me show you around, so you can get to work.”
    B y the time the busy lunch hour was over, she was fighting tears. She didn’t mind heavy lifting or staying on her feet— she was as strong as a water buffalo— but she’d forgotten that waitressing required talking. Oftentimes, in English. That was another thing she did about as well as a water buffalo. People had given her impatient looks as she forced herself to speak, a customer had yelled at her, another had openly mocked her, and she wanted to lock herself in the bathroom and hide for the rest of the week.
    She stacked dirty dishes in the roller bin. Wiped, wiped, wiped the table. Moved on to the next. Tried to empty her mind and focus on the work.
    Until she remembered she’d messed up this table’s order. She’d run to the grocery store down the road to get them grapes, only to learn they’d said
crepes
, which was
bánh xèo
. What an embarrassing mistake. Who ordered grapes at a nice restaurant like this? She should have used her head. Her eyes watered, and she blinked furiously.
    Don’t cry.
    Once the last customer left, she’d eat those grapes and laugh about all of this instead.
    Dirty dishes in the bin. Wipe, wipe, wipe the table. Move on to—
    Crash!
She forgot to watch where she was going, and her hip knocked a chair over. With her stinky luck, the last customer’s things had been on it, and now papers were spilled all over the floor.
    “Sorry, so sorry,” she said quickly and got down on her hands and knees. But once she was down there, the task seemed overwhelming. Papers were all over the place, under tables and chairs. It was too much. Her hip throbbed, and her head ached, and she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t breathe—
    “Enough, don’t worry about them,” a voice said in cultured Vietnamese.
    Before she knew it, the papers were all gathered up, and she was sitting at a table, a vague memory in her mind of steady hands guiding her to the seat and a cup of tea in her hands.
    “Drink it slowly,” the lady customer said as she sat down across from her and watched her with kind eyes.
    Esme took a sip, finding the jasmine tea lukewarm, grainy, and bitter, as it was the dregs of the pot. It still helped to calm her, though. She swiped at her face with the back of a hand, expecting to feel the wetness of tears, but there was nothing but her own overwarm skin. The lady had caught her before she could break.
    “I eat here regularly, and I never saw you before today. It’s probably your first day,” the customer said. From the looks of her, she was twenty years or so older than Esme. With the lightweight scarf around her