Don't Cry Over Phở

Chapter 25: Tears of Shame

Just to clear things up that might be confusing before anyone continues reading: The grammar I use for some of Allison's dad/mom's lines are on purpose because that's usually how immigrant parents speak. It's meant to show they're not completely perfect in speaking English so just letting you know that the grammar mistakes are there for a reason :)

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For a moment, my mind went blank as I struggled to process her words. My jaw was practically agape at her blatantness. Insecurity and anxiety rose in my body, causing a heavy lump in my throat.

I swallowed before uttering, "I- I'm sorry, I'll get someone else." I felt embarrassed that they called out my poor Vietnamese like that. I mean I was making progress on learning the language, but I was still very far from being remotely fluent.

I awkwardly left their table, dipping my head low so I wouldn't have to see their judgmental stares. Why did I care so much about what they thought of me? Those ladies were strangers after all. Just strangers. Yet, their criticism struck a nerve in me that I couldn't ignore.

Shuffling back to the front counter, my dad gave me a questioning look. I nodded my head towards the table with the three snotty women. "They want someone who can speak better Vietnamese."

"Oh. Take care of the other tables then," he said as he quickly walked over to the table I just left. For a second, I just stood near the counter debating how I was going to continue the work day if my Vietnamese was barely proficient. I quickly walked into the back room of the restaurant feeling overwhelmed.

Against my own will I felt my eyes prickle a little with tears. The back of my eyes growing warmer at the pressure I couldn't ignore. Wet tears dropped down from my cheeks and I breathed a shaky sigh of frustration, wiping them with the back of my hand.

"Liên?" called a voice from the doorway.

Oh shit. I quickly wiped away my tears with my forearm. I turned around plastering on a fake smile to see my mom standing in the doorway.

"Were you crying?"

"No," I said a little too quickly. Fuck, my voice sounded so shaky.

My mom approached me with a look that told me she didn't believe me at all. She had a rare gentle look on her face which I found confusing because I would expect her to yell at me to go back to work or something. However she did none of that.

"What happen?" she asked.

For a second I debated whether or not I should tell her. It was stupid after all, but she already saw through my lie about me not crying. Drawing in a small shaky breath, I said, "There were some Vietnamese ladies out there who made fun of me for not knowing perfect Vietnamese."

"I felt embarrassed," I added quietly.

She was silent for a moment and I looked up expecting to see some sort of judgement there, but she just looked at me with understanding.

"You get used to it. The only thing you can do is try your best to improve," she said with a faraway look in her eyes that told me she was speaking from experience.

And suddenly I felt the lump in my throat grow bigger. It didn't hit me until now that my parents also had to learn English when they immigrated from Vietnam. A sense of shame flooded over when I remembered that I snapped at my mom for speaking in a language she was comfortable in and all the times I felt embarrassed about her broken English.

She must have dealt with so much prejudice from the people here, I thought guiltily. Including me, her own daughter. Now I really couldn't help the fat tears rolling down my face as I started crying out of the overwhelming guilt and shame I felt.

My mom's eyes widened in shock at my sudden crying. "Liên! Are you okay?"

"I'm s-sorry," I said with a quivering voice, "I yelled at you for not knowing perfect English." I was full on sobbing now and I prayed no one else was going to come in and see me in this emotional state.

My mom wordlessly handed me a tissue box and I gratefully took it. "I understand your reasons for it," she said.

I paused for a second. "Really?"

She gave a slight nod. "You want to fit into American culture, but now you understand me better huh?" she said. She cocked an eyebrow as if she was saying "I told you so".

I sniffed, glad that she understood why I felt that way, justified or not. "Yeah, I do," I admitted softly, wiping my runny nose.

She patted my back. "Come on, get cleaned up and go back to work okay?"

I nodded, wiping my face with the tissues. Hopefully my red-rimmed eyes would clear up soon. Otherwise I'd have someone question me about it. Or worse, Luca notices and asks me. I already embarrassed myself enough in front of him.

As my mom left the break room, I couldn't help, but feel a little relieved that we seemed to be on better terms now. However, I still cringed at all the times I got annoyed at my parents for something they had no reason to be ashamed of.

Pulling myself together, I told myself that I would try practicing more of my Vietnamese with the other incoming customers. I just prayed that none of them would be as rude as those three ladies. As I waited other tables, I could see them cackling and gossiping in the corner of my eye like a group of manic hyenas. Eventually they left though, with none other than a measly $2 tip sitting on the table. Am I surprised? Nope.

I glanced at the small ticking clock in the back of the room that read 8:06 p.m. Holy shit, it was 8 pm already?! This was usually the time we closed since we barely get any customers after that time. It was absolutely depressing I know, but that was our unfortunate reality.

Leaning against the front counter, I spotted my dad counting money from the register. "Are we closing soon?" I asked.

Without looking up, he replied, "We close in 10 minutes if no one else comes in."

I nodded in understanding. That sounded reasonable enough, but a part of me had hoped that the demonstration Luca and I did at the potluck would bring in more customers. Everyone agreed that they liked it after all.

Maybe they changed their mind? Or even worse, they clapped and cheered because the phở was absolute garbage and they felt bad.

I shoved those intrusive thoughts out of my mind. I just had to be patient and hopeful right? I could hear Luca shuffling in the kitchen as he washed the dishes, pots, and pans. It seemed like he was used to closing up around this time too.

5 minutes passed... still no one.

I was standing near one of the restaurant tables, wiping it down with a wet cloth and spray.

8 minutes had passed now... no one.

My mom was emptying out the trash bins while you could hear the wet sloshing of the floors as my dad mopped behind the front counter.

10 minutes now. It was silent until I heard something that I hadn't heard in a while.

The jingle of the bell hanging above the doorway entrance.