Page 54 of A Banh Mi for Two
I laugh and press my cheek against hers. “That story was the best thing I’ve ever written. Because you helped me write it.”
“But it was all you. You’re the one that wrote the actual words.”
I shake my head. “And you’re the one that writes every word with me in spirit.”
A smile blooms across her face. “I knew it was fate for us to meet.”
Normally, I would have rolled my eyes, but now I’m starting to believe in fate a little bit, too. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”
Somehow, we found each other—an ocean apart for most of our lives. It feels like she has always known me, and I have always known her.
It’s her turn to unzip her backpack. “In honor of this very special day, I have a surprise for you.”
I lift my eyebrows. A surprise?
She reaches in and pulls out the starry blanket she bought that day at Ch? B?n Thành. She presses the bundle into my hand, and I unwrap it, revealing a miniature telescope and a tripod.
“I know you love looking at the stars.” She presses the telescope into my hands, its weight heavy just like my heart. “So this is for you.”
I blink away the mistiness in my eyes and cradle the telescope in my hand. “Thank you.” A single tear rolls down my cheek.
Vivi scoots closer and I hand her the telescope to attach to the tripod. She sets it down, motioning for me to look. I peer through the lens as excitement pounds in my ears. I can feel Ba with me, his hand ruffling my hair, encouraging me to tell him about the stars. But instead of twinkling lights, I only see gray clouds.
“We can’t see through the Sài Gòn smog!” I burst out laughing.
“What!” Vivi gapes and yanks the telescope from my hand to check herself. “I can’t believe this.”
Still laughing, I loop my arms around her from behind and tuck my face in her hair.
“Thank you. This means a lot to me,” I murmur. “This… reminds me of my dad. Watching stars. We used to do it a lot before he passed.”
Vivi turns toward me and I burrow my head in her neck. She kisses my temple.
“I’ve always loved writing because of him,” I whisper. “I write because it made me feel closer to him somehow. Like when we’d cook up blog posts at our kitchen table together.”
Vivi glides her hand up and down my back. “You’re so much like him,” she breathes.
“Why do you say that?”
“You take after him—your passions, your hard work,” she says immediately. “Like him, you put the people you love first… sometimes even before yourself.”
“That’s what being a good daughter is.” I recite the mantra I’ve clung to for so long. The mantra I often tell myself to squash away any doubts, any bubbling selfishness. “I have to put family first.”
She plucks a plumeria from the branch, bringing it to her nose. “But, Lan, flowers are meant to grow.”
A scratchiness in my throat makes it difficult to swallow, and as I hold Vivi’s gaze, I can feel all her sincerity.
“Did you know that seventy percent of orchids are epiphytes?”
“Epi—what?”
She laughs. “When I googled your name, I learned that orchids are epiphytes. They grow attached to other plants, but not like a parasite. And before you tease me for being nerdy about this, I promise my long metaphor has a point. They’re not anchored to the ground or to one specific nutrient source. They can get everything they need from the rain, air, and debris. They live in every habitat in the world except glaciers. You don’t have to be rooted to one thing, Lan. You can adapt. You can bloom.”
“What if I hurt the people I love? What if I never bloom?”
She wipes my tears with her sleeve, kissing the tearstains. We fall onto the picnic blanket, our legs intertwining, and my head in the crook of her neck. “You won’t know unless you try. Do you… think you’ll post more blogs again soon?”
I think of how within mere months, Vivi was able to get me to write again. Something I couldn’t do myself. She’s my lucky charm. What happens once she leaves? Will I stop writing again?
