Page 73 of Well, That Was Unexpected

“Oh, Mama.” Horror creeps up on me. “Were you—was it nonconsensual?”

“Nothing like that,” she says quickly. “I wanted it too—or I thought at the time I did—I don’t know, it’s very complicated!” Her voice rises and breaks, and she sits there, looking defeated.

And I know then what I need to do. “Mama, I have something to show you.” I get up. Mama watches me in confusion, frowning when I pick up my tablet. “I drew something last night.”

Mama sighs. “This is not the time to talk about art—” The words die halfway out of her mouth when I show her the picture I drew last night, when I had woken up, cuddled safe between her and Kiki and couldn’t for the life of me figure out why I was awake. I had only figured it out when I started drawing, and now I finally get to show it to my mother.

It’s a picture of her and Eighth Aunt standing on the beach, just as George and I had seen them. Eighth Aunt is tucking a stray lock of hair behind Mama’s ear and they’re smiling at each other with the tenderness of two people who have loved and lost and only just found the other again. There is history written on their faces, rich and complex and painful and sweet. I glance at Mama’s face nervously, gnawing on my bottom lip.

Mama is staring at the picture with such a shocked expression that I half wonder if she’s going to collapse.

“I saw you in Bali with her,” I say softly. Gently. “And, um, I’m happy for you.”

Mama gapes at me, then back at the tablet. Then back at me again. She reaches out for the tablet and I give it to her as gingerly as though it were a newborn baby. She studies the picture for a long time, her breathing going from ragged to a steadier pace. Tears shimmer in her eyes, and when she finally looks up at me, she’s smiling, her face radiant.

“This is—” She pauses to catch her breath. “This is beautiful, Sharlot.”

“Oh, Mama.” I can’t stand it anymore. I catch her in a tight hug and squeeze my eyes shut. She puts her arms around me and hugs me back and just for the moment, I feel as though everything really is okay.

By now, we’re both crying happy, relieved tears. We laugh, hug each other again, and cry some more. At some point, we start talking. Really talking this time—Mama telling me the stuff that actually matters.

“When I was your age, that kind of thing is considered very bad,” she says with a sigh. “Very taboo. I tried not to be like this, because it’ll bring so much trouble to my family.”

I put my hand over hers, my heart cracking at my mother talking about her teenage self like this. I can’t even imagine the weight of it. It would’ve been before the Internet was around, before LGBTQ activists were able to spread their message of love and acceptance more widely. She must’ve felt so alone and so, so frightened. “Can you tell me more about Eighth Aunt? Like, how did you two meet, when did you realize that you liked each other more than friends? I want to know everything, especially when you were my age.”

“Ah, girl talk,” Mama says. “I always wanted to have girl talk with you. I never expect our first girl talk to be about me!”

We both laugh. “Well, you gotta start somewhere,” I say. I make myself comfortable, settling in to listen to the greatest romance of my mother’s life.

A small smile touches the edges of her mouth and her eyes get this faraway look. “I was very beautiful when I was your age. What? You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you!”

“Oh yes, so many boys liked me. Your grandparents, they were so worried. But I wasn’t interested in any boy, of course not. When I met Eighth Aunt, it was like wah! Suddenly everything became so clear. It was like meeting my best friend and my soul mate and just—my everything. We were inseparable. At first it was okay, people just think we were best friends, like sisters, you know? My parents were so relieved, because I wasn’t going around bu san bu si with boys. Wah, Eighth Aunt and me, we spent all our time together.” She laughs softly at the memories of her and Eighth Aunt, and the joy on her face makes me smile. “But then people started to talk, started getting suspicious. My parents were so worried. So were hers. They talk about moving her to Singapore, away from me.”

“Oh god,” I mutter, squeezing her hand.

“So I tried, Sharlot. I tried to be ‘normal.’ I had boyfriends. When this handsome exchange student came from America, I thought, ‘Ah! This is a very good chance for me to prove that I’m normal.’ So I go out with him, even though I don’t like him like that. And I decided that best way to prove to everyone, and alsomyself, that I am normal is to go all the way with him. Who knows, maybe it turns out I will like it? Maybe I will start liking boys.”

“That’s terrible,” I say.

But Mama just touches my face and gives me a sad smile. “It’s not all bad. I didn’t like it, but it could have been worse. Then I ended up pregnant—aiya! Suddenly I don’t have to worry about people finding out that I don’t like boys. Suddenly I have to worry about them thinking I am a slut. Somehow, even though they think I am straight, I still manage to make my family lose face. Oh, it was so awful. Nobody wanted to talk to me. People left very bad messages in my school desk. Parents called the school, asked them to expel me because I am a bad influence. They think I will seduce their sons and encourage their daughters to be like me.”

“Holy shit, that’s terrible.”

She shrugs. “I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. I know you say times are better, times change, people are more open-minded. But it’s not that different. You see what happened in Bali, when they found out you had boyfriend back in LA?”

I’m about to argue that it’s different back in LA, that people are way more open-minded. It’s true, to a certain extent, but she’s right that even though it’s more progressive, every time there’s gossip or a scandal, the one that comes out worse for wear is the girl. The guy gets away unscathed or with a reputation of being a player, which elevates his status instead of destroying it, while the girl is demeaned and shunned.

“I wanted to protect you, but I ended up making things worse for you,” she says.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got you and Kiki, and that’s already more than what you had when you were my age.”

She smiles.

“And I’m so sorry that you had to go through that on your own, Mama. I um.” I don’t know why this is awkward to say aside from that talking about your parent’s love interest is always 100 percent awkward. “I just want you to know that, like, I…um. I like Eighth Aunt. I think you two make a cute couple.”

A whole bunch of emotions cross Mama’s face, so many and so varied that I swear she’s about to implode. If I had to guess, I think she’s feeling: 1. Embarrassment. 2. More Embarrassment. 3. Denial. 4. SO MUCH EMBARRASSMENT. 5. A not-so-tiny spark of joy.

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