Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

LAN

Ch ? B ? n Thành, the largest market in Sài Gòn, welcomes me and Vivi with its imposing clock tower. Even among Sài Gòn’s busy streets and tall business towers, Ch ? B ? n Thành stands out with its beige paint and French architecture. But the best part is inside: A giant marketplace houses Sài Gòn’s bustling stalls full of food and people.

“This is it. The place from my mom’s photo,” Vivi says beside me. “I can’t believe I’m standing here, right where she was years ago. It feels… weird.”

I don’t say anything, only nod. Is this how Americans are? Vietnamese people are blunt. We tell each other the first thing that comes across our minds. My thoughts wander back to when she told me about her grand plan to hide her trip to Vi ? t Nam from her parents and find the people in the photographs on her own. I found it unfathomable, and I still do, because wouldn’t it be easier to just… ask? Do Vivi and her mom not communicate with each other? Why go through the wild goose chase when they can just talk ? Then again, it’s not like I’ve been doing a whole lot of talking with M á either. Plus, I’d told Vivi I’d help, and I don’t plan on breaking that promise.

I help Vivi hop off the motorbike, her ponytails kissing my cheeks. She dusts off her skirt and, without warning, takes my hand again and tugs us both out of the parking lot and toward the colorful market.

My heart skips, my eyes zeroing in on our clasped hands, and I suddenly feel all too aware of my palms slicked with sweat.

“Calm down! The market isn’t going anywhere,” I say, but I speed up my pace to match Vivi’s. “I know where to find the person we’re looking for. She’ll still be here, don’t worry!”

Vivi shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m worried about. You didn’t think this entire excursion would only be about me, did you?”

I furrow my brows. “What? We agreed to come here to see if anyone knows your family—”

“We can’t miss our chance for more research! Come on, we have competition.” She draws us closer to the heart of the market and into the surging wave of the crowd.

I feel light on my feet with Vivi next to me, and my mind replaying what she said. Part of me is touched that she planned this day for both of us, that she thinks of me. But another part of me wonders if it’s because she’s not ready to find out about her family yet. I know how that feels. It’s how I feel about the books Ba left me. When you’re so close to the answer, you almost don’t want to keep going because it’s safer to stay in the dark. Because maybe knowing is the scariest part.

We continue to dodge people pouring in from every direction—vendors carrying goods to their stalls, customers haggling with shopkeepers. “This place is just amazing,” Vivi breathes.

“You don’t have anything like this in the States?”

She drags us toward a jewelry vendor. “We do. We have Ph ?? c L ? c Th ? , or Asian Garden Mall. They have small vendors like this inside and even performances sometimes. They have night markets, too, kind of like street food in a parking lot, but it’s nothing like this. Like being right here in Vi ? t Nam.”

“Well, Ph ?? c L ? c Th ? probably doesn’t have a live fish tank.”

She makes a face and pinches her nose at the salty smell of fish wafting through the air. “Nope. They do not butcher the fish’s head off right in front of people, either.”

I shrug. “What’s that thing you say? That whatever happens around us is what makes Sài Gòn so special?”

She laughs, her ears red and exposed by the pigtails on her head. “You’ve been listening.”

“ And I have it written down. It’s a good line.”

She beams. “Then let’s find more things to write about!”

I follow Vivi’s trail while she busies herself with investigating every single vendor, curiously sweeping her eyes over all the colors and shapes in front of us. I clear my throat, aware that our hands are almost touching again. “Are you having a great time?”

“Of course—oh!” She squeals excitedly and points to a row of embroidered blankets before holding up one with a tiger and taking my hand, running my fingers over the silk—her hand on top of mine. “Isn’t it so soft?” She coos.

The fabric is soft, much softer than anything I own, but Vivi’s fingers are softer. They’re also searing into my skin. I yank my hand away quickly as my heartbeat hammers throughout my body and my throat. Turning away to hide my flustered face, I nod. “Yes, you should buy it.”

“But do you like the pattern?”

“The tiger looks lovely, but…” My eyes trail to another blanket, this one embroidered with stars. “This one reminds me of Sài Gòn on a clear night, when you can see the constellations and the moon.”

Her gaze follows mine. “That one? You like the night sky?”

Flustered, I shake my head. “No, pick what you like.”

Still, she picks the starry blanket and tucks it under her arm, ready to dig for her purse. “I’m choosing this one, and I’m buying it for the memories.”

“Memories?”

Sticking out her tongue at me, she opens her wallet to pay for the fabric. “Yeah, to commemorate today. Every time I look at it, I’ll be instantly reminded of when we went to Ch ? B ? n Thành together.”

I avoid her eyes, planting them on the grimy market floor. The millions of imagined butterflies swarm my stomach as my pulse quickens. “Back to research.” I try to not think about her skin on mine again. “What can we write about?”

“Don’t you see it, Lan?”

“What? It’s just a market. Aside from, I don’t know, the live fish we talked about, it’s just like any other indoor marketplace.”

“It’s not!” she protests, extending her arm to point at various shops. “Even though this place can be smelly and loud, it’s like its own tiny world. To you, these sounds and smells are home, so you don’t find it odd. To me, it’s new. It’s different. It’s beautiful.”

I look at the girl next to me, bewildered by the world around her. I think of Vivi’s Asian Garden Mall in Little Saigon and wonder how different it is from my own city. Do people sell different things? Do they haggle like us? Does Little Saigon feel like home to her?

Nodding, I take in her words, my eyes observing the market in a new light. Fresh vegetables cultivated by calloused hands. Splashing fishes and eels and clams caught by fishermen whose livelihoods depend on the sea, who always brave the water no matter the storm. Silk fabric sewn intricately by women who do it all for their families. Food chopped, cooked, and served in front of customers by people who should be world-class chefs.

“Write the Sài Gòn that you see, that you experience. Write from your eyes, Lan.”

I swallow a lump in my throat, Vivi’s words tugging at my chest, but it doesn’t feel heavy. Rather, my body feels light. Like something has been unlocked. “Thank you, Vivi. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Maybe I wouldn’t have entered the contest. Maybe I would never have found out about it, if she had never sent it to me.

There are so many people around, but I only see Vivi. Only her eyes locking on mine, their sincerity never wavering.

“Lan?” someone calls from behind us, making me jump. A stout lady peers at us, carrying a coconut in one arm and a stack of fabric in the other.

I smile, folding my arms and offering a slight bow to C? Ngan. Vivi does the same. “Chào C?, how are you?”

“Lan! I haven’t seen you in so long. Are you well? Have you eaten?”

Another smile tugs at my lips at her question. For Vietnamese people, asking if someone has eaten is how to say I love you .

“Yes, C?, thanks for asking,” I say.

“Who is this?” Vivi whispers to me.

“This is the person I was telling you about. The owner of the áo dài store in this market.”

She swallows. “Oh. I guess it’s time… to ask.”

My shoulders slump, and a sinking feeling settles in my chest. I wish I could cheer her up, instill the same confidence she’s been giving me. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this. We can always… leave.”

But it comes out wrong, because that’s the only thing I know: to avoid, to run away.

Vivi shakes her head. “I have to know.”

I nod, already knowing she’d say that. “C?.” I turn back to C? Ngan. “I hate to bother you, but do you have some time?”

C? Ngan returns my smile. “Of course! Anything for you, Lan. And you can introduce me to your friend, too!”

Vivi shifts uncomfortably beside me. I inhale deep and say, “This is Vivi, and um, we have something to ask you—”

“Vivi!” C? Ngan turns to Vivi, both her hands fully on Vivi’s shoulders now. “This is the first time I’m meeting Lan’s friend.” I blush at that comment. “Why do you look so sickly? Did you eat? Do you want food?”

Vivi, bewildered by C? Ngan’s onslaught, bursts out laughing. “Thank you, C?! But I’m fine. I was just… worried about inconveniencing you.”

It’s a lie, I know it. But still, it warms me—seeing how Vivi lights up because of C? Ngan.

“Nonsense. Any friend of Lan’s is a friend of mine. Now, why don’t we go to my shop and you can tell me what you need?”

Arriving at Ngan Fabrics, C? Ngan drops her coconut on a bamboo mat and gets up to hang her new fabrics on the streamers. Mannequins dressed in áo dàis of all colors and designs surround us.

I’m about to open my mouth to explain again when C? Ngan interrupts. “Before I help you girls with whatever you need, can I ask for a favor from you, Vivi?”

Vivi blinks, turning to me before answering. “ Me? Yes! Of course. Tell me what you want me to do, C?.”

“You’re adorable.” C? Ngan pinches Vivi’s cheeks and shoves a pile of áo dài into her arms. “Here, try these on. I want you to model for me.”

Vivi’s cheeks flare red. “Um, okay. Are you sure this is okay?” She turns toward me again. I just shrug. Vietnamese women do what Vietnamese women want, and there’s no stopping them.

I push her toward the dressing room, my palm flat against her back. “Just humor her,” I say, hoping this moment will take Vivi’s mind off thinking about her mom, even if just for a bit.

Vivi walks toward the makeshift dressing room in the corner constructed from curtains hanging down, an ingenious idea that vendors use when selling within indoor markets like this. I hear the sound of her clothes shuffling around and blush, looking away to distract myself.

“Lan?” Vivi pipes up. “Can you help me? I can’t reach the zipper.”

I excuse myself from C? Ngan and stop outside the curtain, unsure of what to do. “Do you want me to come inside?”

“Yes.”

I peer inside the curtain and blush. Vivi’s back is exposed to me, her skin glowing against the darkness of the dressing room. The searing heat meets my fingers once again. I’m losing my mind over this simple task.

At last, the zipper works.

I suck in my breath, too scared to let her hear the way she’s making me feel. “Is it too tight?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. It’s perfect.”

“Let me see!” C? Ngan insists from outside.

I walk out, giving Vivi time to gather herself. She peeks under the curtain and steps out in a pale lavender áo dài with lotus flowers flowing on her skirt, shimmering beneath the fluorescent light. The lace collar complements her small neck, and the white pants float with her every move. A loud exhale escapes me, and my jaw goes slack as I bring a palm up to cover the blush blooming across my face. I can feel my heart in my chest, my arms, my fingers, and my stomach. Vivi looks like she just stepped out of a painting.

“Beautiful! You should model for these dresses!” C? Ngan exclaims.

She hesitates, shyly crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not sure if I’m that pretty…”

“Oh, hush, you are. Isn’t that right, Lan?”

I blink, nodding slowly. “Yes. Vivi’s really pretty.”

At my comment, Vivi ducks her head under the curtain again, mumbling something between the lines of “thank you” and “oh my God.” She emerges again minutes later, flustered and absolutely over what just happened.

“So, what did you girls need?” C? Ngan asks, completely oblivious to why Vivi and I are sitting with a gap between us. My cheeks are still hot, and as I peek at her, I can see her pink ears, too.

Vivi’s fingers tremble slightly as she places the photograph of her mom and her family standing in front of Ch ? B ? n Thành on the bamboo mat. But unlike earlier, she seems more at ease now. More confident. “Lan told me you might know who these people are.”

C? Ngan studies the photo. “Oh yes! I remember them. This girl”—she points to Vivi’s mom—“her name’s Hoa, isn’t it?”

Vivi gasps. “Yes! So you know who they are.”

“That’s Hoa, her sister, and her mom. I used to see them every day. Until Hoa up and went to America.” C? Ngan smiles sadly. “At least that’s what the neighborhood gossips say, little Hoa went to the States all by herself.”

Vivi avoids C? Ngan’s gaze, and I just watch them while fidgeting with the hem of my shirt… unsure of what to say. Still, I scoot closer to Vivi before placing a hand over hers. I don’t know why, but I just know that if I were her, I’d want someone to comfort me in this moment.

“But I don’t blame Hoa.” C? Ngan speaks again. “Maybe she found something better for herself. Everyone knows how hard it was back then.”

Vivi swallows. “What do you mean?”

C? Ngan looks at her sadly. “You’re Vietnamese American, aren’t you?”

Vivi immediately shrinks into herself at that question. I find myself getting restless, wanting to protect her.

“It’s okay that you don’t know,” C? Ngan says. “A lot of younger kids still don’t. But what do you think happens when a war is over? Fighting is easy. Living is hard. And how do you live, or hold on to that hope of living, when you’ve seen your country torn apart? When you don’t know when life will look up again? It was so, so tough for everyone. And when all you know is harshness, you want to run away from it, too.”

“I… knew that.” Vivi breathes out. “I guess more than most kids? I’ve read a lot about Vi ? t Nam, thanks to Lan.” My heart leaps again. “But I… never thought about my family and how they went through all the terrible stuff the Wikipedia pages talk about. It’s easy to read about the numbers of people dying and what happened when it’s just dry facts, but much harder to imagine the people you know experiencing the same things.”

But Vivi isn’t the only one feeling that way. Even I, a girl who grew up here in Sài Gòn, sometimes find it hard to believe that such a beautiful city went through hell.

C? Ngan’s eyes soften. “As long as you know, that is good enough. But for these people…”

Vivi’s face falls. “So we can’t find them after all.”

I squeeze her hand again, feeling her gaze on me. “Just listen, C?’s about to say something.”

She returns to the photo, her eyebrows still scrunched. “Though I don’t see them anymore, I think someone I know may have an idea. Lan, you know the uncle who sells c ? m t ? m—the one that was friends with your dad?”

My chest squeezes tight at the mention of Ba, except not as tight as it used to. I nod. “B á c Tu ? n.”

“Yes, ask B á c Tu ? n about these people. He might know them. He went to school with the daughters in the photo.”

Vivi’s face brightens immediately, and she scoops the photo back into her hands, cradling it against her chest. “Thank you, C?. You don’t know how much you’ve helped me.”

I face Vivi, warmth fluttering through my body at her smile. Still, I’m relieved my hunch was right. Everyone in Sài Gòn really knows someone .

She looks at me, really looks at me, and I find myself wanting to keep helping her. To keep sitting next to her just like this, giving her comfort if she needs me.