Page 29 of A Banh Mi for Two
Cindy continues. “It was hard for me when I was younger. Why on earth would they leave Mexico to go to America? Part of me still doesn’t understand. All I know is that they wanted the very best for me and my siblings even if that meant the very worst for them. When they first immigrated, my mamá cried every night. She can’t just book a plane ticket back home. She still can’t. I don’t know how I’d survive that, not being able to see your family for decades.”
“And maybe for the rest of her life.” Like Mom and her family here. “My mom can easily come back here. She just doesn’t want to.”
“Your mom has her reasons,” Cindy sighs. “Think of it this way: It was hard enough for us to pack up to come here, and we’re only here for like four months. Imagine how it must feel to leave without knowing when or if you can come back.”
I don’t understand how Cindy can tell me that Mom has her reasons when she still doesn’t understand her own family. But part of me knows she’s right. I can’t imagine how Mom must have felt leaving by herself.
“That’s true.” Nga nods. “And from what you told me… your mom probably has some things she’s just not ready to share yet.”
“It’s just… like look at this photo.” I pull the photo of Mom next to the one of my potential aunt and grandma. “Who is she standing next to? Are they even alive?”
“Wooow,” Nga drawls. “You’re saying you have no idea who these people are. But they’re here. In Vi?t Nam.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t believe I’d actually be able to find them. I thought it’d be like finding a needle in a haystack, there are a lot of Vietnamese people in Sài Gòn. But, um, I asked Lan for help—or rather, she offered—and we’re going to try.” I mumble the last part real fast, because I still haven’t told Cindy, and now she’s looking at me like she’s about to shake both my shoulders until they fall off.
“No. Way.” Cindy jumps from her makeshift bed. “You only told me you ran into her yesterday! Spill.”
Nga claps her hands together, smiling too. “Lan would know! She sees so many locals every day.”
Suddenly, my ringtone blares through the room. “Uh, Viv, your mom’s calling.”
“Your mom!” Nga squeals. “Maybe I can introduce myself as your roommate—”
“Maybe not,” Cindy interjects.
I accept the FaceTime call. “Hi! Mom! What’s up? I’m in bed.”
“Hi, con.” Mom greets me with just her nostrils on the screen this time. I’ve given up trying to teach her where the camera is.
“Chào Cô!” Nga tries peeking over my shoulder, but not before Cindy tackles her.
“Nga, you really can’t talk,” Cindy whisper-begs.
“What was that? Ai nói ti?ng Vi?t v?y?”
“Um.”
Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!
“No one’s speaking Vietnamese, Mom. I was just, um, watching Vietnamese dramas with Cindy.”
“Hey, Cô!” She practically screams, knowing it was her cue to say something. Mom freaks out less when I’m with Cindy.
“Why con do that? Con never watch that before.”
“I…” Think, Viv, think! Mom really always calls at the worst time. “I just miss you and Dad. That’s why. You watch Vietnamese dramas all the time at home.”
“Oh! Which one is con watching?”
I don’t have time to google the trending Vietnamese dramas right now. “Anyway—Mom! Why did you call? Did something happen?”
She waves me off, her palm covering the camera now. “Mommy want to check in! Con doing okay? What did you eat today? You sleep well? You sick?”
“Yes, I had um… wonton soup—”
“Again? Con really like wonton soup.” Her face is now fully visible, and she’s frowning. I hadn’t realized I lied about wonton soups so many times. I make a mental note to look up Singaporean cuisine later. Mom is too good at remembering things.
“Yeah! A lot!”
