Page 5 of A Banh Mi for Two
Maybe I wasn’t raised right because I’ve always wanted to look back, to look across the Pacific and imagine our lives within the winding shape of Vi?t Nam. With another deep inhale of Sài Gòn’s fumes, I ready myself as we step into the cab taking us to the dormitory and to the heart of the city. My parents’ home.
The very place I’ve daydreamed of since stumbling upon A Bánh Mì for Two.
Chapter ThreeLAN
Bánh mì fuels Sài Gòn, from the livelihoods of us vendors to the people we feed. I tie the makeshift plastic cover over the stall, wrangling the strings while the wheels groan. I win the tug-of-war and dust off the bánh mì crumbs stuck to my jeans. The sun paints streaks of orange and red throughout the sky, signaling the end of a long day. A damp towel meets my forehead, halting the incoming heatstroke as I shuffle through extra bills and stuff them into my pocket. Muscle memory moves my body, a monotonous dance I’ve learned as a street food seller. After spending all day with sweat on my face, I’d rather nap than write.
This writer’s block doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon.
“C?m on, ch?!” a student thanks me as I hand her the order.
“Enjoy. Come back soon!” I say the phrase I’ve practiced in the mirror way too many times. Our mood sells food. No matter the type of day I have, a smile must always be on my face.
I watch the student’s white áo dài flutter as she walks. Nestled in the heart of Sài Gòn, our business depends on restless and hungry students. They drive by on their motorbikes every morning, throwing bills for a bánh mì ?p la before hurrying off to class. A pang of regret pinches in the base of my throat, and I turn my attention back to flicking baguette pieces off my pants. Sometimes I wish I could scrub all the crumbs off my body, emerging as a clean slate without smelling like a bakery.
“Lan!” Má calls from the opposite side of the street, bags and bags of bánh mì ingredients in her arms. “Come help!”
“Why did you go without me!” I shout back as I cross to help her. “Your back and shoulders are going to hurt from carrying all of this.”
“Don’t yell at your mother.” She clicks her tongue but hands me the bags anyway. “I’m still strong.”
We cross back, Má stumbling slightly as she fishes for the painkillers. I look away, swallowing hard.
Chronic pain that started after Ba’s passing. She hid it from me for a long time, even after she’d gotten her diagnosis and told everyone else we know. Our relationship has always been distant, with me attached to Ba’s hip when he was still with us. Although we spend more hours together than not, Má seems to confide in anyone but me.
“What’s with all the ingredients? We’re closed for the day.”
Má jerks her head at the building across the street. “Special order. Bà Hai asked us to make bánh mì for their new international students. It’s mostly simple since foreigners can be kind of picky.”
Picky is an understatement. “I still remember when a group of tourists asked us if the patê was sanitary.” Little did they know that patê isn’t even a Vietnamese word. They wouldn’t be asking these questions if they were in France.
“People are a bit curious,” Má says, occupying the space next to me and undoing all my hard work of tidying up the stall.
“They shouldn’t ask us stupid questions, though. I can’t count how many times someone made a face walking by the snail lady next door. What’s wrong with eating snails?” I continue, helping her unpack the ingredients.
She passes me a baguette. I lather the bread with patê before pressing grilled meat inside the loaf, finishing it with pickled vegetables and a light drizzle of soy sauce. Maybe this bánh mì with too much patê will be for someone who’s curious.
“Con oi, there’s only so much we can do,” Má says, resigned. “What use does complaining do for us? We can just work and hope that’s enough.”
With a tight lip, I nod my head. “Yes, Má.”
“What’s going on here?” Tri?t returns from “studying” at the internet café. I think he’s hardly studying rather than studying hard.
“Special order,” I call back. “You’re helping or not?”
He’s definitely rolling his eyes at me. “Geez, I’m here.”
“Lan.” Má places a hand on my shoulders. I flinch instinctively, my stomach dropping when I see her concerned face. “Why don’t you take off early? Tri?t can help me.”
“What about you?” I don’t like the thought of Má being alone.
“I’ll be fine!” She waves me off. “Tri?t is just as fast as you.”
“But—”
“I’m offended, Lan. You’re implying that I can’t take care of my favorite aunt in the entire world,” Tri?t butts in. I open my mouth to retort, but he ushers me away. “It’s okay, I’ll be here with her. I promise,” he whispers, handing me my tote bag and ruffling my hair before taking his post next to Má. He has a towering figure—protective and almost like Ba’s.
After Ba, Tri?t filled the hole in our lives. Maybe it’s his nonchalant personality or the way that he takes after Ba, but Má’s sullen expressions cracked after he came to live with us. She laughs more and even cooks more. Still, jealousy tugs at me for not being the person that pulled Má out from grief.
