Page 53 of A Banh Mi for Two
Other people posted their favorite restaurants and street food stalls, and as my eyes glide over each answer on the wall, something important stares back at me.
“Lan! Some of these answers thank A Bánh Mì for Two for helping them find their favorite places!” I say excitedly, keeping my voice hushed in case she doesn’t want people to know.
At first, she doesn’t say anything and just continues staring at the wall, awe on her face. “Tell me I’m not dreaming. That this is real. People actually wrote down A Bánh Mì for Two?”
“It’s real,” I say, and reach for a sticky note myself. “I would write the same thing, but I already know what I want to put on the wall.”
“What are you writing down?”
I show her my sticky note: My favorite place to eat is anywhere with you.
She smiles. “That’s funny, because I’m about to write the same thing.”
Chapter Twenty-FiveLAN
Warm arms embrace me as a soft body crashes into my back. “Hi, Vivi.”
“Hi.” She nuzzles her face in my neck. With one hand, she tucks loose strands from my hair and dabs my sweat with her sleeve. “There. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Wipe my sweat for me?”
She blushes. “Yeah.”
When you like someone, I’ve realized, everything they do matters to you. Everything they do suddenly becomes intimate, and I find myself wishing to remember every word she says to me. Everything she does for me. All my thoughts point to Vivi.
She laces her fingers through mine, nudging us toward the street and away from the stall. “Come onnn, we have to submit the application by midnight.”
“You sure the story is good enough?”
I used to look forward to finishing that Sài Gòn blog post with her. I imagined that I could hit submit and maybe—just maybe—I’d win, and everything would turn out better for Má and me. But today, the day we’re submitting the application together, I want to drag my feet for as long as possible. Where will Vivi and I go from here? Will we still talk after the contest?
Her gaze softens, and she reaches to tuck a strand behind my ear. “We’ve done everything we can.”
I nod, feeling heat creeping up my spine. I wipe away the bánh mì crumbs on my pants and match her pace, admiring how she bounces on her feet, taking each step without a care in the world.
We stop short in front of the tall building made of gray slabs and weather-stained walls. The door is left open as I predicted, and from below, I can see the plumeria tree at the very top.
Vivi scrunches her brows at the winding staircase. “You’re kidding. We’re climbing this?”
“Come on! It’s not that bad.”
The stairs still smell of mildew, and the cracked concrete greets me. Only, they aren’t greeting just me this time. Our steps echo in sync with our breath, sandals squeaking as we race up the stairs. I can see beads of sweat on her neck as she runs ahead, and at once, I understand her earlier urge to dab my sweat away. People in Sài Gòn look microscopic from this high up, like I zoomed out of my own bubble and am watching everyone else’s. People huddling together outside their homes, children and their parents slurping up hu ties, and shops closing for the day. The skyscraper’s light replaces the sun as the boats on the river glow brightly. It’s strange to think that seconds ago, I was down there, also existing within that world of this city.
Still, there’s something special about watching this world from above, and I can hear it in Vivi’s gasp. “You’re right. This is the place to submit the application. I think just being up here will give us even more luck.”
I nod. “Doesn’t Sài Gòn look so different from up here?”
“It’s symbolic, too. Looking down at the city you’re writing about as we submit the story.”
I lead her closer to the edge of the rooftop, taking off my shoes. She does the same, giggling at the rough sensation from the wet concrete. The sun sets in the distance, already dipping below the skyline. I notice how tan Vivi got over the past few months; freckles now sprinkle across her arms like stars.
I take out the laptop from my backpack, opening the page to the submission portal. “You already know… how much all this means to me—this contest, the fact that it could literally change my life. When I reread the story we wrote, I knew there was something missing. Don’t get me wrong, everything seemed perfect. Except, I had to add in one more thing, one more person, or else I’d regret it. You.”
She furrows her brows. “Me?”
I nod. “You remind me to write about the people that I love. The people that inspire me. I wrote about how Sài Gòn seems brighter, more beautiful because of someone I had met recently. Someone that allows me to stop looking outside of Sài Gòn and yearning for what I don’t have. Someone that reminds me to hold what’s in front of me, to treasure the beauty of this city.”
“I really did all that?” She faces me.
