Love, according to the movies your mother watched in high school, is serenading your girlfriend with a marching band on the soccer field, confessing your feelings with a boombox over your head, slow dancing in an empty street. I don’t think your grandmother and I ever felt that way about each other. Our parents were good friends and we were both eighteen, looking to get married soon–it was practical. We never bought each other teddy bears for Valentine’s Day or wrote each other romantic letters tucked away in envelopes sealed with a kiss, but we ran our donut shop like a two-person army, co-commanders leading the troops onto the battlefield. She made small talk with customers at the register while I threw batter into the fryers in the back. She’d iron my shirts when I woke up late for work and I’d do the dishes for her when she went to PTA meetings. When she was sick, I’d wake up a little early to bring her an apple fritter and ginseng tea from the shop before the workday started, and when I was stressed, she’d knead the knots out of my neck. She knew how to talk to your mother when I couldn’t and she’d reassure me that my best was enough. When I was on the verge of crumbling, she kept me from falling apart.
This prose poem is an excerpt from Maya Cheav's upcoming book, Tan's Donuts, which is set to be published in March 2025 with Chestnut Review. In Tan's Donuts, a donut shop owner reflects on the orders of his most memorable customers. This chapbook tells the story of a Cambodian war refugee adjusting to life in America while having to sacrifice his dreams to survive. Tan's Donuts reflects on complex Southeast Asian family dynamics, generational trauma, and breaking the cycle before it’s too late.
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