Page 49 of A Banh Mi for Two
Under the towering mango tree, we set up an altar for Ba’s portrait. Leaves rustle from above as birds wake, and the lanterns from Trung Thu, still tied to the branches, sway softly. Ba loved the lanterns, and I remember we’d hang them on this same mango tree together. How odd, that a tree survived Ba. I wonder if it’ll live on after me, too, and if this same tree will remember me and everyone in our small home.
Má carefully arranges the offerings under the tree. Ba’s portrait sits in the center, embraced by the fruits from our garden: bananas, mangos, dragon fruits, lychees. Beside them is a steaming bowl of thit kho with bamboo shoots and quail eggs. I place a pot of white orchids by the altar, and it feels right to have Ba’s flowers next to him. I wonder if he’s watching us. If he’s proud of me. We unfurl the incense holder from its bag before grabbing a stick and lighting the tip. Shaping my lips into an O, I gently blow on the incense. Smoke rises from the stick, and I wonder if this was what Ba meant when he told me—a long, long time ago—that incenses were smoldering, hazy maps for souls to find their way through the world. The smoke curls around our bodies as I crinkle my temple and bow three times, each time with a story rather than a prayer.
Ba, we have been good. We miss you more than anything, but we’re learning to live without you.
Ba, I’m writing again. I’ve found strength in me to pick up my pen, but I’ll never forget you’re the one that started my love for it.
Ba, I’ve met someone, and I hope I never lose her.
With a long exhale, we blow on the smoke, careful to not extinguish the flame. I stick the incense back in the holder and bow one last time. Má takes my hand as I grab Tri?t’s, and the three of us pay our respects to Ba. This is one of those moments that I want to wrap tightly in my memory and never let go.
My phone chimes. Then it chimes again. Only one person texts me like that, and the thought of her makes me blush.
“Go,” Má whispers. “It’s your friend, isn’t it?”
Nodding, I mouth her a “Thank you” and call Vivi. I close the gate to our home, my legs carrying me through the alleyways in my neighborhood as I sidestep puddles and potholes. “Hello?”
Vivi sighs on the other end of the line, and my heart leaps. “Hey. I miss you.”
All the warm and fuzzy feelings return, and I will myself not to run straight to Vivi’s dorm right then and there. “I miss you, too. Did you need something?”
I wince, knowing how odd that sounds. Not that Vivi needs a reason to call me, but ever since I realized I like her, words haven’t felt right on my tongue. Instead, they’re jumbled, and sometimes I don’t know how to express all the dizzying things she makes me feel. Still, my heart thrums with anticipation for her answer.
Her giggles ring through my ear. “I wanted to talk to you more. Is that enough?”
My heart has got to stop pounding so loudly. “Yeah. It is. More than enough.”
“What are you doing right now?”
I glance at my surroundings, but my thoughts zero in on the simple fact that Vivi called because she cares about me. She wants to know what I’m doing just as much as I’ve been thinking about her and her day and—
I clear my throat. “I’m walking through my neighborhood. My mom and Tri?t are tidying up my dad’s altar right now. It’s his death anniversary.”
“Oh.” She sucks in a breath. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“No, it’s okay.” This time, I actually believe myself. “For some reason this year, I haven’t felt as sad today—when I’m reminded of my dad’s passing—and I think it’s because of you.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because I have something to look forward to every day: seeing you, working on the contest application together. And… Sài Gòn has been less lonely with you in it.”
I can feel her smiling through the phone. “I don’t think I would’ve fallen in love with this city if I hadn’t met you. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to come to Sài Gòn if I hadn’t found you years ago on the internet. I think Sài Gòn would just be another place on the map for me, not a city where someone important to me lives.”
My heart pounds, but I still can’t shake off the anxiety that all this is temporary. That Vivi will inevitably leave. Unable to say anything, I drink in her words. That’s the only thing I know how to do now, to let Vivi’s words envelop me, and to fall right into their embrace.
“I don’t think I deserve all those compliments.”
She laughs, and I press the phone closer to my ear—imagining her right next to me. “You have no idea how much… you’ve done for me.”
I take in my neighborhood stretching before me, noticing the lone corner market at the end of the street. It seems more vibrant, a brighter shade of pink. I picture Ba and me perching on the stools next to the flan lady, devouring sweet custard during hot summer days. I think about Chú Hai on his bicycle every Saturday, passing out extra loaves of bread for everyone.
“Because of you,” I say, “I think I’ve finally learned how special this place I call home really is.”
Chapter Twenty-FourVIVI
I’m perched on a blue plastic stool just outside the dorm, listening to the noise of the city: motorbike horns blaring, people haggling at the shops, friends chattering as they walk by. I have a cà phê s?a and a pile of schoolbooks to my left on the plastic table and a plate of g?i cu?n from Bà Hai on my lap. It’s funny how quickly I’ve gotten used to living in Sài Gòn. These plastic stools will always remind me of my time here, and of Lan, because of all the street food dates we’ve gone on. The tall fan from the dormitory hums loudly through the window, trying its best to oscillate the heat away but alas, failing.
I’m distracted, and instead of doing my homework, I’m staring at the spread in front of me on the plastic table under the sun—all the photos of Mom in Vi?t Nam. There’s the photo of Mom and her family in front of Ch? B?n Thành, another of Mom in jeans and a T-shirt with street food stalls in the background, and various images of Mom in different spots throughout Sài Gòn. Mom before a towering cathedral. Mom in front of kites. Mom outside of an amphitheater. Mom on a xích lô.
