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Chapter Twenty-Three

LAN

The sticky air clings to my back and I tug at my shirt in hopes of making the sweat disappear as I water the orchids. The air smells of wet soil, while the leaves from our mango tree litter the ground. My fingers reach toward a flower, caressing a blushing pink petal, and I watch the droplets roll off its stem. The orchid stares back at me, and in a fleeting moment, I can see Vivi’s face within the blossom.

“Lan? Ready to go?”

I aim the hose directly at Tri ? t’s face. “Don’t scare me like that.”

He pours himself coffee, then gulps it down before fastening the belt to our bánh mì cart. “Stop daydreaming about someone and come help me open. You’re wasting time.”

I roll my eyes, still aiming the hose at him threateningly. “I cannot believe you’re the one telling me that.” Normally, I’d be hustling Tri ? t out the door.

The shutter opens and M á steps out, carrying a basket. “Why are you both bickering so early in the morning again? Stop looking so angry; you’ll wrinkle your faces later in life.”

Tri ? t pulls out a small mirror from his pocket, dutifully checking every pore on his face and every hair on his head. “No way. Lan, this is your fault for making me age.”

“Or maybe you should wear more sunscreen,” I retort.

“I don’t need sunscreen. The Vietnamese genes absorb all UV rays and make us glow.”

“Oh, stop it.” M á swats at both of us, a smile on her face. “Tri ? t has something important to say.”

My heart drops. I’ve readied myself for the inevitable day when Tri ? t would leave, and the house with the mango tree would be home to just two people again. Still, I want to hold on to these days in Sài Gòn with him and Má as much as possible. Bottle these moments up and hold them tight, because I’m scared. So scared of the person Má might become once he leaves, and scared of who I will be.

But he’s not bound to us, and familial obligations or not, I’ve accepted that Má will be the only constant for me, just as I’ll always be by her side, the only daughter through it all.

“I got a job,” Tri ? t says, and at once, the world stops spinning beneath my feet.

“What?” I ask, not believing my ears. “Are you leaving? Are you not working at the bánh mì stall anymore? Are you not living with us—”

Tri ? t plops a hat on my head, breaking my spiral as he adjusts the cap for me, and the instant coolness shields my face. “The internship is with a Vietnamese airline based in Sài Gòn, so I’ll need to figure out my schedule with them, but other than that, I’m not going anywhere. I know you’re telling yourself I’ll be leaving soon, and you’ll be all alone. But you won’t be.”

“I don’t think that,” I say begrudgingly. Am I that easy to read?

“You so do. You’re already making a checklist of things to do once I leave. You plan for catastrophes so it’s easier to run.”

“So, you’re saying don’t plan?”

“I’m just saying to trust me .”

Má comes up behind me, and my stomach flips when I realize I had almost forgotten her presence, too caught up in my back-and-forth with Tri ? t. Má heard all my questions about where Tri ? t would be and what that would mean for us. She heard that I, her daughter, plan for the worst because I’m scared. I don’t want Má to think I’m scared. I want her to know that whatever happens, she can trust me. She can always lean on me.

“Con à.” Má turns to me. “Tri ? t isn’t going anywhere. He’s our family.”

I wonder if Má is saying that for both of us, and that if we say it enough, we’ll start to believe it, too. For all my plans and checklists, I don’t want to imagine a day without Tri ? t—just as I’m refusing to think about the day Vivi will leave, back to her life in California, and I’ll be left in this city that’s too big for a lonely girl.

Má’s hand finds my back, her left one reaching for my face. “Con, you don’t need to worry about our family. Let Má do the worrying. Let Má take care of you.”

The words fall over me like a warm hug, and for once, I do more than nod at what she said—I reach for her, my arms finding her strong back.

“Why don’t we all take the day off?” M á pulls apart from me, but her hand is still on my shoulder. “It’s ngày gi ? for your dad.”

Ba’s death anniversary, the day he left us four years ago. “I totally… forgot.”

Má’s gaze softens. “Dates are arbitrary. What’s important is how we remember him, how we honor him after his death. And you already do so much of that, con.”

There are so many things still unsaid between us, but for now, I hold on to her words and their comfort. “How should we celebrate his day?”

She smiles, wide. “Help me with the altar, will you?”

In Vietnamese culture, death is celebrated. It’s the crossing to the afterlife, where Ba is meant to rest peacefully, and so families often gather during ngày gi ? to cook big meals and remember the people that are watching over us. The first anniversary was hard, because how were M á and I supposed to celebrate Ba’s death? We wanted him back. But this year, the fourth year, I’m finding it easier to accept. To remember him somehow, to let his memories within us live on.

We’ve always had Ba’s altar in our home, his portrait watching over us in the living room. But today, it feels right to cúng—or to invite him home—with the mango trees and the orchids he loved.

Under the towering mango tree, we set up an altar for Ba’s portrait. Leaves rustle from above as birds wake, and the lanterns from Trung Thu, still tied to the branches, sway softly. Ba loved the lanterns, and I remember we’d hang them on this same mango tree together. How odd, that a tree survived Ba. I wonder if it’ll live on after me, too, and if this same tree will remember me and everyone in our small home.

M á carefully arranges the offerings under the tree. Ba’s portrait sits in the center, embraced by the fruits from our garden: bananas, mangos, dragon fruits, lychees. Beside them is a steaming bowl of thit kho with bamboo shoots and quail eggs. I place a pot of white orchids by the altar, and it feels right to have Ba’s flowers next to him. I wonder if he’s watching us. If he’s proud of me. We unfurl the incense holder from its bag before grabbing a stick and lighting the tip. Shaping my lips into an O, I gently blow on the incense. Smoke rises from the stick, and I wonder if this was what Ba meant when he told me—a long, long time ago—that incenses were smoldering, hazy maps for souls to find their way through the world. The smoke curls around our bodies as I crinkle my temple and bow three times, each time with a story rather than a prayer.

Ba, we have been good. We miss you more than anything, but we’re learning to live without you.

Ba, I’m writing again. I’ve found strength in me to pick up my pen, but I’ll never forget you’re the one that started my love for it.

Ba, I’ve met someone, and I hope I never lose her.

With a long exhale, we blow on the smoke, careful to not extinguish the flame. I stick the incense back in the holder and bow one last time. M á takes my hand as I grab Tri ? t’s, and the three of us pay our respects to Ba. This is one of those moments that I want to wrap tightly in my memory and never let go.

My phone chimes. Then it chimes again. Only one person texts me like that, and the thought of her makes me blush.

“Go,” M á whispers. “It’s your friend, isn’t it?”

Nodding, I mouth her a “Thank you” and call Vivi. I close the gate to our home, my legs carrying me through the alleyways in my neighborhood as I sidestep puddles and potholes. “Hello?”

Vivi sighs on the other end of the line, and my heart leaps. “Hey. I miss you.”

All the warm and fuzzy feelings return, and I will myself not to run straight to Vivi’s dorm right then and there. “I miss you, too. Did you need something?”

I wince, knowing how odd that sounds. Not that Vivi needs a reason to call me, but ever since I realized I like her, words haven’t felt right on my tongue. Instead, they’re jumbled, and sometimes I don’t know how to express all the dizzying things she makes me feel. Still, my heart thrums with anticipation for her answer.

Her giggles ring through my ear. “I wanted to talk to you more. Is that enough?”

My heart has got to stop pounding so loudly. “Yeah. It is. More than enough.”

“What are you doing right now?”

I glance at my surroundings, but my thoughts zero in on the simple fact that Vivi called because she cares about me. She wants to know what I’m doing just as much as I’ve been thinking about her and her day and—

I clear my throat. “I’m walking through my neighborhood. My mom and Tri ? t are tidying up my dad’s altar right now. It’s his death anniversary.”

“Oh.” She sucks in a breath. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No, it’s okay.” This time, I actually believe myself. “For some reason this year, I haven’t felt as sad today—when I’m reminded of my dad’s passing—and I think it’s because of you.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I have something to look forward to every day: seeing you, working on the contest application together. And… Sài Gòn has been less lonely with you in it.”

I can feel her smiling through the phone. “I don’t think I would’ve fallen in love with this city if I hadn’t met you. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to come to Sài Gòn if I hadn’t found you years ago on the internet. I think Sài Gòn would just be another place on the map for me, not a city where someone important to me lives.”

My heart pounds, but I still can’t shake off the anxiety that all this is temporary. That Vivi will inevitably leave. Unable to say anything, I drink in her words. That’s the only thing I know how to do now, to let Vivi’s words envelop me, and to fall right into their embrace.

“I don’t think I deserve all those compliments.”

She laughs, and I press the phone closer to my ear—imagining her right next to me. “You have no idea how much… you’ve done for me.”

I take in my neighborhood stretching before me, noticing the lone corner market at the end of the street. It seems more vibrant, a brighter shade of pink. I picture Ba and me perching on the stools next to the flan lady, devouring sweet custard during hot summer days. I think about Chú Hai on his bicycle every Saturday, passing out extra loaves of bread for everyone.

“Because of you,” I say, “I think I’ve finally learned how special this place I call home really is.”