A Pho Love Story by Loan Le

Author:Loan Le
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2021-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

“Con!” My mom calls for me the moment I step into the house. “Biểu đây.”

I’m home on time, so that’s not why she’s calling for me. Shit, did I leave the toilet seat up again? I take the steps slowly, trying to figure out what I must have done wrong. Running through me, though, something I can’t ignore, is an urge to sit down and just write. Because Chef Lê is more interesting than I thought he’d be. Because I’d rather get lost in writing than think about the failed attempt to talk to Linh about us… about her rejection.

Mẹ, just showered, stands in front of the bathroom sink. She leans toward the mirror—her mirror counterpart looks at me. A Vietnamese ballad spills out from her bedroom. Ba must be at the restaurant still.

“Here,” she says, and hands the tweezers over. “I need you to pull out a white hair.”

My mom likes to complain that she has so many because of me. I guess I probably shouldn’t tell her it’s because she’s just old.

Sighing, I take the tweezers from her, agreeing to a task that I’ve been subjugated to since I was old enough to hold these things and also since my mom spotted her first one back when I was in sixth grade. I’m not the only one, though. Việt’s had to do this too.

“Where?”

“Nè.” She holds it up and I squint. Got one. “Did you finish your project?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” I feel her gaze through the mirror. “You are out a lot these days.” I accidentally pull out a black hair. “Ah, mày làm gì vậy?”

“Sorry.” I do it more gently. “The newspaper keeps me busy.”

“Con still writing reviews.”

“I am, yeah.” I’m not sure why but Chef Lê comes into mind again, about his early struggles with his mom. Two years. I wonder if me and my mom can ever stop talking for that long. And who would instigate it? “There’s this guy I met on my assignment. Brian Lê.”

“Vietnamese. What does he do?” she asks almost immediately.

“He’s the executive chef and owner. He’s pretty young.”

“It is hard,” she answers sagely. “But impressive for his age.”

“He was talking about his parents and the things he wanted to ask them.”

“Oh?”

“His mother died in the past few months.”

Mẹ clicks her tongue. “Tội quá.” Poor guy.

“Yeah, and he mentioned not knowing everything he could have known about her while she was alive.” I thread my fingers through her hair, rechecking my work. “Why don’t you talk about Vietnam more?”

“I do! I talk about it all the time.” She looks at me directly through the mirror.

“Yeah, I know, but more specific things. I know where you lived, what my grandparents did. That you escaped at night. But that’s more like an overview. Why don’t you tell me the smaller things?”

“Because you don’t ask. But the things I do tell you, you always say, ‘Oh, I don’t want to hear it, I don’t have time, Mẹ, I heard you say this already.’” She mimics what she thinks I sound like.

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