Page 57 of A Banh Mi for Two
“How did my parents do it? How did they make a new home in a completely strange place? With all the insults that have been thrown our way and how we were never seen as American enough—no matter how hard we tried to be like them—my parents never looked back. If my mom ever felt homesick or out of place, she never wore it on her face, at least not in front of me.”
I look back at the skyline, and the heart of Sài Gòn stares back at me, neon lights dancing across the river. Landmark 81, Vi?t Nam’s tallest building and the world’s seventeenth tallest building, glows so brightly that it seems to set the city ablaze. It makes me feel so small. “Maybe they never looked back because of you—because they have you. You’re their reason to get up every day and to survive.” It’s what Má is to me. She’s my reason to keep going.
“But I didn’t ask for that.”
“Maybe it’s not you… but it’s your mom wanting to give you the world, to protect you, because you’re the only one she has.” The words fly out of my mouth, feelings I’ve been repressing so long—things I wish I could say to Má every time she reminds me that I shouldn’t need to work so hard for her.
She sighs. “What if I don’t need protecting?”
“But that’s what we do for our family—we protect them from things that could potentially hurt them.”
“I just… I just want to know. I don’t want my mom to baby me and protect me anymore. Whatever she’s faced, I’m ready for it.”
I put down my chopsticks, the b?t chiên overwhelmingly sour on my tongue now. “What if your mom never meant to hurt you? What if she’s only doing what she knows might be best?”
“What’s best for my mom isn’t always what’s best for me.”
I let those words hang between us, but my thoughts return to Má once again. Do I, her daughter, know what’s best for Ma? Am I hurting her by protecting her with everything I’ve got?
“Will you be okay tomorrow?” I ask Vivi.
She nods. “As okay as I’ll ever be when meeting a family I’ve never known.”
Chapter Twenty-EightVIVI
District 2 is separated from District 1 by the Sài Gòn River. As we cross under C?u Ba Son, or the Th? Thiêm 2 Bridge, I can’t help but stare at downtown Sài Gòn from the motorbike—the receding financial towers and all the high-rise buildings, where my story in Sài Gòn began— as the residential areas of District 2 loom in the distance.
“I wish my mom was here.” It feels weird, meeting my family for the first time without the one person who should be with me.
Lan sighs, and I can feel her breathing with my arms wrapped tightly around her waist. “If you don’t find them, it won’t be the worst thing. You still have family. Your parents.”
My chest tightens. Sometimes I wonder if Lan thinks I’m a brat for trying so hard. If she thinks I’m ungrateful. She cares, and I know that, but sometimes I can’t help but wish that she’d see what I’m doing is as important as the contest, too.
“I guess you’re right.”
Now that we’ve crossed into District 2, it feels like we’re in a familiar yet different world. The tall skyline is replaced by smaller homes, yet the streets are crowded nonetheless. Houses in various colors and styles stare at us as we pass. Some are polished white while others look older, decorated by years of weather in Sài Gòn. Mini-marts are on every corner, squished side by side with endless rows of buildings. Shopkeepers squat on their mini stools and watch as their customers pour in just in time for lunch. Dogs and cats wander through the streets. The smell of fried bananas wafts through the air, making my stomach rumble.
We turn into an alleyway, driving toward the cathedral from the photograph and the one Bác Tu?n spoke of.
We stop in front of a fruit stand, with layers and layers of colorful fruits stacked on top of each other. The prices are incomparable to California—barely a dollar for a cup filled to the brim with jackfruit, rambutan, and young coconut meat. One of these in Little Saigon would cost at least ten dollars, and yet Mom would always bring them home, and we’d sit on the couch sharing the small bites between us. It was one of the only times she would talk about Vi?t Nam. She’d let it slip that these fruits are from her home, where the weather is hotter and the sky a little brighter, and the climate allows for these trees to grow. I pull out the photo of Mom in front of that church and look up at the building right in front of me, imagining her here. She was so young. Like me.
Lan turns to the young girl working at the fruit stand and says something in Vietnamese. My heart pounds in my ears. What if this stranger doesn’t know my family? What if they’ve moved out of District 2? And if they do know—will I finally get to meet the family I’ve never known? What about Mom; how do I even bring this up to her?
My fate rests in the hands of a simple answer from a stranger, and that’s terrifying.
The girl looks at the photo, and I can see recognition on her face. “You said you’re looking for Hi?n?” she asks in Vietnamese.
We nod, and she signals for us to wait before bringing out an older lady, and my heart almost drops when I see her face. It’s like seeing the spitting image of Mom. But the feeling seems mutual, because the woman looks shocked to see me—and suddenly, the feeling like I don’t belong comes creeping back. Like maybe I shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have tried.
Still, I know for a fact that I’m finally staring at Mom’s sister. My aunt.
“Xin chào.” I try my best to not butcher the pronunciations. “Co ten la Hi?n—”
The woman stops me before I can finish asking if she’s actually Hi?n, and with teary eyes, pulls me into a hug. “Hoa oi, em v? lúc nào?”
My body tenses, my arms go limp, and I don’t know what to do. How do I respond to that question? To Mom’s sister calling me by Mom’s name, and asking me when I had returned? How do I tell this lady that I’m not Mom? How do I tell her that her sister isn’t here?
She pulls away before I can say anything and examines my face. “À, con không ph?i Hoa! Cô xin l?i.”
