My father was also staying with family in the country, though he had to leave his elderly parents behind. My parents’ story was defined by necessity, not love. At the tender age of seventeen, my mother became pregnant with me, and I was born shortly before her eighteenth birthday. Unfortunately, my mother found out after she had me and, while pregnant with my sister, that my father was previously married and had children he did not bring to America.
While I can understand the devastation my mother must have felt to find out her husband and father of her children had a secret family, I was also tired of her using me as a verbal, emotional, and, sometimes, physical punching bag. After many years of her abuse, I finally had to learn to set some boundaries, which meant walking away from my mother and, ultimately, my father. I don’t hold the same level of resentment for my father as I do for my mother, but I also can’t forgive him for turning a blind eye to the abuse for so many years.
The last time I spoke to my mother, I told her I could not continue talking to her or be near her if she wouldn’t stop mistreating me. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done until this point. I’ve learned to be alone and depend only on myself for everything. Through the separation from my parents, I have become hyper-independent to the point of feeling like I don’t need anyone in my life. I haven’t thought about it much until now, but it possibly contributed to why my relationships fail.
How can you be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t really even need you for anything? I’m sure it would impact self-esteem or egos. I guess I’ll have to find a therapist to work through these issues. Ben nudges me with his knee as if he could sense my racing thoughts.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he murmurs softly, and our eyes meet. He reaches a hand to brush back a stray hair and tuck it behind my ears. I turn my face into the palm of his hand and let his touch center me. After a moment, I pull away and heave a dramatic sigh.
“I guess we should probably talk about my parents.” He looks at me curiously but says nothing. I tell him the whole sad story of my childhood. He listens with a contemplative look but doesn’t interrupt me. Finally, when I’m done with the verbal diarrhea, I plop on my back on the couch and cover my face with my hands.
“Ugh. I just don’t know what to do. Should I tell them? Do they want to know? Would they even care? It’s been almost ten years,” I lament while Ben picks up my feet and places them in his lap, rubbing small circles around the arch of my feet. The foot massage makes me moan in pleasure, and I feel his body tense. It’s been a few days since we’ve had sex since I’ve been passing out as soon as my head hits the pillow lately.
“Do you want to know what I think?” He poses the question, but I know it’s rhetorical. “I think you should tell them if you want to. They don’t need to be involved in anything you don’t want them to be. Whatever you decide, we’ll do it together.”
These damn pregnancy hormones keep wreaking havoc on my emotions as his words bring tears to my eyes. I sniff and crane my neck to look up at him and mouth the words, “Thank you.”
I must have fallen asleep on the couch at some point. I stir awake when Ben lifts me and cradles me to his chest to carry me into our bedroom. He tucks me in, and I fall asleep surrounded by his warmth.
36
emily
The second trimester arrives like a breath of fresh air, lifting the fog from my brain. I feel more like myself again, and it’s amazing how much more I can accomplish when I’m not weighed down by severe fatigue and morning-not-morning sickness. I’ve put on some weight, but otherwise, I haven’t started showing yet. We won’t find out the gender for quite a few more weeks, but Ben and I have bets on whether it’s a boy or a girl. My money is on a girl, while Ben is confident it’s a boy. The thought of having a penis growing inside of me makes me feel weird, so I’m hoping I’m right.
The weeks pass by in a blur of excitement as Ben and I prepare for a gender reveal party. When I officially hit twelve weeks, I felt more comfortable sharing the news with people. I was riddled with nerves when we met Ben’s parents for dinner a few weeks ago. Once dinner was served, Ben grabbed my hand under the table and told his parents that we were having a baby. His parents’ initial shock gave way to joy and excitement over the news, calming my nerves. His mom started crying and gave me a big hug at the end of the night. I didn’t realize I wanted his parents’ approval until that moment, and it made me wish I had a better relationship with my parents.
Later that night, while we were lying in bed after Ben fucked me into oblivion, I told him I wanted to at least tell my parents about the baby. We can figure out the details later, but I felt it was necessary to tell them for my peace of mind. Ben had placed a soft kiss at my temple and held me until I fell asleep.
“It’s going to be fine. You’ll see,” Ben reassures me and squeezes my hand as he pulls into the parking lot of the local Vietnamese restaurant in town. It’s one of my favorite restaurants, and it serves authentic Vietnamese cuisine. I haven’t been here in a few months, but the thought of having some of my favorite foods makes me feel excited, even though the reason we’re here in the first place is to meet my parents face-to-face. It’s been about a decade since I last saw them in person, but when I reached out to my mom and asked her if she wanted to grab lunch with Ben and me, she responded promptly.
We approach the restaurant, and Ben holds the door open for me. He places a hand on the small of my back as we walk inside. I glance around and see my parents seated halfway across the small restaurant. My dad perks up when he sees me, and my mom looks over her shoulder. She offers a small smile, which surprises me. I didn’t know how she would react to seeing me again after so long. It wasn’t like we left things on good terms.
My parents stand up as we approach the table. I stand there awkwardly until Ben breaks the silence and introduces himself to my parents. He shakes hands with my father and pulls out my chair for me. We aren’t sitting for long before the server comes over to hand us some more menus.
I take the time to look over the menu even though I always order the same thing every time I come here. Figuring out how to tell them about the pregnancy requires time. I also don’t know how they’d take the fact that I am having a baby with a man who is clearly not Vietnamese. Although I don’t believe my parents are prejudiced, I know they’d prefer I marry within our culture.
Raised with most of my family under the same roof, we were taught the importance of cultural heritage. To my grandmother, preserving our family’s legacy was paramount. As children, our mother told my sister and me that we needed to marry within our Vietnamese community. Yet, here I am, sitting next to my Caucasian boyfriend. Expecting a baby. Unmarried.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m shocked others don’t notice. While I don’t regret my decisions, it’s tough to deal with my parents’ disapproval.
I don’t realize I’m fidgeting until Ben grabs my hand and places it on his thigh. He keeps his warm hand on mine. The comforting touch centers me and eases some of my nerves.
“So, how are you doing?” my mom finally breaks the silence in her heavily accented English.
“Um, I’m fine. How are you?” I look up at my mom but don’t make eye contact, as it can be mistaken as a sign of disrespect in our culture.
“Good. I’ve been good.” My mom nods adamantly. She opens her mouth to say something, but the server returns for our order. I reach into my purse to pull out the ultrasound picture I had framed and look at Ben, who gives me a small nod.
“So, um, we have some news,” I say nervously before reaching across the table to hand my mom the picture frame. She looks confused for a second as she takes it from me and looks down at the black-and-white photo. My dad looks over curiously at what I handed over to my mom.
It takes her a few seconds, but she gasps when she realizes what she’s seeing. When she looks up at me, I see she has tears in her eyes. My dad still looks confused, so I tell him Ben and I are having a baby. At the news, my dad glances at me, and I see tears filling his eyes, too.
I squirm in my seat at the show of emotions from my estranged parents. To be honest, I’m surprised at how well it’s going. I expected disappointment or a mean retort from my mom, but that hasn’t happened.
“I’m so happy for you,” my mom finally says after a few more seconds. She gets up and tries to hug me while I’m sitting, and I try to give her an awkward one-armed hug.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice husky from unshed tears.
