“Ma,” Thom started, but Ma, too excited, wasn’t listening. Thom never wanted to wear áo dài, not even when they lived in West City, where it wasn’t as weird. They were long traditional Vietnamese dresses, like maxi dresses, but slit down the sides and paired with flowy white pants. The neckline went up to your chin, and was made of stiffened silk or chiffon that pressed into your throat and made it hard to breathe. The buttons went across your collarbone and down to your left armpit, and if you so much as raised a finger, they popped open, which meant you always had to be careful and walk around like a robot. Plus áo dài were always too tight and uncomfortable, and she hated them.
But that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want to wear them. She would be the only one in her school who would dress up in something so … Asian. She really couldn’t imagine Kathy wearing a hanbok to school, and even if she did, she would look beautiful and exotic, while Thom could clearly picture how the dynamic trio would laugh if Thom showed up in an áo dài, stiff and dorky. No way.
Ma clapped her hands together. “Shoes! We buy you new shoes. I saw sale at the mall—we go there now, buy two pairs, and then you get to pick which one you wear!”
“Ma.”
“I can’t wait. You gonna look so cute. Too bad Thuy is not here. Then you girls can both wear like sisters.”
“I don’t want to wear an áo dài.”
Ma’s mouth opened and closed. “What you mean you don’t want to wear áo dài? I got you some cute ones from Vietnam last year. They cost a lot of money, you know.”
“No, they didn’t. You go to Vietnam to buy them specifically because they’re cheap there.”
Ma rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, but I buy for you, and you never wear. Such a waste. Don’t tell me it’s because you never get the chance—now the perfect chance.” She held out the flyer. “Maybe you can even do a dance, or recite poetry. Or play the đàn bầu. We can get you private tutor until then.”
“We don’t even own a đàn bầu,” Thom pointed out. It was a Vietnamese guitar-piano type of instrument. The ones that made you want to curl into a ball and die, they sounded so depressing. How Ma thought she was going to learn how to play a song on that thing in a few weeks, she had no idea. It was like saying she could learn to play a violin in the same amount of time.
“I special-order.”
It was getting hard to breathe. “Ma.”
“Why you don’t want to dress up for Culture Day? It’ll be fun.”
There was a strange tightening in Thom’s throat. Her nose burned like that time she’d tried wasabi.
“Because they’ll laugh at me!”
And then, to both their horror, Thom burst into tears.
Crying wasn’t really allowed in their house. Or expressing yourself outside of the two main emotions—serious and happy. Ma always said Thom should never cry unless someone died, because tears were sort of a bad omen, like crying could literally kill someone. Thom tried to stop as soon as she started, but tears squeezed out of her eyes and spilled off her chin.
Ma’s expression was furious, her eyes rounded, her fists clenched by her side, as if Thom had told her she was quitting school for good.
“Why you upset? Who hit at you at school? Tell me. I sue them. I sue their parents. I sue everyone.”
Thom tried to explain, but nothing came out except more tears. She stomped her foot, feeling like such a brat, but it was the only way she could express how she really felt.
“Okay, okay, stop already. I’m not dead yet. Why you cry?”
This, for some reason, worked. The tears stopped like a dam had sprung up out of nowhere, and inside, Thom felt numb, frozen.
This was why she really didn’t want to participate in Culture Day: It was a big fat joke. There were only two nonwhite kids at their school. Everyone else would look so cool in their historical costumes. She could only imagine how uncool she would look if she was the only one who showed up in something like an áo dài.
She sniffled and wiped her eyes.
“Anyone bully you at school, cưng?”
Thom shook her head.
“Good,” Ma said. “They bully you, you punch them once and they never bully you again.”
Thom choked back a half sob, half laugh. Ma had no idea how close to the truth that was. Because if Thom punched someone, they’d probably never walk again.
“Now tell me, why you don’t want to dress up for Culture Day?”
“Because everyone will laugh at me.” Thom could already picture Bethany and Sarah snickering behind their hands. She could only imagine what they would think of her and her weird-looking đàn bầu and her Vietnamese áo dài and headdress.
“Why they laugh? Áo dài beautiful. I show you some pictures.” Ma grabbed her phone.
“No, Ma, I don’t want to see pictures. I know what they look like.”
“See this one—so cute.” She showed Thom a long white dress with sumi-painted flowers. “And this one—you would look adorable.” She made an aww face at her phone, then at Thom, and then back at her phone.
Thom shook her head. “I’m not going to wear it. They’ll think I’m weird and…”
“And what?”
“And fobby,” she added in a low voice. The word tasted dirty. It meant FOB, “fresh off the boat,” something you called an immigrant who didn’t act as American or as cool as they should. It was the worst thing you could call an Asian person, especially when they hadn’t just moved and had lived in America for a long time, or in Thom’s case, was born here.
Ma crossed her arms. “What wrong with being fobby?”
Thom sighed. She regretted saying it, regretted saying anything. She should have just agreed, pretended to be happy and obedient, like a good, filial daughter.
“What’s wrong with being in touch with your culture?” Ma said. “You ashamed to be Vietnamese? Is that it? You don’t want kids to know you Asian?”
“Ma, everyone knows I’m Asian. It’s not like I can hide it.” Thom’s voice grew higher. She needed to stop Ma, convince her away from this madness. But once Ma set her mind on something, she saw it through, like the time she sued their old temple for teaching antifeminist ideas. She didn’t win, but Thom and her mother had stopped going. If Thom didn’t end this now, Ma would get her way and force Thom to dress up for Culture Day, and Thom would die. Emotionally. Psychologically. Literally. It would be the end of her social life.
“Being Vietnamese is cool. Better than being white like everyone else.”
“That’s not the point.”
But Thom couldn’t think of what the point was, if it wasn’t that. She just knew that no one at school liked her because she was so different. She looked different, she brought strange foods for lunch, and her mom was loud and spoke funny. Thom couldn’t change what her face looked like, but if she could hide everything else, if she could be a little less … herself … maybe they would accept her.
Ma shook her head, clicked her tongue, and pointed her index finger at Thom. “No, I think this exactly it. You think the white girls at your school are so cool you want to be just like them. That’s why you don’t bring rice to school and why you don’t want to use chopsticks and why you don’t want to wear áo dài to Culture Day. That’s why you hide this from me.” She shook the flyer.