A Pho Love Story

by Loan Le

Tonight, I’m not spotting any here, maybe because they’d know to avoid this huge crowd.

  If I have an order in there, Linh slides it down to me to grab. I’m an hour in and I swing to the back to get my next order. Linh’s there, elbows on the order table, speaking to someone in the window. She spots me and her eyes widen, which tells me to hide, and I step back into the eating area, out of view.

  “… another order of gỏi cuốn?”

  “Yeah, third order for the same table.”

  “Third!” Her mom sounds delighted. She addresses one of the cooks, joking, “What did we put in there? We’re doing good, yes?”

  “We’re doing awesome, Mẹ!” Linh answers, catching my eye again.

  She smiles briefly before bringing her order to the table.

  In my section, I field questions about the menu, but that’s no big deal since we sell similar food items. Customers ask me how many shakes we sell, and of course that’s five—

  Wait, the Mais have six?

  “Excuse me, can I get another order of chả giò?”

  “Sure, let me just—”

  Oh shit.

  “Frank,” I breathe.

  Frank’s five years older than me. His mom used to work at the nail salon on the same strip as us and we’d suffered through hours of their lunchtime gossip by playing games on his Nintendo DS, which I’d never owned. But they’d moved somewhere else and I hadn’t seen Frank in years.

  We’re at a standstill, lost for excuses as to why we’re both in a competitor’s restaurant. We start speaking over each other.

  “I’m just helping out a friend—”

  “Don’t tell your mom I—”

  “But it’s no big—”

  “I just wanted some chả giò!”

  We blink at each other.

  My shoulders relax when I see Frank looking sheepish. His group of friends watch the exchange, amused. “Look, I know your mom would have my ass if she knew I was here. Well, first my mom would. And I’m not sure what you’re doing here, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  In any other situation, I’d laugh at the idea that a grown-ass man is still terrified of getting in trouble with two Vietnamese mothers. But now’s not the time. “Deal,” I say.

  “Thank God. I’ve been craving these egg rolls. They’re the best in the area—er, I mean, no offense to your mom.”

  Good decision.

  Apparently Linh was watching us, and as soon as we pass each other, she leans in, a hand on my elbow. “Everything okay?” This is the third time she’s touching me, and I’m finding that I don’t mind at all. I was lucky and partly thankful that my mom has the skills to intimidate people even if they don’t live in the area anymore.

  “I think so.”

  * * *

  Time passes quickly. Customers have finished and left at a steady pace, allowing the line to grow shorter and shorter. The deal has probably given the place a profit. I remember my mom’s snide comments about the Mais’ phở, how it’s all too bland, but from the smiles on the customers’ faces as they leave, I’m sure that’s not the case.

  We have five tickets left at this point. The restaurant closes soon, at midnight, and my time here will end. Maybe we’ll never see each other again after tonight. Maybe this will just be a fluke incident. But I don’t think anyone can deny that we made a good team.

  From across the room, over a sea of heads and laughter, I catch Linh’s eye.

  We got this.

  * * *

  I sneak out once the servers have said goodbye to the last customers. Linh gestures that she will follow in a few minutes. I wait by the alley while cleanup happens. The back door opens now and again as some of the bus boys dump the trash or empty boxes. They see me, but just nod indifferently, not caring that some weird guy is just waiting there in near-darkness.

  Linh appears at the alley’s opening having gone through the front. She’s carrying her messenger bag. “My mom’s just cleaning up a few things. You’re safe.”

  Out by the curb, some feet to the right of the restaurant’s facade, we wordlessly sit down. I watch her shoulders move as she breathes, until I realize I’ve timed my breathing with hers.

  She speaks first. “Tonight was…”

  She trails off, a smile playing on her lips. My brain has gone to mush. More strands have fallen out of her ponytail and I get the urge to move them out of her face, behind her ear. They shine, like the hair of a violin bow just polished.

  My hand rises of its own accord. Linh freezes; her body stills, then my brain yells, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? And my hand goes off course and before I realize it…

  I pat her shoulder.

  CHAPTER EIGHT LINH

  Did he just pat my shoulder?

  CHAPTER NINE BẢO

  “We were awesome today!” I say with more enthusiasm than I have in that moment. I look down at my knees, my face burning. And I’m pretty sure I’m sitting on gum. After not hearing anything for a few seconds, I risk a glance at Linh—and feel light-headed when I see her smiling. We lose it, our laughs echoing down the street, vibrating with the other late-night sounds. Ecstasy.

  CHAPTER TEN LINH

  Okay, so that pat on the shoulder was weird, but I forget it soon enough.

  “That was intense!”

  Bảo laughs, a deep, husky kind of laugh—God, what a nice sound.

  “I thought I was finished when your mom called you—”

  “And Lisa came by—”

  “Then that guy Frank who I did not expect to see there at all!”

  We’re like little kids full of sugar. Or like the kids we were back at temple. This time we didn’t get caught. “Never thought that would work,” I say after calming down. The smell of rain is faint in the air. Couples stroll past us, their shoes squeaking. Cars crawl by. “But we did an awesome job.” I register the parts of us that are touching—our thighs and shoulders.

  I’d shut down his offer before and watched him close up and turn his back on me. Waves of regret overcome me, not only because of what I said about him spying on us, but because I was ashamed that he was only trying to reach out to help and I denied him. He didn’t have to check on me. He could have gone home just like every other week. But he didn’t turn his back on me.

  I sneak a look at him now. Bảo stares the opposite way, resting his forearms on his knees. He’s, well, hot. He doesn’t have a bowl cut anymore. There’s quietness to him as well, reminding me of my mom when she’s concentrating on a new recipe—the opposite of the energy around Ba or Ali. I shift, discomfited by these unexpected emotions warring inside me. We don’t know each other. We can’t.

  “Thanks for tonight.” I gesture toward the alley. “I’m not usually like that, you know. Freaking out.”

  “It’s cool. I’d be like that if our restaurant was ever that busy.”

  “It wasn’t just that.” I exhale. “There’s this exhibition I wanted to go to. I just found out about it recently, but then remembered it fell on the same day as this whole thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” I’m rubbing my thumb against the bump on my middle finger—made callused after years of resting my pencil against it—not understanding why I want to explain everything to him in the moment, or if he wants to hear it. “I was going to ask my parents if I could have the night off. But my dad hurt his back, and like I said before, we’re short-staffed.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  I’d wanted to run far away. I’d wanted to be anywhere but in that restaurant. Then Bảo reached out to me, looking so solid, so earnest, and just one touch shocked me so much that I had to pull away. It seems silly to think about it now… but he was real! He was right there, and now right here.

  “I’m okay,” I answer honestly. “Now, at least.”

  Bảo nods. “That’s good. I mean, tonight was challenging, and you survived it. And there will always be another exhibition.” He pauses. “Was it some kind of avant-garde exhibition?” />
  “Avant-garde?” I say teasingly. “Wow, most people default to cubism. Picasso.”

  “Sorry, who?” Then he smiles and shrugs one shoulder. I forget what I’m thinking about for a breath. “I know nothing about art. I just thought ‘avant-garde’ sounded smart.”

  “You almost convinced me.”

  We smile at each other, not knowing what to say next, which I guess is expected. We haven’t had enough time to work out a true rhythm in our conversation.

  “Shit, I think I just saw your mom by the window.” Bảo scrambles to his feet, brushes off his bottom. I remember now—this isn’t supposed to happen. “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he says, walking backward toward Lemare Street.

  “I’ll see you around?” I call out.

  Did I just—?

  He nearly trips over a raised part of the sidewalk and shoots me a sheepish smile that makes me woozy—even though I’m still sitting down. “Definitely! Let’s not wait another six years, though.”

  And he’s gone.

  The door rings as it opens. Mẹ is behind me, locking the doors.

  “Who was that?”

  “Someone was just asking for directions.”

  Mẹ smiles. She looks younger than I’ve ever seen her.

  Any other day, she would have pestered me about who I was talking to, but she’s too elated. She lifts a bulging plastic bag. “I’m bringing home chè Thái. Three for all of us.”

  “Nice.” I stand up and snuggle under her arm when she gestures for me.

  She presses her nose against my cheek and squeezes me tight, like she used to when I was younger. She’d say she “just wanted to eat me up.”

  Today went well. I want to paint us just like this.

  “C’mon,” my mom says. “Let’s see if Ba is still alive at home.”

  * * *

  Ba forgets about his back pain the moment we unlock the door. The television shuts off. My mom dangles the bag of desserts before him like she’s a baiting dog and he shoots her a mock expression of anger before taking it and undoing the knot. This isn’t the first time we’ve had dessert at midnight. When me and Evie were younger—and probably still too young to stay home by ourselves—we would fall asleep on the couch, curled up against one another, waiting for them to finish at the restaurant. They’d bring us leftovers—always something sweet.

  We’re missing one person now, but we still move in unison toward the kitchen.

  “Did it work?” Ba asks almost warily. Playing with his hesitation even more, my mom ignores him. She digs into the drawer for spoons, closing it with her right hip, grabs ice from the freezer, and crushes it in a ziplock bag with a pestle. She pours the ice into three cups, then spoons the chè over it: coconut milk, sweet, plump longan pieces, cubes of grass jelly that snap under your teeth, red-dyed tapioca pearls made from water chestnuts. It’s one of my favorite summer desserts—and one of the best late-night desserts to have without feeling so guilty.

  She’s taking too long for Ba. “Bà này,” he says, and clicks his tongue with real annoyance. He just wants to hear about tonight.

  Finally, Mẹ gives in. “It was perfect.”

  Ba accepts the spoon handed to him. Then he just nods. He tries to hide it, but I can tell by the way he’s straightened his posture that he’s glad to hear it. “Of course it worked. It’s all because of me.”

  My mom smacks him on the shoulder. “Ông quỷ, this wouldn’t be possible if the food wasn’t good, and that’s because of me.” She sends me a shining look. “Not to mention Linh, who took care of the front and the customers.”

  “Of course. This is Linh we’re talking about.”

  I smile weakly. If they were able to read my thoughts, review all the events from tonight, they wouldn’t be praising me. I wouldn’t be able to explain how I didn’t want to work tonight. How I wanted to give up. And of course I can’t do that, shouldn’t do it. It’ll ruin just about everything.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN BẢO

  “Infestation.” The word is usually negative, referring to bugs or something else that causes illnesses, but it accurately describes how thoughts of Linh swarm my mind lately. Yesterday after school, as I was wiping down tables, my thoughts drifted to Linh and last week’s encounter. Then, noticing I wasn’t doing any work, Mẹ whacked me good on the head, propelling the image of Linh—hair tied up like that night and that damned smile—from me. Việt laughed, watching me recover. He knew what was distracting me because I’d already given him a recap in our forensic science class together, waiting for our teacher to get here.

  “Linh Mai.”

  “Yes.”

  “You talked to Linh Mai.”

  “Yes.”

  “Linh—”

  “Okay, you can stop saying her name like that.”

  “It’s just hard to believe. You actually helped the enemy.”

  “Do you see her as an enemy?”

  “Yes, but that’s what I know your mom would want me to say.” A slow smirk began to form on his face. “The question is: Do you see Linh as the enemy?”

  “I never did,” I answered quickly, almost marveling at the truth of it. Việt arched an eyebrow, which I’d never seen him do.

  “I still can’t believe you actually talked to her. I never thought that’d happen. I mean, way to go!” I was somewhat amazed and bolstered by his enthusiastic reaction… like he was cheering me on.

  “You’re strangely happy about this. Meanwhile, I’m dead if my mom ever finds out about this.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just… you’re taking a risk. Going out of your comfort zone. And you don’t usually do that.”

  All of this was true, but it was something I’d never heard coming from my best friend.

  Now, I’m debating the possibility that my school schedule is conspiring to keep me and Linh separated. When I do “see” her, it’s just the usual flash of her hair as she turns the corner. I can never seem to find her during passing time or lunchtime.

  A nagging thought comes to mind: What if Linh’s actually dodging me? Did something happen after I left her? Maybe her mother did see us and told her off. Maybe Linh agreed not to speak to me because of that. It’s not hard to imagine what she’s heard about me and my family over the years.

  A few minutes before sixth period—journalism class—I reach into my locker to exchange books. Allison basically said she was “a bit” disappointed by the quality of our recent articles, so there’s going to be a long lesson on how to write. Is Rowan ever going to step up and remind Allison that she’s still a student? I mentally and emotionally prepare myself, when I sense someone next to me. I close my locker.

  My day hasn’t completely gone to shit. “Linh. Hey.”

  Linh leans her shoulder against the lockers. “Here.” She hands me a carton of chocolate milk.

  Her hair’s down past her shoulders, longer than I remember, and she looks like the Linh post-Phở Day instead of the one I’d checked in on in that alley. My throat feels dry. “What’s this for?”

  “I didn’t get to it at lunch but didn’t want to throw it away. Consider it a small token for helping me out last week.”

  “You really know the way to a guy’s heart.” Okay, Bảo, okay! That was smooth… maybe? We start walking. I try to remember if I’m actually going the right way. “How’s it going?” That’s the question I ask after a WEEK of thinking about her?

  “Good, I’m glad it’s almost over. I feel like it’s been one assignment after another.” Linh then grimaces. “APs especially.”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Three.”

  My stomach clenches. Three? And she’s still alive?

  “Plus I have to work tonight.”

  “I do too. Maybe we’ll see each other?” I say this as casually as possible, not wanting to seem like I’m suggesting anything other than, well, just seeing each other.

  “Sure, maybe I can help out this time,” she says conspiratorially, adding
a smile. I’m feeling the effects of it—maybe it’s because she’s so much clearer under the lights—a nice faintness that I’ve only felt after waking from a long, good nap.

  “There’s no chance we can get away with that again,” I say weakly, half as a joke, until it registers that isn’t a joke. It’s the truth. Things just worked out over at Linh’s, but he can’t ever expect that to repeat.

  Some of the laughter leaves Linh’s eyes, and we walk in quiet silence, our bodies remembering to feel unaccustomed to each other’s company. That feeling, back when I thought she’d rejected my help, takes over again, until she says, so quietly that I might have imagined it:

  “That’s sad to think about… because we worked great together. Like we were meant to be partners.”

  Partners.

  Yeah, it sounds right to me.

  Eager to just keep talking until we can’t anymore, I ask more about her classes. She asks if Allison is still attending our classes instead of using her study hall time to go home. She seems to talk about Allison with a teasing smile, so I don’t tell her that I’m truly terrified of her in certain moments.

  We make it to journalism class, where—no surprise—Allison sits in Rowan’s seat, next to her the biggest Blue Bottle cup of iced coffee I’ve ever seen. In a disorienting move, she smiles at Linh. She looks different when she does that.

  “Hey, lady!” Her eyes fall to me, then flicker over to Linh. If possible, her lips widen. “Didn’t think I’d see you two together.”

  Linh clears her throat. “Ali, I told you about how he helped me out last week? Right?”

  “Rightttt. That was sweet of him. Well, good timing that you’re here. Because I have an idea.” Ali spins in her chair before rising like a villain who finally settled on a plan for world domination.

  “Oh no,” Linh says, earning a glance that is both withering and playful from Ali.

  “So, in one of my classes, some girls were complaining that their boyfriends are taking them to all the wrong places. Boring vibe. Expensive, etcetera, etcetera. So what if we created a whole new beat for the newspaper? Assign a reporter to visit new places that any high school student can go to and actually afford, and tell the real deal about it.”