Page 23 of A Banh Mi for Two
I point to the book on her desk next to a stack of research materials about Sài Gòn, First Timer in Vi?t Nam Travel Guide. “Let’s see what other people have said about Sài Gòn first.”
“I did that already.” She shrugs. “Nothing helps. Foreigners think of Sài Gòn as a—”
“Playground.” I smile at her shocked face. “I know. I’m one of your biggest fans, remember? But it’s still helpful to read all the good and the bad.”
“Fine,” she mumbles, and crouches down next to me, making my heart leap—her shoulder inches from mine. I can’t help but notice her body language, the way she glides her pen across paper, how she whispers aloud as she reads.
“How come you’ve never asked me why I speak English so well?” Lan breaks the silence.
“I know you’re fluent.” I lift an eyebrow. “From your blog.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Plus, it’s a weird thing to ask. People act like English is the superior language. Like being able to speak it means you’re better than everyone or something.” I roll my eyes.
Lan looks at me oddly before her lips curve and she laughs. “It’s the first thing most foreigners ask! After making English the universal language, they act so surprised seeing fluent people in foreign countries. As if we weren’t forced to take English in school to graduate.”
“You said my Vietnamese was good—is that true?”
“I was impressed, but I didn’t say good.” Seeing my crestfallen face, she adds, “Kidding. Your Vietnamese sounds better than most Americans’.”
I grin, thankful that Cindy and I pooled our money together and found ourselves a Vietnamese tutor before studying abroad. I passed the class with flying colors. Cindy? Not so much.
“Even though I was raised by Vietnamese parents, they never took me to language schools on weekends,” I admit. “So I took an eight-week class before coming, and was able to learn faster than most beginners since everyone speaks Vietnamese in Little Saigon.”
We’re closer than ever now, our elbows touching and our faces several inches apart. “Tell me about Little Saigon.” Her breath dances on my lips. My breathing shortens, and my heartbeat pounds in my ears as I watch her eyes move across my features, as if she’s studying every part of me.
“It’s this… really small but also really big community in California. A lot of Vietnamese people live there, but I don’t think they have always been there. From what I learned, most Vietnamese came in 1970s and 1980s after, um, the war.”
She nods slowly. “I’ve heard about it. Why does everyone speak Vietnamese? Don’t you have to learn English?”
“You don’t! There’s a Vietnamese version of everything. Most of the staff in the local coffee shops, tax offices, and even schools often speak and understand Vietnamese. We even have Vietnamese driving schools, where they teach you how to drive a car and get your license… in Vietnamese!”
“Wow. I can’t even imagine that—a giant Vietnamese city outside of Vi?t Nam. It sounds so cool.”
I tear my gaze away from hers, cheeks hot. “No one’s said that before or described Little Saigon with awe.”
“Why not?” The crinkled eyebrows resurface, and her eyes lock into mine, genuinely curious. “I want to see more Sài Gòns in the world. The Sài Gòn beyond this Sài Gòn. Vietnamese restaurants in Laos. In France. In America.”
My heart thumps. “One day, I’ll show you my Little Saigon. I promise.”
“Better keep your promise,” she says, her eyes twinkling.
Chapter ThirteenLAN
A fluttering feeling makes its way from my chest to my arms, my legs, and my unsteady fingers. I peek at Vivi through the front strands of my hair, noticing the way her chest rises and falls.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?” I blurt out. The stuffiness of the space isn’t helping, and I find myself curious about the girl next to me instead of doing whatever research we’re supposed to do.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Sure! Where?”
“There’s a café nearby that’s really cute and has the best egg coffee—why don’t we go there? And maybe try brainstorming?”
“Lan,” she says, and my chest flutters again. I like the way she smiles when she says my name. “I’ve dreamed of this moment. One thousand percent yes. Never thought I’d be going on a food adventure with my favorite food blogger.”
I swallow. Because I’ve kept the blog so private, no one’s ever told me these things to my face before. All the comments were on a screen, with a gap just wide enough for me to convince myself that the kind words held no true meaning. But with Vivi, there’s sincerity in her eyes, and adoration. My heart squeezes. “That’s a big compliment.”
“I’m not trying to kiss ass—wait, do you know what that means—”
