2/

“On the day you were born, on my way to the hospital —”

“You tell this story every year,” Prue dips her hand into the plastic bag of bird’s eye chilies and drops two into the mortar.

He clears his throat over the sound of stone scraping on stone, hands her the fish sauce and says it’s consequential. Adding the handful of shredded papaya, Prue turns from him to search for where she put the fruit.

With the mixture poured into a serving bowl, she lifts the lid of the steamer to check on the rice. “Tell me later, okay, Dad? I still need to make Mel’s portion.”

“I’m not going to be around forever, you know,” he says with a waggled finger. She gives him a sideways glance and lets him see her roll her eyes through her smile.

At dinner, Mel tells them that all fruit comes from flowers but not all flowers turn into fruit. Annie holds up a small piece of red chili skin for Mel’s consideration and asks if chilies are a fruit or a vegetable. Mel reaches out with small, sticky rice-covered fingers and takes the chili. “Careful, just a little bit, it’s very hot.”

“This was a flower once!” Mel announces, popping the entire piece into her mouth. Prue and Annie look at each other and the latter gives an apologetic, I-did-just-warn-her shrug before Mel starts to cough and hack, spitting the red onto her plate. She sticks out her tongue and tries to wipe it off with her palms. “Spicy flower.”

It happens when Prue is in the kitchen pouring Mel a little milk. Annie’s laugh stops, and she hears, “Are you all right?” and then a rasping gasp that sends a flash of ice through her. She rushes out to see Annie standing and Mel’s scared, pale face staring at her hunched over, wheezing, chest-clutching grandfather.

They don’t let Prue in the ambulance. The three sit in a waiting room, Prue’s heart hammering every time a doctor walks by, clutching Annie’s hand while Mel asks questions that neither knows how to answer.

There’s a mask on his face, and he looks especially frail as Prue sits down next to him and takes his hand over the blanket, pressing her forehead into it as she starts to cry.

Mel stands a little behind Prue, clinging to Annie as the woman puts her other hand on Prue’s shoulder for comfort. There’s a stretch of silence punctuated only by the steady beeping of the machine display; Mel breaks it in a quiet voice to ask if he’s going to be okay.

He starts to move his hand toward the mask to pull it off and answer, but Prue raises a hand to stop him and sniffs, wiping her cheek and nose with the back of her hand. “He’ll be okay. We’re a tough bunch. Do you want to hear a story?”

Mel nods and clambers into Prue’s lap. “On the day I was born, while he was driving to the hospital, another car ran into him. He was pretty hurt. But he knew he had to make it through and be okay, because he hadn’t gotten to meet me yet.”

She has to stop talking to catch her breath and wipe her tears. She shakes her head. “There’s more to the story than that. When Grandpa gets better, he can tell you. He’s a much better storyteller than I am.” She looks up at him and sees he’s crying — sees they all are — and squeezes his hand. “I promise I’ll make time.”