Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

LAN

Plates of ? c, gà chiên n ?? ng m ? m, water spinach with garlic, and a huge pot of l ? u thái spread across the dinner table. Grabbing the mortar and pestle, I grind more chilies into crushed red pepper paste for the fish sauce. Most important rule in every Vietnamese meal: Always have fish sauce nearby. Má, out in the garden, is tying silk lanterns onto our mango tree, her face glowing in their light. It’s the T ? t Trung Thu in Vi ? t Nam, and my heart aches for Ba.

“You look happy,” Má comments. “Did something good happen?”

“Oh, um.” I hesitate. “I made a friend recently, and we’ve been trying a lot of street food together. We went to Ch ? B ? n Thành and are going to Bác Tu ? n’s c ? m t ? m restaurant.”

“Good,” Má says, relief in her eyes. “I’m glad you made a friend. You should be hanging out with people your age. Not with an old lady like me.”

I wipe my hands before picking at the sleeves of my áo dài—it’s a tradition both Má and I do every Trung Thu, wear our favorite áo dàis, have a meal and mooncakes together, and maybe light a lantern or two in our backyard.

“You’re not old, Má. But you shouldn’t be working so hard, either.”

She waves her hand at me. “I should be the one to take care of us, and you should be out having fun, living your life.”

I put down the mortar and pestle, unsure of what to make of Má’s comments. I’ve always been taught that children should protect and take care of their parents, that we have an obligation to be there for the people who raised and fed us. Sure, some may say these are ridiculous Vietnamese filial piety expectations, but I believe in it—or at least I’ve convinced myself to—because in my case, Má only has me.

If not me, then who?

“I just don’t want you to waste your youth, Lan,” Má says.

I want to tell her that she shouldn’t be wasting her youth, either, but deep down, I feel… happy to be going on street food dates with Vivi. Even just seeing her smile changes the monotonous pattern of what my days used to be like.

My phone lights up and I peek at the text, a blush forming across my cheeks immediately.

Vivi : Are you free? Cindy and I are thinking of going somewhere for Trung Thu.

“Did your friend text you?” M á asks, already plating the water spinach into her own bowl.

The usual excuses are clogged in my throat. I want to believe that it’s okay to choose something for myself without feeling guilty.

“She’s asking if… I can join her for Trung Thu.”

“Go,” M á says. “You should be out with a lantern in Chinatown watching the lion dancing! I’ll be fine by myself—I already have the medicine here next to me, okay?”

I nod and get up, and she ushers me out the door. I fumble with my áo dài as I situate myself on the motorbike. M á hands me my helmet, fastening the clip for me.

“C ? m ? n, M á . I’ll bring back mooncakes for you.”

She smiles. “My favorite flavor?”

“Of course. Mooncakes with lots of lotus seeds inside.”

M á waves me off as I drive away toward the bright skyline. The morning shops are already closed, making space for street food at night. Lively crowds flood through the streets of Sài Gòn, a warm glow emitting from almost everyone’s hands—lanterns. Beautiful, luminous lanterns for the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Brushing my sweaty palms on my pink áo dài, I stare at the door to Vivi’s dormitory. My heart rate increases with each passing second. Finally, the door opens and reveals a smiling face: Cindy. But no Vivi in sight.

“Sorry, Lan! We had some last-minute fashion issues. Vivi will be down soon.”

Seconds later, a timid voice calls out from behind the door. “Cindy? Are you sure this is okay?”

Groaning, Cindy opens the door wide and pushes Vivi through. Vivi stumbles out with a yelp, nearly tripping on the pavement. I hurry to her side, my arms finding her waist as I break her fall.

“Hi,” I manage to breathe out. Vivi’s wearing the pale lavender áo dài from C? Ngan, her inky-black hair brushed neat with a purple ribbon on top. “Purple looks good on you.”

“Really?” she whispers, her cheeks rosy.

Cindy coughs and we break apart, both blushing. “Sorry we’re late. This one”—she points at Vivi. “She took a bit deciding if she wanted to wear the áo dài or not. But I’m glad I managed to push her because you guys are matching!”

Vivi groans. “Thanks for predicting the future, Cindy.”

“You’re welcome.” Cindy grins. “I’m going to join the rest of the study abroad cohort, so , why don’t you two go ahead?”

Vivi gapes at Cindy, her face flustered—I wonder if she’s shy at the thought of us spending time alone, even if we’ve been doing that so much already. “That’s not what you said—” she starts.

“Bring her back by midnight, Lan!” Cindy says, scampering back into the dormitory before Vivi can catch her.

“So.” I nudge us toward my motorbike, my heart thundering at the thought of us alone together again. Exploring Sài Gòn together again. “Ready for your first Trung Thu in this city?”

She nods, her arms finding their place over my hips. “Mooore than ready.”

Because it’s Trung Thu, Sài Gòn’s traffic is a lot worse than most days. It takes us nearly an hour to get through the crowds, but we manage to make it to Chinatown just in time before the festival starts. Everywhere around us, children and adults are swarming toward stalls filled with mooncakes and tea. Brightly colored lanterns light up the alleyways from above. Amid the chatter, drumbeats cut through the air and vibrate through the alleyways, announcing that the lion dancing’s about to start.

Vivi squeezes my hand as she points at the decorations above. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? Wait until you see the lion dancing. It’s my favorite part.”

“We also have lion dancing in Little Saigon! But it’s so much more extravagant here. I feel like we’re stepping through a different world. It’s… magical.”

We walk through Chinatown’s alleyways, buying a box of mooncakes and sitting by the Sài Gòn River. Kids are running around us, all carrying at least one lantern in some shape or color.

“What are the kids doing?” Vivi asks.

“They’re probably getting ready for the parade. Trung Thu is also known as the Children’s Festival here, so parents would make lanterns for their kids—or just buy them—and the kids get to do a parade together, as a way of shining the way back to Earth for Cu ? i, the man who floated to the moon with his tree.”

Sure enough, more children join in, carrying even more lanterns. They’re forming a parade now, touring the alleyways while chanting rhymes alongside their parents.

“I want to join them,” Vivi announces, and tugs me toward their direction, her eyes saying Are you in?

I pick up my pace, leading us to the crowd forming at Main Street. “Let’s do it.”

We weasel our way through the crowd, never letting go of each other’s hands. People gravitate toward us, forming a circle as the drums and cymbals thunder through the air. A man in a round mask dressed in a red robe emerges, signaling the arrival of the lions. ?ng ?? a, or the Earth God, is at the heart of Trung Thu. The children gather around ?ng ?? a as he sways back and forth, light on his feet and clapping along to the drums. Two red lions—dancers in very elaborate sequined costumes—leap out from behind him, drawing squeals from everyone. Little kids hide behind the crowd, anxious about the beasts, some crying while their parents shush them with mooncakes. Vivi squeezes my hand, her eyes twinkling brightly like the lanterns above us. Their golden glow caresses her cheeks, and in this moment, she looks just like the fairy on the moon.

The lions make their way toward us, swaying their hips and heads along with the singing and cymbals. ?ng ?? a animatedly fans himself while the lions nuzzle up to Vivi and beg her to pet them. Cooing, she ruffles their manes and tosses coins into the straw hat carried by ?ng ?? a. Two more lions join us in the crowd, bouncing up and down as the crowd cheers them on. I take hundreds of pictures—of Vivi, of the two of us, of the colorful lanterns. I hope they’ll remind her of Sài Gòn—of me.

Shifting closer to her, I shout in her ear. “Are you enjoying the festival?”

She nods, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and shouting back. “Let’s go over there.” She inclines her head toward a narrow alleyway with no vendors or shops, only dim light from the sunset and lanterns glowing through the vacant space.

I follow her. Following that warmth, that smile, and that girl who glows brighter than all the lanterns in the streets.

We’re alone now, just us in this alleyway. Our fingers are still intertwined with one another. She looks at me quizzically. I feel the heat on my face. The tightness in my throat. The drums in my chest.

The wind blows gently past us, and her baby strands dance around her face. I smooth them behind her ears again, letting my hand caress her cheeks softly, slowly. The air around us is dizzying, electrifying, and I find myself leaning in, my eyes tracing the outlines of her face. I realize right then and there that I want this, whatever this is, and I want her. My mouth parts lightly on impulse, and my eyes search for hers—for the confirmation that she wants this as much as I do.

A heartbeat passes between us.

Then two.

“Vivi—”

“Yes,” she answers, her eyelids fluttering as she closes the space between us. Her lips graze mine and fireworks explode in my brain. She arches her neck and I deepen the kiss, allowing her fingers to trail from my neck to my hair, and she tugs at my braid softly—heat rising from all the places that feel good .

My lips linger on hers, my breathing ragged as the urge to kiss her again and again overwhelms me. But before I can, Vivi speaks again. “I like you, Lan.”

I cradle her cheeks between my palms, thumb brushing over the dimples I’ve been dreaming about. “Say it again.”

She blushes profusely but doesn’t let go, only staring at me, anticipating. “I like you.”

“Again.”

“I like you so much,” she whispers.

I pull her toward my body, tilting her chin up. “How much is so much?”

“Like, a lot of bánh mì. A lifetime supply of bánh mì.”

Laughing, I tug her close and our lips collide together again. We pour ourselves into each other as the sunset bleeds into Sài Gòn’s skyline, two hearts beating louder than the bustling crowd of this city. Motorbikes are still blaring down the street, the sound of passersby echoing through the walls.

We stand there, heads on each other’s shoulders, savoring the warmth radiating off our bodies. She nods shyly toward the entrance of the alleyway. “Someone will catch us.”

I poke her nose lightly with mine and she laughs in my ear, a deep sound that rumbles through my core. “No one will care. Did you forget that it’s Sài Gòn?”

She pulls herself from my arms, flushed from head to toe. “For the record, I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“You didn’t even daydream?”

“Maybe just a little bit,” she squeaks.

I pull her back into my arms and plant kisses all over her face. One for each moment that she’s made me happy, which is basically every moment that I’m with her. She leans into the kisses, returning the favor with her soft lips on mine. The smell of the Sài Gòn River clings to our clothes as we stay there in the alleyway, the glowing Trung Thu lanterns winking from above.

My Sài Gòn, I realize, is vibrant, full of life and, for me, full of love.