Page 65 of A Banh Mi for Two
“Do you really think so?” I whisper.
“I do, con gái yêu c?a m?. I do.”
Chapter Thirty-TwoVIVI
It doesn’t get worse than this, than waking up the next morning with puffy eyes and the memories of what happened the day before, when the girl who means everything to you broke your heart. When everything shattered right before your eyes, and you don’t know what to do except pick up the pieces of who you are now and try to not think about her.
And it doesn’t get worse than fiddling with my phone all day with no energy to focus in class and all I think about is Mom, then Lan, then Mom, then Lan. I’ve gotten everything I’ve wanted from this trip, to learn about the Sài Gòn that Mom grew up in and to meet my favorite blogger—so how did it all go so, so wrong?
My eyes wander to the photo spread on my desk: All of Mom’s photographs are now joined by pictures me and Lan took together. Mom in front of Ch? B?n Thành and right next to it a selfie of me and Lan by the market. Mom sitting on a blue plastic chair on the street, in her hand a bánh mì. Me, photographed by Lan, eating Bánh Mì 98. Mom in an áo dài at a Trung Thu festival. Lan and I with the dancing lions at Trung Thu.
The noises from the street below pull me out of my thoughts, and as I stare at the Sài Gòn skyline through my window, I think about how I’ve grown so comfortable looking at it every day. How it’s so hard to imagine being back in California.
How, as I fall asleep, I realize that all of this noise, this humidity, and the people will still be here as I leave. Everything will remain the same. People will move on with their lives, and I’m the one holding on to all of it.
When sunlight hits my face and I hear Nga shuffling out of our dorm room, all I want to do is sleep even more. Sleep away all these feelings and hope everything will resolve itself by the time I wake up again. But my phone vibrates and my heart drops, my mind racing at a hundred miles per hour thinking about Lan.
But it’s not her. It’s Dad. My heart drops for a second time. “Hi, Dad—”
“Oh good, you picked up.” He sighs—which is a bad sign. Dad never sighs, and he sounds too relieved.
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
“Your mom is in Sài Gòn. Like right now.”
“WHAT? Why?”
“She… after the phone call with you, Mom booked the first plane ticket out of California to Sài Gòn that she could.”
“I didn’t think… what I said worked, that she’d literally take my advice. She’s here to force me to come home, isn’t she?”
Dad sighs again. “No, con, I don’t think Mom’s coming to bring you home. I think she’s finally ready to come home herself.”
My heart pounds. “What do I do? Do you know where she’s going?”
“Go to her childhood home, con. This is her first time coming home. Welcome her back to her city. Show her what you love so much about Sài Gòn. Make her understand.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad.” I hang up and text Cindy immediately.
Me: Cindy, I’m going to need you to do the biggest best friend favor I’ll ever ask of you
Cindy: and that is… (also are you feeling better?)
Me: a bit. But um, any chance you can drive a motorbike?
Cindy: thank god for travel insurance, am I right? Jk, Nga can drive you (and I will track your location to make sure you’re alive).
I breathe in and out, each breath getting shorter as we near Mom’s childhood home. I look at the state of the house, it’s the same as yesterday except duller. There’s something melancholy about it now, something so sad that just looking at it makes me want to cry.
“You can do this,” Cindy reassures me.
“Good luck, Vivi.” Nga pats my back.
I only nod. I wonder if Mom knows that I’m here—would she be happy to see me?
I don’t know if I can do this. I know I need to talk to Mom. I’ve never been surer in my life about anything else. But as I walk toward the house, my heart stops.
Mom.
