Thuy’s parents brought her to San Francisco when she was sixteen. At age twenty-four, she had integrated enough to have lost most of her accent, but despite the new passport she still called herself Vietnamese.
She didn't want to be American like the girl who lived across the hall. Thuy was in the kitchen making breakfast when she heard the girl lumber up the stairs. A few choice curse words and the sound of keys falling onto the hallway floor rang out before the door was opened and then slammed shut.
Thuy sighed. That girl paid two thousand dollars a month to have a one bedroom apartment all to herself, and she spent more time out getting drunk than she did at home. Such a waste.
Turning back to the work at hand, Thuy cut up a few thawed breakfast sausages and fried them next to three eggs. She would definitely give this country credit for its food. The traditional American breakfast on top of the sticky rice she prepared tasted better than any xoi she'd had back home, especially after she added a few drops of maple syrup for its sweetness.
She brought the three bowls of food to the kitchen table and sat down to eat with her parents.
“Anything interesting?” She nodded toward the tablet her father was using to browse that morning’s news. He shrugged, and she went back to eating her breakfast.
When her parents left to catch a bus to the restaurant, Thuy stayed behind to clean up. She would go in to help later, but she was grateful to have this part of the morning to herself. Setting her laptop up on the coffee table, she let a video play the relaxing sounds of nature as she made sure the apartment was spotless.
Satisfied with her work, she set a towel down on the living room floor and switched the video to a 20-minute yoga routine. Breakfast was sitting heavy in her stomach as she stretched, and a police siren sounding through the window added to her distraction.
She cursed as she stubbed her toe on the table, and closed the laptop to go take a shower instead. She dried her hair and got dressed, slinging her empty backpack over her shoulder as she rushed down the stairs.
Thuy unchained her bike and began the ride to work. Artfully weaving through lanes of traffic, she could always find the most efficient route to be able to make it to the restaurant before it opened. If she couldn't find a path, she would make one herself, laughing as she heard the car horns scolding her.
At least, that's how things usually went. Her concentration was just a bit off that day, and as she turned around a corner she glanced behind her shoulder instead of keeping her focus on the road ahead.
She crashed.
Her own cry of pain mixed with the yelp of the person she hit, and her skin scraped against concrete as she tumbled to the ground. Pushing herself to her feet, she looked down to see a warm river of red that began at her knee and ended in tiny splatters staining her sneakers.
She glared at the victim of her accident. In the midst of her anger she didn't notice that the instant her eyes met his, she felt like she was home.
“Xem bạn đang đi đâu, thằng ngốc!”
He blinked at the sharpness in her voice and raised his eyebrows.
“What did you just say?” His tone sounded more amused than upset, and her cheeks began to burn.
“I said watch where you're going.” She looked away as she added the last line of the translation. “Idiot.”
He hesitated, then reached down to pick up her bike for her.
“I could say the same to you, if I knew how to say it." The corners of his lips twitched as he fought the urge to smile. "I was born here, and my parents always spoke English at home.”
She limped forward, trying not to put too much weight on her left leg as she took the bike from him. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to hit you.”
He looked down at her wound and frowned. “I'm fine, but you're bleeding pretty badly. Where are you going in such a hurry that you're willing to risk your life for it? And mine too, I might add.”
“To work.” She brushed her hair back with her fingers and tucked it behind her ears. As much as she wished she could stay there and talk, she did have responsibilities, so she added, “And I'm late.”
He nodded, and pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Her eyes widened as he tossed it to her.
“Wrap that around your leg. To stop the bleeding.” He held the bike steady as she did just that.
”Thank you,” she said softly, inclining her head slightly downward. “I'll wash it for you, if you want. You can come get it tomorrow, at my parents’ restaurant.” She looked up, and her face brightened when she saw he was smiling. “I'll make you lunch. To apologize. It's really good, we make spicy pho with bacon and banh mi panini.” She grinned. “For the Americans, like you!”
“It's a date,” he agreed, and her heart skipped a beat as she took his phone to put her number in it. She couldn't feel the scrape on her knee anymore, not when it was wrapped up in the soft black cotton that meant she would see him tomorrow.
Thuy continued on her way to work a bit more carefully, making sure to pay attention to things like traffic signals and pedestrians crossing the street. As she rode, she wondered whether someday she would be able to tell her children that she had nearly killed their father the first day that they met.
She smiled. It would make such a good story that it just had to be true.