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He looks different than the last time I saw him in Phnom Penh, only two weeks ago. My last image of Than was of him leaving with Uncle Surg to retrieve my aunts, grandmother, and cousins during the chaotic days before evacuation.

I study him. His hair is shorter, and he is darker, the pigment drawn from walking in the sun many days. A peasant color, I think, like that of the local farmers.

Than makes his way downstairs as he holds the railing, watching his step and smiling brightly. I walk toward the stairs, elated to see my old sparring partner, despite the way we used to constantly fight. I’ve missed him, and the thought surprises me. I realize that I once thought I would never see him again, and my honest acceptance of this shocks me.

If it was permitted within our culture to embrace, I would have thrown my arms around him. But that’s only appropriate for someone older who comforts someone younger. Instead, Than tells me to hold on to the stair railing, his own shyness eliciting affection as we both climb into the house. In two large spherical bamboo baskets are different Cambodian desserts wrapped in banana leaves. Also, in colorful steel platters are pieces of dark, sweet glutinous rice with fresh grated coconut and sesame seeds scattered on top. After Yiey Narg’s modest fare, this is sumptuous. This is Cambodian tradition, greeting guests with a sprawling bounty. With Than around, my appetite seems to kick in. He’s good medicine.

“Thy, you can eat as much as you want. They made all of these desserts for our family. They made a lot when I came with Poo Surg.”

Than’s voice energizes me, like sugar on my tongue.

“Let’s go see the banana trees. Hurry, pick something, let’s go!” he urges me.

Than’s separation from us seems to have had no effect on him whatsoever; or maybe he’s just happy that it is over. Than persists, “Athy, do you want to see pineapples and bananas?” His eyes are wide. “There are a lot in the orchard. I’ll take you there. And there’s also a well, and it’s deep. You want to go now?”

Before I answer, Than helps me grab some dessert. We hurry to the orchard.

I’m in awe of the lush green pineapples that flourish everywhere in the shade of fruit trees and along the path to the well. Pineapple plants grow bigger than a child, and rising among the long, thorny leaves are the pineapple buds. Some are about the size of a fist, while others grow two or three times that size. Never have I seen such a thing.

I’m still spellbound by the beauty and abundance of the pineapples, but Than is already at the well, like a happy dog wiggling his tail at the prospect of something intriguing. Than calls to me, “Look in there, Athy, you can see your shadow in the water during the daytime.”

Surrounding the well are more pineapples, then bananas scattered in rows with long green leaves and buds sprouting out of their trunks. From the barn to the well are tall-branched lamut trees, full with their rough-skinned fruit, that are the color and shape of kiwi. The fruits are still green, but abundant.

“Can we pick lamut?” I ask Than.

“You want some?” Than’s eyes glow, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah!” My eyes widen. On the road, fresh fruit was not to be found, and lamut is one of my favorites.

Than and I hurry back to the house so he can show me where he has kept his private stash, the ones hidden in a rice barrel to ripen.

The next day is a homecoming. Mak, Aunt Heak, her two sons, and my sisters and brothers roll into Year Piar in rumbling oxcarts, joining other relatives who have already arrived. Their final arrival seems to mark a family reunion for my grandparents, who look relieved. Now, five of their seven children have returned home with their families. In my own family there are ten of us. The other families consist of my aunts, uncles, and cousins, totaling twenty-nine people, including my grandparents. We now share three large bedrooms. The crowding is not bad, but the lack of electricity bothers me.

Later in the week, more homecoming. Most of