A Bánh Mì for Two

by Trinity Nguyen

To Vietnamese girls everywhere: You are so loved.

I fidget with the backspace key, feeling its comfort. Sometimes I wish I could just backspace parts of my life.

How nice that is, to pick a spot on the map and call it a vacation, or to have the money to pack all those suitcases and head for another country.

A sense of nostalgia washes over me. Home but not home. Scents I’ve always known, and a language spoken throughout Little Saigon, and yet it’s the first time I’m here. Sure, I look Vietnamese, and I can somewhat speak Vietnamese, although I’m not really fluent. I feel like I’m not Vietnamese enough, but I’m not American enough, either. Unlike other students in the program, I can’t just pass as a foreigner, but I can’t blend in with the locals, either.

It’s a constant tug-of-war within me: being Vietnamese, but not really … and being American, but not really. Will I fit in—ever?

I picked AP classes and submitted college applications on my own, skills I’ve learned from being a daughter of immigrants and the first of my family to go to college.

Vietnamese is a funny language. Dì, chị, bà, and other honorifics all literally mean auntie sister, and grandma, yet we still address other people not related by blood with these words. Related or not, we’re connected by bonds stronger than familial ones.

For once, someone cared enough to ask for my name. In that moment, I wasn’t just a street food seller. I was Lan.

I prop my head up on my arm. “What are the chances I can become friends with Lan if I just stare at her from the window every day?”

“And technically Lan isn’t a stranger. You’ve known her before this.” “Known of her. But fine, I’ll talk to her. What do I have to lose?” She hums. “Yeah. Not like you’ll fall in love with her and beg to stay in Sài Gòn after our study abroad.”

Chú Hai chuckles, taking a bite of his own bánh patê sô. He wipes his hand and lies down next to me. “I can still remember the day that you were born. Your dad ran into the bakery teary with the biggest smile on his face. He said that the star that he had been searching for is here. That you were the brightest star of his life.”

But my heart won’t stop pounding, and though I want to look anywhere else, my eyes won’t stop flickering to her face.

“I love stories that I can lose myself in. To escape reality and be whisked away to another world. Stories that make me root for the characters and make me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself.”

She smiles, and her dimples make my heart jump.

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.

“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.”

“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.”

“Maybe it’s okay to not be anything. To not have to label yourself as anything. You can be both Vietnamese and American.”

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.

Mom never says “love” in English. Instead, she says thương—the first Vietnamese word I ever learned. Thương doesn’t just mean love, it’s a special kind of love, and the meaning floats between “sacrificial love” and “unconditional love.”

Has she noticed the way our palms feel against each other, too? The way I’m so flustered just because of her touch?

Blushing, I wrap my arms around her, and instead of simply holding on, I’m embracing her—embracing the girl who makes me burn.

A sense of euphoria grips me, and I feel like I’ve broken through something. Like I can write again, and here I am, writing about a beautiful city that calls my name and the girl that exists with me within it. The girl who shows me I am enough. That no matter what, I can write.

I never got to meet my grandpa, but we had a portrait of him hanging in our hallway. It’s strange, knowing of someone’s face but never fully know them. All my memories of grandpa were just that, a framed photo existing in my childhood home.

“Just remember, con, that at the end of the day, Mom and a lot of people just wanted hope. And that meant they had to leave home behind.”

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

“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.

“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.”

When you like someone, I’ve realized, everything they do matters to you. Everything they do suddenly becomes intimate, and I find myself wishing to remember every word she says to me. Everything she does for me. All my thoughts point to Vivi.

Somehow, we found each other—an ocean apart for most of our lives. It feels like she has always known me, and I have always known her.

She plucks a plumeria from the branch, bringing it to her nose. “But, Lan, flowers are meant to grow.”

“When I googled your name, I learned that orchids are epiphytes. They grow attached to other plants, but not like a parasite. And before you tease me for being nerdy about this, I promise my long metaphor has a point. They’re not anchored to the ground or to one specific nutrient source. They can get everything they need from the rain, air, and debris. They live in every habitat in the world except glaciers. You don’t have to be rooted to one thing, Lan. You can adapt. You can bloom.”

“Con, if there is one thing about war that I’ve learned, it is that it takes and takes and takes, relentlessly, without mercy. Vietnamese people are the ones that suffered the most—no matter which side of the war they were on. On both sides—in fact, on all sides—the war took everything away from all of us. People left Việt Nam, fleeing to wherever they could.”

“When you’re Vietnamese, you have tenacity in your blood. You have the will to survive. So no matter what, we will always be okay, because we’re Vietnamese.”

As Aunt Hiền leads me out of the room, I begin to understand that love contradicts. That when you have an overwhelming amount of love for someone, you can hurt them, too.

“It was always, always you, Vivi. You who pulled me out of my rut. You who made life in Sài Gòn so much more colorful. You who inspired my writing. You who helped me get this job. It has always been you.”

Vivi kisses my forehead deeply, her lips brushing heat and warmth throughout my chest. “It has always been you for me, too.”

“You are the best thing in my life. Sometimes I think about how my dad probably pulled some strings from wherever he is to get us together. And I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper before leaning in, the air sizzling between us just before her lips meet mine. We embrace each other tightly, tenderly, and as if our bodies are so delicate we might break. I lean in deeper, caressing her face with my hands. Warmth spreads through my body, and I nudge my mouth with everything I’ve got—all my sorrys, my desperation, and my overwhelming feelings for her. “I love you, too, Lan,” she says, her face flushed between my palms.