Khánh doesn’t expect to see the person again. 

At least, that’s what they tell themself even as they are punching down bread dough. The surprised delight on the stranger’s face while crunching through the crispy shell of bánh xèo had warmed something in Khánh’s heart, as had the enthusiastic way they eyed the second and third portions on the plate.

Khánh loves to cook and provide for others, but their isolating job and general awkwardness means that most of their friends are too far away to indulge in such mothering. It had been like a dream: the heavy light of sunset cloaking everything in gold, the stranger with lovely eyes watching Khánh eat their own dish before attempting the same, sharing a meal with another human . It had been clear that the stranger didn’t have much experience with Vietnamese food, and it brings out a yearning for the stranger to return so that Khánh can show them even more Vietnamese cuisine. 

It wouldn’t do to aspire to disappointment, though, especially given the odd situation that had brought them together. 

Once the baguettes are in the oven, Khánh goes to retrieve the mail. They are struggling with the abundance of flyers shoved in their mailbox when they see a familiar figure approaching. 

“Hello!” Khánh calls out excitedly, dropping the mail all over the porch.

The person freezes, then appears to force themself to continue walking up the path. Khánh gathers up the mail and waits, beaming, as the person approaches. 

Once in speaking distance, they clench their fists by their sides, staring at the wood beneath Khánh’s feet. There is a moment of silence, and then the person asks, “ThankyouforthefoodyesterdaycanIpayyoubackbyweedingyourfrontgarden?”

Khánh blinks slowly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

They take a deep breath, redness spreading over their cheeks, and repeat slower this time, “Thanks for the food yesterday, can I weed your front garden? Um, in payment.”

Khánh thinks wistfully about the state of their back garden and how much they’d appreciate the help there instead, but the stranger had specified the front garden and well. It seems to be important to them, if they’ve come all this way just to offer repayment? Khánh doesn’t even consider sharing some bánh xèo a chore, but it’s not like they especially want to weed their own front garden. Besides, there is that bread cooking in the oven right now, and bánh mì is wonderful after a day of work in the garden.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate it,” they reply. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Kai.”

The way they say it is strong and proud, like someone who has earned that name through trials and tribulations. Khánh’s mind-gears whirl, and before they think about it, the words are tumbling from their mouth, “It’s good to meet you Kai. What are your pronouns?”

Kai looks taken aback, and as the seconds pass, Khánh is more and more aware that it’s still an unusual question to hear in real life. They hope they haven’t put their foot in it. Before they can apologize out of sheer panic, Kai says, “He/him, thank you. How about you?”

Relieved, Khánh blurts, “My name is Khanh, and I use they/them pronouns.”

The two of them smile at each other for a bit, then Kai turns around and says, “I’ll go ahead and get started then.” And he pulls out a pair of gardening gloves and does just that.

Khánh retreats into the house and heads straight for the kitchen, dumping the mail on the coffee table along the way. Given the size of the front garden, Kai will probably be done in about an hour, which is just enough time for what they’re planning. They wash their hands, then pull out their mandoline slicer and get to work making julienne cuts of carrot and daikon radish. Once they have roughly equal amounts, they toss everything into a colander with some salt and let it sit, the vegetables shrinking as the salt pulls out the moisture. Meanwhile, they grab a plastic spray bottle and spritz the baguettes. Opening the oven fills the whole house with the wonderful aroma of freshly baked bread, and Khánh can’t wait to see what Kai will think of it.

The vegetables are rinsed, dried, then placed in a jar. Khánh then pours in a solution of boiling water, sugar, and vinegar and sets it aside to pickle. That step done, they check the clock and hustle out to the back garden. It’s a bit of a struggle to work their way amongst the overgrown weeds and dead branches, but eventually they find the patch they’re looking for. It’s early in the season so there’s no cucumbers, but there is a small jalapeño growing, so Khánh quickly harvests it and a few handfuls of cilantro and heads back inside to prepare them. Luckily, they already have some homemade mayo on hand and the baguettes are done, so the last step is to sort out the filling while the bread cools.

Khánh opens the fridge and considers. There’s some shredded chicken or xá xiú meat, or they could quickly whip up some eggs? They bite their lip, considering, and then reach for both the chicken and barbecue meat. If Kai wants eggs, it’s a simple matter to fry some up on request. It’s always good to have a choice.

They have just finished carrying out trays of bread and toppings to the garden table when Kai comes around the side of the house. “Hey,” he greets. “I finished the weeding—” He freezes, chest expanding as he inhales. “That...that smells really good.””

Khánh throws a smile over their shoulder. “Perfect! I’ve put together a little something as a thank you. Oh, I forgot the drinks!” They dash back inside.

“But I did this to thank you for the last meal…” Khánh hears as the door shuts.

It’s touching, but to Khánh, food is meant to be shared. Really, Kai is doing a favor to them by providing his company, but not everyone sees it that way, evidently.

Kai jumps back when Khánh kicks open their front door, arms laden with cups and a large pitcher, the contents of which are swishing dangerously. “Hope you like sugarcane juice!” they call. 

“Let me help!” Kai jumps to his feet. He takes the pitcher from Khánh’s arms, and the two of them return to the table. “Er, can I go wash my hands somewhere?”

“Oh, of course!” Khánh ushers him into the side door that leads to the long laundry room and the small bathroom connected to it. They notice him looking around, taking in the length of the room and the second door to the outside that leads to the back garden behind the fence. Thinking of the mess that’s back there, Khánh moves to conceal the view through that window in embarrassment. 

Kai cleans up in record time, and they both head back out to the garden table. When they are both seated, Khánh begins pointing out the food excitedly. He can’t wait to see Kai’s reaction, hoping to spark that same joy in his eyes as last time. Kai chooses the shredded chicken. Remembering last time, Khánh takes the lead in preparing their own sandwich, smiling internally when Kai mimics them. 

At the first bite, Kai moans in pleasure. He quickly chews and swallows. “This is fantastic! Why have I never had this before? There’s so many different flavors but they’re all working together so cohesively!” He begins to eat with gusto, polishing off the sandwich in record time. He looks at Khanh, and a bit tentatively, asks, “Can I have another?”

“Of course!”

Kai smiles. “Then I want to try the other kind next!” He takes another baguette and assembles the sandwich: spreading on the mayo, adding a layer of red-tinged meat, and topping it off with pickled vegetables, cilantro, and jalapeño.

Khánh beams in appreciation, consuming their own bánh mì more slowly. “Try a bit of the juice with it,” they suggest.

Kai takes a sip and pulls back in awe. “How can something taste so refreshing? ” He takes a few more gulps before returning to his bánh mì. “Can you say all the names again? I want to learn them so I know how to find these again. And what was the name of the thing from last time? The crunchy yellow one?” 

As Kai gets more and more comfortable, his words come more and more freely.  It’s one of the most pleasant afternoons Khánh has spent in a while, not counting the bánh xèo incident yesterday. They are touched by Kai’s eagerness to learn. He is determined to pronounce the Vietnamese names correctly. Even when Khánh says it’s close enough, he keeps trying, asking for specifics about tongue and teeth placement that suggest he may have studied a bit of linguistics in the past. Khánh finds themself talking about the differences in Vietnamese regional dialects, and before they realize it, two hours have passed.

They send Kai home with the rest of the baguettes as well as a can of condensed milk. “A childhood classic,” they assure. “Just dip a bit of the bread in the condensed milk. Thank me later.” 

And when Khánh goes to bed alone in a house that is too quiet and empty, the warmth of the sunshine, the memory, and Kai’s joy stave off their loneliness just a little bit.

*

Bonus scene: 

Coworker: What are you eating? Sounds crunchy.

Kai: ...nothing.

Coworker: Pleaaaase just let me live vicariously? My wife is pregnant and she will projectile vomit if she smells any sort of oily food. Do you have any idea how sad it is to live life without crunchy food?!

Kai: This is bread. You can eat bread, can’t you?

Coworker: Oh, right.

Later:

Coworker: Wait a minute...that wasn’t the crunch of regular toast. What was it????