Page 47 of A Banh Mi for Two
“Âu Co, my dear, I must return to the sea. You are the land, and I am the sea. And though I’ve only lived in happiness with you, I cannot bear to be away from my home any longer.”
Âu Co sobbed, begging her husband to stay with her. Alas, it was their children who convinced her.
“We love both of you. But Father is right, we must come back to the sea and build our empire. That is our home, too,” their eldest said.
Respecting L?c Long Quân’s wishes, Âu Co agreed. “Please send me signs that you still love me.”
The Dragon King nodded. “Every day, when the sun kisses the ocean, its rays will turn into a brilliant red just for you. I will protect you and our children. I will make sure that your mountains, your trees, and your flowers are always dancing to my rain. That your rivers, your streams, and your lakes are always full. That together, we will raise a kingdom mankind can only dream of.”
Fifty children followed their father to the sea while fifty followed their mother to the mountains. But although they parted ways, one promise remained: If they were to encounter one another, they must treat one another like family.
With their father, the fifty children learned how to fish, hunt, and fight. Âu Co, on the other hand, taught her children the art of harvest, how to breed animals, and how to build houses. It is said that the art of cooking from bamboo tubes was taught to our ancestors by Âu Co herself.
From L?c Long Quân and Âu Co’s descendants came the ancestors of L?c Vi?t, and today, the ancestors of Vi?t Nam. It is said that the Vietnamese people inherited L?c Long Quân’s strength and perseverance but also Âu Co’s kindness and intelligence. In the end, L?c Long Quân and Âu Co’s children taught us that regardless of where we come from, we all must help one another—for we are all Vietnamese.
The end.
Still sniffling, I wipe my tears with my sleeve. “That was so sad! They had to leave each other!”
Lan laughs beside me, our hands still intertwined—they have been this entire time. “It’s not that bad. They still love each other. They just had to do what was necessary for them.”
“How do you leave the people you love?”
She looks away, pointing her gaze at the center of the stage, where the puppets are retreating behind the curtains. “I’m not sure. But I think, sometimes, you have to do what’s right for you—even if you may lose the people you love most.”
Sometimes, when Lan speaks of these things, I can’t help but wonder if she ever thinks about leaving Sài Gòn. It makes me think of Mom, too, if somewhere deep in Mom’s heart she still thinks about the family she has here. If it kills Mom to not see them again.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for coming along with me… but I should get back to the dormitory soon. I have class in the morning.”
There’s a delicate balance to tread after you confess to someone that you like them, and you find out that they also like you back. All I want is to spend every waking second with Lan, to even just sit like this in an amphitheater by ourselves and talk about anything. But I don’t know where we are—what we are—and suddenly, I’m all too aware of how she reacts to everything I say. If I’m being annoying. If I’m too much. If I say the wrong things and want more than what we are and… she pushes me away.
To my surprise, her grip on my hand tightens, and warmth floods through my body as she maneuvers us out of the theater and weaves through the crowd of people returning home. My skin sings against hers, and my stomach somersaults with each step we take. It’s like we’re a scene out of a movie, running to who knows where—but with her, I’d go anywhere.
“You can’t go to sleep yet! This is the best time to get on a xích lô ride.”
“Xích lô… ride?” The same embarrassment all semester returns—the feeling that I don’t know enough about Vietnamese culture, that no matter what, I can’t ever be… Vietnamese. Still, Lan doesn’t judge. Instead, she seems excited.
“The best and only touristy thing you should be doing,” she says. “They’re these cyclo-ride businesses that take you through the city.” She tugs me toward a party of cyclos, the uncles perching on top while waiting for customers. The xích lô resemble tricycles but with a wide bench seat in the back.
We get on a xích lô together, squished into the cramped and leathery driver-powered machine. I lean back against the seat, acutely aware of how our arms are touching. How, if I want to, I can kiss her right now.
But then she turns to me, smiling, and all I want to do is stare at how perfectly shaped her lips are and how her cheeks are flushed because of the humidity. “Are you ready?” she asks.
I nod, my gaze still focused on her. “Yeah.”
Our xích lô snakes through the current of motorbikes, merging into the crowd as motorcycle fumes cling to our hair. The motion is abrupt, and unlike car rides, I can feel every pothole and bump on the road. We loop through historic Sài Gòn, the lights of the city illuminating our faces. I watch Lan’s eyes marvel at the skyline, and I wonder how long it’s been since she’s looked at the city with so much awe. If she ever did at all.
Another xích lô ride comes up next to us, and the two passengers grin and wave at us. They’re wearing matching T-shirts that say HER WIFE with arrows pointing at each other. They look so goofy that I have to laugh. Lan turns her head, meeting my eyes, and bursts out laughing as well.
“How do you like it?” she asks, her eyes studying my mouth. I swallow, not sure how to answer her because my eyes haven’t left her face. At all. Even now, I’m only focusing on the upturned corners of her mouth.
A breath hitches in my throat as I watch her face in front of me, tracing every line, every detail. “Beautiful,” I breathe out.
I lean in, allowing the pull of my heart to guide me. Fluttering my eyes closed, I brush my fingers past her cheeks, through her hair, and down her neck. Shivering beneath my touch, she presses me closer. Her arms on my waist are a searing heat while electricity runs through my body and explodes like butterflies in my stomach.
Chapter Twenty-ThreeLAN
The sticky air clings to my back and I tug at my shirt in hopes of making the sweat disappear as I water the orchids. The air smells of wet soil, while the leaves from our mango tree litter the ground. My fingers reach toward a flower, caressing a blushing pink petal, and I watch the droplets roll off its stem. The orchid stares back at me, and in a fleeting moment, I can see Vivi’s face within the blossom.
