Love Like Applesauce

When the doctor told Maly—via her niece’s English-to-Khmer translation—that she had stage IV lung cancer and less than six months left to live, she wanted to laugh. Had she become a cliché in one of those Asian soap operas her sister was always watching?

This couldn’t be right. In all her 61 years of life, she’d never even smoked a cigarette. While everyone she knew either lit a stick or two to cap off the evening or chewed and spat tobacco for fun, she didn’t allow herself to indulge.

Now she wished she had. It would be nice to have one bad habit to lean into. If this taught her anything, it’s that nothing good ever came from a life of restraint.

Maly couldn’t understand a word the American doctor was saying but she recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same look of sympathy she saw in the eyes of the European volunteers at the Kao-I-Dang refugee camp in Thailand all those years ago. The same look that her sponsor gave her, her sister Vanida, and brother-in-law Arune when they first arrived at the Portland airport after seeking asylum in 1981, 30 years ago.

She hated that look because it said, I’m sorry. It said, This is the best we could do.

But this was no one’s fault. For as long as Maly could remember, her body had been her enemy. She could never get it to do what she needed: say the right things, fall in love with the right kind of person. This was the natural consequence of living in an uncooperative body.

It was the reason she was just a little past her sixth decade of life and had neither marriage nor children to show for it. The reason she moved in with Vanida and her family 15 years ago. The reason her niece, Tina, took her to the hospital after she had to admit she felt chest pains so grave, the usual remedies were not helping. The reason that although she lived frugally and put away every penny, she would not live long enough to spend her savings.

“Don’t tell your mom,” Maly said to Tina, as they drove from Long Beach Memorial Hospital to the home Maly shared with Vanida and Arune. She didn’t need Vanida to fuss over her, especially when there was nothing that could be done.

“But Dr. Hastings said it’s important to rely on your support system.”

“I’ll tell her eventually.” Maly had decided against chemotherapy as she rather liked her full head of hair and wanted every strand to follow her to the grave. Besides, the doctor confirmed that the cancer had already spread far beyond her lungs and chemo would only prolong her time by a few months at best. But she knew Vanida would try to hang on to every month, that Vanida would ask her to fight.

“Other than mom, dad, and me . . . is there someone else you can rely on?”

“Who else is there?” Vanida was Maly’s only link to home. Their parents and brothers never made it past the communist Khmer Rouge regime.

“I just meant, is there someone else you can confide in?”

“Not really.” Although Maly knew exactly what Tina meant.

“Alright.” Tina’s eyes lit from the challenge just as they reached the house. She parked and turned to face Maly, “Have you ever been in love?”

“Of course—I’m 61!”

“Well . . . what happened?”

“As you can see,” Maly lifted her empty palms up and gestured to the air in front of her, invoking her best Vanna White impersonation. It was something she picked up from her years working in the garment factory, where Wheel of Fortune played in the background to remind her and her coworkers that their luck could change if only they could spell.

“Do you still have feelings for your ex?”

“I’m not someone who changes their mind easily.”

“Like everyone else in our family.”

“It is what it is,” Maly said...