Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

VIVI

Almost a day later, and the perfume of orchids still won’t leave my clothes, and every time I smell it, I think of Lan—of my arms around her waist, my face against her strong back, and my heart beating so fast I prayed she couldn’t hear it.

After making out with Mindy Kim four years ago at freshman year homecoming, I realized that kissing girls is one of the top ten reasons to be alive. I settled on the term bisexual , after years of wondering why my face heats up when a girl changes in front of me. Lan makes my heart skip like Mindy, but she also slows it down. I desperately want to see her again.

But does Lan even like girls?

Cindy pounds at my door. “Can you please tell Anh Huy to switch rooms? I missssss you.”

I think the C in her name stands for “codependency.” “I love you, but no, I don’t plan on causing trouble already. What if they email my mom?”

“You know she doesn’t check her emails.”

“She will be if she sees Vivi Hu?nh Is Expelled in the subject line.”

“They’re not going to expel you for switching roommates.” She laughs, and gets on my bed. “But, fine, I guess we’re going to have to do sleepovers for the entire semester.” She brought her pillows and blankets with her.

“You’re sleeping here again ?” Nga groans from her bed that she’s currently sharing with five plushies. She has a sheet mask on, a routine she does every night.

“I know,” I second Nga’s whine. “You can’t be that scared of ghosts.”

“My room is creepy! It’s not my fault I got placed in the only single room and it’s cramped and tiny and practically haunted. I swear I heard someone talking the first night.”

“People would pay extra for a single,” I point out. “And it was probably just noise from the street.”

“Definitely the street,” Nga adds. “I didn’t agree to a triple.”

“Me neither.”

“All right—can you guys stop making me feel bad?” Cindy pleads as she gets off my twin XL to the makeshift mattress on the floor—blankets and pillows she got from who knows where. “I promise to not snore tonight.”

“I don’t know if that’s physically possible. Unless you don’t sleep,” Nga comments.

“I do usually have a lot to get done at night.”

“She does.” I shrug. “A whole folder of fan fictions to get to.”

“Leave me alone. I’m not hurting anyone,” she grumbles from below.

“I’m not judging.”

“You shouldn’t be when all you do is stare at Lan from the window and imagine both of you holding hands and skipping through a flower field like a pair of cottagecore sapphics—”

“Cindy!”

“What’s this?” Nga appears right next to my bed. “Lan? As in Lan from Bánh Mì 98?”

“Gosh, Nga! You literally look like a ghost,” Cindy yelps, dropping her phone on her face. “Sorryyyyy. I know it’s quiet hours.”

Now Nga’s on my bed—I guess everyone loves my twin XL. People on the internet were right once again. College is great because it’s like summer camp but with unlimited and unauthorized sleepovers.

“You think Lan’s cute, huh? It’s pretty obvious. You were shaking while talking to her.”

I blush, and no words dare escape my mouth.

“She does,” Cindy sings. “She most definitely does.” She sings again in a crescendo.

“Watch it, Cindy, or else I’m sending you back into that haunted room.”

“What are these?” Nga is by my desk now, looking at the pictures I stole from Mom.

“That’s my mom in Vi ? t Nam. When she was a girl,” I say, relieved someone changed the subject. “I think the other people are my family. I mean, Cindy says we all have the same cheekbones. I brought the photos because… I thought I’d try finding family here.”

“Your mom was born in Vi ? t Nam?”

I nod at Nga. “Yeah. She rarely speaks of this country, though. My dad, on the other hand, immigrated with my grandpa when he could barely talk, so he doesn’t know much, either. The only things I really know about Vi ? t Nam have been through Google and all the weird, traumatic facts taught in US History classes.”

“Ugh, AP US History sucked,” Cindy scoffs, folding her arms before turning to Nga. “AP US History is this core requirement for ‘gifted’ American kids to learn about American propaganda. Our teacher, Mr. Smith, would spend twenty minutes on a lesson, then expected us to hand in a full-length project.”

Nga winced. “So that class didn’t answer your questions, either?”

I nod. “Not a single one. I just wish I knew why my mom immigrated. It’s strange, I’m raised by immigrant parents, but I don’t know why they chose to come to California. I don’t know if it’s a my family problem, either, because Cindy’s from a family of immigrants, too, and they aren’t like that—hiding things about the country they came from.”

Nga looks from me to Cindy, shock on her face. “You are? That’s so… interesting to me, I guess because my family has always been in Vi ? t Nam.”

Cindy nods. “Yeah, my family are immigrants—undocumented immigrants to be exact.”

“Undocumented…?” Nga cocks her head.

Cindy sighs, taking a finger through her hair. She often does this when the topic of her family immigration comes up, and so I reach out to squeeze my best friend’s hand. “My family has no citizenship. They’re not Americans, and they can’t receive any ‘American benefits.’ They’re paying taxes, but the government pretends they don’t exist.”

“What? That’s just messed up.”

I sigh. “And there’s nothing they can do.”

Cindy continues. “It was hard for me when I was younger. Why on earth would they leave Mexico to go to America? Part of me still doesn’t understand. All I know is that they wanted the very best for me and my siblings even if that meant the very worst for them. When they first immigrated, my mamá cried every night. She can’t just book a plane ticket back home. She still can’t. I don’t know how I’d survive that, not being able to see your family for decades.”

“And maybe for the rest of her life.” Like Mom and her family here. “My mom can easily come back here. She just doesn’t want to.”

“Your mom has her reasons,” Cindy sighs. “Think of it this way: It was hard enough for us to pack up to come here, and we’re only here for like four months. Imagine how it must feel to leave without knowing when or if you can come back.”

I don’t understand how Cindy can tell me that Mom has her reasons when she still doesn’t understand her own family. But part of me knows she’s right. I can’t imagine how Mom must have felt leaving by herself.

“That’s true.” Nga nods. “And from what you told me… your mom probably has some things she’s just not ready to share yet.”

“It’s just… like look at this photo.” I pull the photo of Mom next to the one of my potential aunt and grandma. “Who is she standing next to? Are they even alive?”

“Wooow,” Nga drawls. “You’re saying you have no idea who these people are. But they’re here. In Vi ? t Nam.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t believe I’d actually be able to find them. I thought it’d be like finding a needle in a haystack, there are a lot of Vietnamese people in Sài Gòn. But, um, I asked Lan for help—or rather, she offered—and we’re going to try.” I mumble the last part real fast, because I still haven’t told Cindy, and now she’s looking at me like she’s about to shake both my shoulders until they fall off.

“No. Way.” Cindy jumps from her makeshift bed. “You only told me you ran into her yesterday! Spill. ”

Nga claps her hands together, smiling too. “Lan would know! She sees so many locals every day.”

Suddenly, my ringtone blares through the room. “Uh, Viv, your mom’s calling.”

“Your mom!” Nga squeals. “Maybe I can introduce myself as your roommate—”

“Maybe not ,” Cindy interjects.

I accept the FaceTime call. “Hi! Mom! What’s up? I’m in bed.”

“Hi, con.” Mom greets me with just her nostrils on the screen this time. I’ve given up trying to teach her where the camera is.

“Chào C?!” Nga tries peeking over my shoulder, but not before Cindy tackles her.

“Nga, you really can’t talk,” Cindy whisper-begs.

“What was that? Ai nói ti ? ng Vi ? t v ? y?”

“Um.”

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!

“No one’s speaking Vietnamese, Mom. I was just, um, watching Vietnamese dramas with Cindy.”

“Hey, C?!” She practically screams, knowing it was her cue to say something. Mom freaks out less when I’m with Cindy.

“Why con do that? Con never watch that before.”

“I…” Think, Viv, think ! Mom really always calls at the worst time. “I just miss you and Dad. That’s why. You watch Vietnamese dramas all the time at home.”

“Oh! Which one is con watching?”

I don’t have time to google the trending Vietnamese dramas right now. “Anyway—Mom! Why did you call? Did something happen?”

She waves me off, her palm covering the camera now. “Mommy want to check in! Con doing okay? What did you eat today? You sleep well? You sick?”

“Yes, I had um… wonton soup—”

“Again? Con really like wonton soup.” Her face is now fully visible, and she’s frowning. I hadn’t realized I lied about wonton soups so many times. I make a mental note to look up Singaporean cuisine later. Mom is too good at remembering things.

“Yeah! A lot!”

“Mommy will make you wonton soup when you come home. Mommy didn’t know you like it so much.”

My stomach lurches. The semester has just started, but I miss home already. I miss the smell of bún riêu after school, the taste of fried dumplings and the pandan waffles Mom packs for lunch. What would she say if she knew? Would she kick me out and never cook for me again?

“I miss you,” I say. “But I have to sleep now… it’s late.”

“Okay, con, Mommy have a question. Do you know where my photos at?”

I suck in a breath. “What photos?”

She clicks her tongue. “Old photos that Mommy have. I cleaned my closet last night and they are missing!” She passes the phone to my dad, who only nods.

“Hey, Dad.” I wave at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom. Maybe you misplaced them somewhere.”

“Yeah, con is right. They’re very old.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

Mom’s looking directly into the camera now. I feel like her eyeballs are going to see right through me. “Okay, con. Good night. You promise you are good?”

“I’m good, Mommy. Good night!”

“Jesus.” Cindy blows a raspberry as I hang up. “You sure your mom isn’t some kind of psychic? We were literally just talking about her and then she called.”

“Yeah, that was really creepy,” Nga adds. “But what’s going on, Vivi? You’re here illegally?”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not illegal. They signed the paperwork. Are you sure you want to hear my explanation?”

“Well.” Nga joins Cindy on her makeshift bed. “We’ve got all night. And I’d love to hear about Lan, too.”