Page 77 of Joy to Noel
“What was your least favorite task?” I ask, curious to hear the answer.
Madison’s face groans even though her vocal cords don’t. “Laying irrigation pipes during the summer, for sure. It was hot and hard and awful. I was so grateful when Chris was old enough to take over that particular task.”
We wind down conversation when it’s time to leave for the airport. Mom wraps Madison in a firm hug, and they exchange pleasantries about meeting again soon.
I walk Madison to her car, taking the opportunity to wrap her up in a firm hug of my own.
“Do you think I passed?” Madison whispers.
“With flying colors. I’m going to miss you,” I say, running my fingers through her hair.
She smiles. “There’s that secret softie side of you,” she says before sighing. “I’ll miss you too. But I’m so glad you’re getting to do this. Keep me posted on how it goes.”
I brush a light, chaste kiss to her lips and squeeze her arms in a reluctant goodbye.
It’s a good thing that Madison has been slowly acclimating me to personal questions because my mom uses the international flight to grill me about work, Noel, and mostly Madison. My dad is dead asleep on the other side of her, eye mask in place and earplugs secured.
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, my mom says, “I really like her, just for the record.” I sense there’s a “but” looming around the corner. “But how are you going to make this work between you? Is she willing to move to Houston? And even if she does, will she be okay with you constantly traveling around from place to place like you have been?”
Leaning back against the head rest, I stare at the dimly-lit ceiling of the airplane for a minute. My gut telling me to stay in Noel—to stay with Madison—is one thing. My mouth telling it to my mom is an entirely different level of exposure.
“I’m . . . I’m considering staying in Noel. Possibly transferring jobs to work at the factory long term. Or maybe explore other opportunities—I don’t know,” I say, not looking at her next to me. “I think I want to stay in Noel. Not only because of Madison, but because of the rest of the town too. The guys I’ve met there. The vibe of the community. I think I might like it long term. But I haven’t decided yet.”
When I finally glance over at my mom, I see her watching me with an appraising look. She observes, “I know how much you hate being in limbo. It’s not like you to draw out decisions. What’s your gut telling you?”
Sometimes I forget that even though I’ve chased independence, my family stillknowsme. My mom’s question is a comforting reminder that it does feel good to be known by safe, trustworthy people.
“To stay in Noel,” I answer.
“Then do it,” Mom says.
“But is it that simple?” I push back.
She shrugs. “Why can’t it be? It doesn’t have to be a lifelong decision.”
“You and Appa choosing to move us to Arkansas turned out to be a lifelong decision,” I bluntly state before I can think better of it.
Mom flinches slightly, but her expression softens. “That’s true. We didn’t know at the time that it would be a permanent move. We just knew it was the right thing for that moment. And then, it turned out to be the best thing for our family in a lot of ways, so we stayed.”
“How was it the best thing when I was miserable living there?” I ask. I guess the honesty dial on this conversation has been turned up to full blast.
“I don’t know aboutmiserable,” my mom says, and I spear her with a look. She seems genuinely surprised when she asks, “You would honestly say ‘miserable’?”
“Well, I wasn’t happy. That’s for sure. I went from walking home from school to a fresh snack and biscuits with Halmeoni to eating bags of Goldfish crackers at after-school care with a bunch of kids who didn’t understand me,” I say. “And once Hana was born, even though I came home every day after school, I was so focused on being the good eldest son helping you out that we never talked about the issues I hadwith kids at school. At least when we lived in London, I had familiar routines and a sense of belonging.”
Mom’s eyes glimmer in the dim light of the airplane cabin, unshed tears gathered in the corners. “I’m sorry, Liam,” she says. “I guess I didn’t fully understand how difficult the transition was for you. I was so focused on staying in a healthier place myself that I didn’t ask enough questions about your experience.”
Eyebrows knitting together, I ask, “What do you mean?”
Mom drops her head back much like I did a few minutes ago, searching the ceiling for an answer. “I probably never talked about this with you, but I really struggled with postpartum depression after you were born,” she begins, voice a whisper. “It was a different time then, when you were a baby—people didn’t understand as much about PPD as we do now. While having Halmeoni around was helpful in some ways caring for you, it really added to my emotional distress. My success as a mother reflected on the whole family, so it was shameful for me to be struggling to get out of bed or be seen in public. The added pressure only made my emotional state worse.”
I stare as she glances over at my dad, double-checking that he’s still asleep. She continues, “Your father really tried to help. I know he did. But he was caught between a rock and a hard place—wanting to be supportive of his wife while feeling the weight of his parents’ expectations on him. We barely muddled through.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say when she takes a breath. “I didn’t know what it was like for you.”
She pats my hand as she says, “You didn’t know because I didn’t want you to know. And don’t misunderstand—I love Halmeoni and Harabeoji to pieces. They’re products of their own culture and experiences, the same way I am, so I don’t hold it against them. When we left London, we really did intend to go back once my dad had passed. But shortly after that happened, Hana surprised us. And your father knew that I couldn’t go back to London then—not with the likelihood of the PPD recurring. So we stayed in Arkansas until I got through the worst of the PPD after Hana, and then we just . . . stayed.”
“I wish you would have told me, Mom,” I say after a long pause. “I think everything could have been different if I’d known all the facts ofthe situation. At least, my feelings about everything could have been different.”
