by Jen Trinh
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, my parents are coming for Thanksgiving, and they’re going to stay with us.” It was a statement, not a question. “Sorry, Anna. I thought I’d told you already.”
“Oh.” Ian had told me that his parents visited once a month, and it made sense that they’d come for Thanksgiving. That’s what families did, got together and ate food on Thanksgiving. But things had been so good between us that I’d pushed the thought from my mind. I didn’t want to deal with this, not when the past few weeks had been so perfect. “Isn’t it a bit early for me to meet them? We’ve only been dating for...” I counted, “three weeks.” Wow, that was it?
He glanced up from the Sunday paper, then back down. “It’s not like this means I’m going to marry you anytime soon. It’s just meeting my parents. They’re nice, you’ll like them.”
I idly stirred my coffee with my spoon, frowning at his mention of marriage. “I’d rather wait.”
He looked up again, noticed my expression, then tossed the paper onto the table. “Why? If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to see them every month anyway. They always look forward to visiting.” He eyed me warily.
Why was he so uptight about his parents? “Look, I really like you, but I don’t feel comfortable meeting your parents until we’ve been together longer.” I paused, then added, “You know that I completely cut off my own family, right? I don’t want to deal with the inevitable questions about my parents. I don’t want that judgment right now.”
He exhaled slowly and put his hand on mine. “They’re not going to judge you. They—”
I pulled my hand out from his. “How can you know that? They’re Chinese, right? I’ve never met a Chinese family that was like, ‘Oh, you don’t talk to your parents anymore, that’s okay, you can still be a good person.’”
He frowned. “They’ll get over it. It’s really not a big deal. But really, if you’re so sure that you don’t want to deal with them, do you have somewhere else to stay for Thanksgiving?”
I shot him an incredulous look, my heart sinking at his tone. “Seriously? You know I don’t. Why don’t you just put them up somewhere?”
“Because this is my apartment, and they’re welcome to stay here?” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Look. My mom is still going through chemo, and it’s hard for her to sleep or be comfortable sometimes. She can be comfortable here.”
“Why do they even come here, then, if she’s so sick? Why don’t you just go to their place?” I hated how petulant I sounded, but I hated the dismissive way that he was treating me even more.
“Why are you asking me to justify having my parents visit?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “My parents like having a change of scenery, okay? They have a few friends in New York that they like to visit, and new restaurants to try. And I’m their only son. I want them to keep having something to look forward to.” He stared down at the table, his expression pained. “They’re getting old.”
He really loved his parents. That much was obvious. But there’s loving your parents, and then there’s burdening yourself with them, or living your whole life for them, which is exactly what my family had always expected of their kids. Family always came first. What about me and my preferences? Didn’t I mean something to him? Ian’s defensiveness and inflexibility when it came to his family...it put me on edge. In fact...I shook my head and laughed mirthlessly. “You are literally the Chinese-American dream.”
He rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “Why are we back to that?”
“Because you are!” I snapped, piqued at his tone. “You’re a fucking caricature. Ivy League grad, high salary, filial piety. Did you ever, I dunno, have a dream of your own? You literally just became the person that your parents wanted you to be, that all of our culture wanted you to be. I have never seen you do anything that even remotely demonstrates that you have a will of your own.”
He glared at me, and I glared right back. His parents were obviously a touchy subject. He’d had a scare with his mom’s health, so of course he wanted to keep her spirits up. But this was a triggering topic for me too. I’d had enough drama with my own parents—I didn’t want to have to deal with his. After what I’d told him about my family, how could he not understand? I was asking for time, not to never meet them. But of course he would get offended at my request. He couldn’t fight what he was raised to be.
“Where the hell is this coming from? What, now I’m too perfect for you or some shit? You need a guy who can feed into your daddy issues?”
I scoffed, though his words hit a nerve. “Seriously? You’re going to use my past against me? That’s fucking low.”
“You’re the one who’s telling me that I don’t have a fucking mind of my own, just because I have what most people want. You think I should quit my job and become a starving artist? Huh? Is that how—”
“You couldn’t even be an artist ‘cause you don’t have any fucking passion! Look at what you do every weekend! If I weren’t here, you’d probably just be working and climbing all the time, and that’s it. When you didn’t come to the Stumpstash happy hour on Thursday, everyone told me that you never go out with them. You don’t have a life and you don’t even have any fucking friends!”
“I don’t have friends? I don’t see you introducing me to anyone around here. The only anecdotes I’ve ever heard from New York are about your ex—”
“Well all your anecdotes are about your fucking family—”
“Just because my family isn’t fucked up, and just because I’m not fucked up, doesn’t mean that I’ve led any less of a life than you have.” His voice was dangerously low, but I was too riled up to care.
I laughed bitterly. “So I’m fucked up? Really? At least I’m fucking alive. You act like you’re a robot, you’re so fucking predictable. All you do is work, climb, and fuck. I’m probably just a checkbox on the fucking to-do list that your mom—”
“So your life is somehow more glamorous? You must feel so fucking self-righteous, working shit jobs, living with your ex, not giving a damn about anyone but yourself but still needing people to take care of you. Is that what you call passion? Or independence? Is that—”
I picked up my mug and threw it at him. He dodged it, but the coffee spilled all over his white area rug.
Enraged, he continued, “Is that how to feel alive? Just deny all the things that any sane person wants? You think you’re beyond appearances, but you care just as much about your fucking image as—”
I’d had enough. I nearly threw a fucking chair at him. Instead, I stormed into the bedroom, slammed the door behind me and locked it, then began shoving my things into a bag.
A minute later, the front door slammed.
Chapter 18
-Ian-
I went to the climbing gym. It seemed like the best place for me to calm down. My blood was boiling, and I needed to let off a lot of steam.
Anna had infuriated me. How could she be so closed-minded, so fixated on her own problems? She was just as much a product of the Chinese-American dream as I was, in her own twisted way. She’d accused me of thinking everything was black and white and crystal clear, but she was the one who always assumed the worst about everything. Her negativity was so draining to deal with sometimes, her moods so fickle.
Fuck.
And her line of questioning about my lack of friends, my lifestyle...that had really rubbed me the wrong way.
Especially because, to some small extent, I knew that she was right.
I’d lived with my parents during undergrad to save money, so I didn’t have as many close college friends. And even after college, I just didn’t seem to fit in. It always felt like people were judging me, like everyone else had some mysterious knowledge base that they could draw upon, spoke some secret language that I didn’t. It wasn’t easy for me to meet new people and make meaningful connections with them. I didn’t like the things that other people did, and I wasn’t going to change my preferences or lifestyle just to ha
ve a few drinking buddies.
And career-wise...I had taken the safe route. I didn’t know exactly what I’d wanted to do with my life (who does?), so I did what I was told—get good grades, make good money. But fulfilling the American part of the Asian-American dream, finding something that I loved, that was meaningful and helped people...that part was tough. The times that I’d tried to discover my own passions, I’d felt like I was being selfish, putting my livelihood at stake and therefore the hopes and dreams of my parents, too, both of whom had busted their asses to give me the privileged life that I now lived. I didn’t want to take that risk. It was easier for me to live my life for the people who depended on me than it was to find meaning for myself. After all, meaning was what you made it to be.
But ultimately, while my parents were proud, I knew that it was impossible for them to be everything that I needed. I did want to set bigger goals for myself. I just...wasn’t sure how.
Sigh.
I’d said some things that I was absolutely going to regret. Anna, at least, was trying to live the meaningful life that she’d dreamed of for herself. I admired her passion, her strength of will, her desire for independence. I hadn’t meant to throw her past in her face. Even now, I wanted to go back and apologize, to make sure that she was okay.
But first, I needed time to calm down.
So I bouldered, hard. Bouldering required me to clear my mind and be in the moment, to focus on what was in front of me. It required more than strength—balance, precision, and the conquering of one’s fear. As always, it centered me and helped me calm down.
Lina eventually showed up. “Hey, I got your text.” She studied my face, and her brow furrowed in concern. “You okay? Trouble in paradise?”
I got onto a seriously crimpy blue V7, balancing precariously on the very tips of the fingers on my left hand, then reached straight up with my right to a one-finger pocket. I placed my right foot onto the next highest footchip, nearly level with my hip, then—
My foot slipped and I fell to the mat.
I sighed and stared up at Lina. “Yeah.”
She sat down on the mat and I rolled up to sit next to her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. I liked that Lina was never really one to pry. We were climbing partners, and we climbed together a lot, so she could always tell when I was upset about something and vice versa. But we mostly tried not to burden the other person with our problems, just pushed each other to climb harder. Climbing was what we needed from each other, not idle chat.
But I couldn’t help it today. “She’s just so...frustrating. I love that she’s passionate and strong-willed, but she’s also just...kinda messed up.” I sighed and lay back down on the mat. “This has been the craziest three weeks of my life.”
Lina laughed and leaned back onto her elbows. “It’s only been three weeks, and you’re already climbing out your problems with her? That’s not a good sign.”
“I’ve just never felt so..so…”
“Alive?” she offered, chuckling.
It wasn’t quite the word that I was looking for, but maybe it fit. Anna had a knack for bringing out the worst in me, as well as the best. She had upended my peaceful world, like a force of nature, and I both reviled and revered her for it. It’d only been three weeks, but maybe...if we could just get past our differences and learn to communicate better...maybe I could love her more than I’d ever loved anyone. I heaved another sigh.
“Hey.” Lina poked my arm. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?” I sat up. “I’m climbing.” I went to attempt the blue V7 again (same sequence, same result) then came back to sit down.
Lina stared at her fingers, then casually said, “You know, I was married briefly.”
I gaped at her. “Before...we started climbing together?”
“Yeah. He used to be my climbing partner. I met him on a climbing trip, and it was the most passionate relationship I’ve ever been in. Towards the end, we both quit our jobs and spent the year climbing in some of the most beautiful parts of the country.” She smiled fondly. “It was the best year of my life.”
She picked at some dead skin on her palms. “We had such a rocky start, though.” We both chuckled. “No pun intended.”
After a brief pause, she continued. “It was so rocky in part because he was already doing van life as a dirtbag, whereas I was in grad school. So he’d be away for weeks at a time, chasing crags, only coming back to check in with me and his sick dad every so often. Each time he came, I savored our moments together. He was such a beautiful human being, so full of light and life. But whenever he was about to leave, we fought, about anything and everything. We almost broke up a couple of times because he accused me of not ‘being at his level,’ of holding him back. And after his dad passed away, he gave me an ultimatum—get married and do van life full-time for a year, or end things between us. I thought, you know, maybe I should try to live a little. Life is so short. So I took a break from grad school, we got married, and we toured the country together.” She chuckled. “The marriage was for insurance purposes.”
She leaned back on the mat and looked up at the ceiling, legs crossed and hands behind her head.
“But living in a van together, climbing together full-time...you can imagine how hard that would be for any couple. At the beginning, the fighting was even worse. We’d go to bed so mad at each other. We’d wake up and keep fighting and our days would just be ruined. So one day, we agreed to never go to bed mad. We always worked it out before going to sleep, no matter what, and it made things so much better, because we’d start each day happy and loving each other. We found that there’s nothing that can’t be resolved with full honesty, with ourselves and with each other.” She closed her eyes. “It’s what saved our relationship.”
“I see.” My mom had said something similar to me before—she’d told me to never leave the house angry. Whoops. “So...where’s your husband now? Is he still chasing crags?”
“He died.” She smiled, but when her eyes opened, they were full of tears. “He was such a good climber, he regularly sent 5.13.” She paused, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “But he got careless and just...rappelled off the end of his rope.”
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” I awkwardly patted her leg, unsure of what else to say or do. This was the most about herself that Lina had ever told me.
“So again,” she said, sniffling and wiping her tears away to give me a meaningful look. “What are you doing here?”
◆◆◆
I arrived home to find no one there. I called Anna’s name. No response.
I walked past the ruined area rug. The mug was still on its side on the floor, as if the fight had just happened instead of over two hours ago. I strode past and into the bedroom. Froze.
Her stuff was gone, just vanished into thin air. She must have packed up fast and called a friend to help her take her things away. I could guess which friend, and the thought made my jaw clench.
I tried to call her, but she didn’t pick up. I left her a voicemail, then texted her too, asking her to call me back. After ten minutes of no response, of aimlessly pacing around in my apartment, I tried calling Cassie.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked, after picking up on the second ring.
“Did you talk to Anna today?”
“Anna? No. We were supposed to do our weekly Sunday call but she didn’t pick up. What happened?”
I told her about our fight.
“Shit. I don’t...she didn’t call me. I’ll try to reach her again. I’ll let her know that you were looking for her.”
“Thanks, Cassie.” I hung up, just in case Anna was trying to call me.
I sat down on the couch and stared at my phone.
I shouldn’t have lost my temper.
I shouldn’t have said those things to her.
I shouldn’t have left. Or let her leave.
Never again.
With deep
sighs of regret, I put my head into my hands and waited.
After a few agonizing minutes, I stood and prepared to drive over to her old place to look for her.
But before I could, the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but I accepted the call and said, “Hello? Anna?”
Five minutes later, I was out the door and headed to my car.
◆◆◆
My dad was a good man. Had been.
My mother had found him face down on the floor and unresponsive. The paramedics declared him dead on the way to the hospital, likely from a heart attack. I’d pushed past the speed limit and driven over as fast as I could to meet her at the hospital an hour and a half later, where I found her so much more broken and fragile than cancer had ever made her. We held each other and cried for him, for ourselves, and for each other. We cried until our eyes were swollen and it physically hurt to cry anymore.
I took her home and tucked her into bed, then sat in the living room downstairs.
Then I thought about nothing and everything...but of course, mostly about my dad.
My dad really had been a good man.
He’d lived an unglamorous life as an HVAC technician. It was hard, physical work, and he often came home with gashes and bruises on his hands. Once, he’d even come home with a black eye because a coworker had accidentally dropped a monkey wrench off a ladder and onto his face. He’d been angry at first, but when he told the story to my mom over dinner, he just laughed at his terrible luck. While his temper had always been quick to flare (a trait that I’d inherited), he was so good natured, and he forgave so easily. A good man.
And he’d always been there for me. Despite having to drive around to installations, he’d always made time to come and watch my tennis matches. Looking back behind the baseline and meeting his eyes, finding his steady encouragement, always calmed me before each serve. He’d trained me too, on the weekends, when he could’ve been at home relaxing. My dad was always good at sports, no matter what sport it was, so even though we’d started playing at the same time, he was way better than me. So he’d trained me, hard, and I’d gotten pretty good.