Mama always tries to spend more time at home during winter break to give me some semblance of routine. Between all my projects and her job, we don’t see each other often, especially with all the hours I’ve put in at Kresge Laboratories.

I pause in the kitchen doorway as she runs the bread knife through a baguette. “You making dinner, Mama?”

“Bánh mì,” she tosses over her shoulder while slathering the inside with mayo. “You’re hungry, right?”

Sure enough, the ingredients are spread across the counter: sliced ham, head cheese, liver pâté, pickled carrots and white radish, cucumber, jalapeños, and freshly minced cilantro.

“Of course.”

Like most days, I lost track of time. I’ve been holed away in my room researching microorganisms for this year’s New England STEM Fair. I can research on my laptop, but to be eligible for the fair, projects like mine must be completed in a lab. Luckily, when I contacted one of Papa’s old contacts at the lab, Dr. Emily Hook pulled a few strings to let me use their facilities. She’s the only person I’ve talked to about the project—it’s important and, as such, needs kept confidential. Not to mention, Mama wouldn’t know or care what I’m talking about.

“Grab plates, Thien.”

A soft smile graces my lips. Mama is the only person who calls me by my Vietnamese name regularly—she reverts to English in public—though Papa switched between the two masterfully.

While I pull a couple plates from the cupboard, she adds the fillings with impressive speed, then slices the long baguette in half.

We eat at the dining room table in silence.

Mama has never been a talker. She dedicates herself wholly to the task at hand and rarely sees fit to distract herself with idle chatter. I can understand that—it’s so much easier to concentrate on polyethylene degradation without Tinsley talking my ear off—but sometimes, I wonder if I know my mother at all. If she knows me at all.

I set the sandwich down and swallow, gathering my courage. “Um, can we talk about New Year’s Eve?”

Her head jerks upward, her dark-brown eyes focusing on me, assessing me.

Under most circumstances, I will happily take on a role of authority. I’ve managed and organized my fellow students for years. In first grade, I demanded the school system provide healthier and more ethnically diverse food options, citing my own issues with dairy as an example of why their reliance on Western food is disadvantageous for an increasingly large group, and many students joined my campaign—enough that the school system changed their menu. Papa being the mayor might’ve helped too.

My mother is a different matter.

After a long pause, Mama nods.

“Tinsley is hosting a sleepover that night.” I inhale slowly, keeping my voice steady. “I know we have plans to attend the Bartons’ party, but would it be a problem for me to miss this one year?”

Her lips twist into a scowl. It’s a lost cause. “Thien, you’ve made a commitment.”

“Of course, Mama.” I pick up my bánh mì again, ready to move on.

“I do want to talk to you about New Year’s Eve. One of your father’s friends has a son attending Archer Collins University in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. He’s twenty-two, pre-law, and about to receive his Bachelor’s degree and start law school.”

What does this have to do with New Year’s Eve?

“His family will be at the Bartons’ charity party. We want to introduce you.”

I frown. “Introduce me?”

“Colton is eager to meet you. He’s smart, conscientious, good family. He’ll make good money as a corporate lawyer.”

“He’s attending Archer Collins?”

She nods.

“I’d love to meet him.”

It would be nice to talk to someone attending my college of choice. I can get a better feel for the school, how classes are run, what the professors are like—maybe even having this Colton character endorse me could be beneficial, though I doubt he has much sway on the community.

But I doubt the fact that he attends Archer Collins is why Mama wants to introduce us.

When my parents married, Mama was only eighteen, though my father is eleven years her senior. Not long later, he stepped down at the U.S. Ambassador to Vietnam, and they moved to America. Mama was twenty-one when she got pregnant. The thought of attending college was never an option for her.

For me, it’s the opposite.

Marriage—no, a relationship—isn’t on my radar. There is far too much I want to do with my life, too many places I want to travel, discoveries I want to make, experiences I want to have.

How in the world can I tell her that?

“Good,” is all she says before returning to her sandwich.

Silence resumes.