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Vanessa's mother is strict.
This is not uncommon where they live. Everyone Vanessa knows believes that there is only one way to do things. To stray from that path is, if not unheard of, atleast considered foolish.
Perhaps there's always been a bit of wrong in Vanessa, something that shouldn't have been there, or perhaps her mother is just overprotective, but there is a very clear distinction in their house between right and wrong, and Vanessa hasn't dared to cross that line in a long time.
She did, once, as all children do. She was almost fiery back then. Most children seek their parents' approval, first and foremost, but Vanessa?
She wanted to live.
They took it out of her, that rebellious spirit. They sent her to boarding school until the summer, and home never meant fun or relaxation for her. Gatherings were common but quiet and subdued, and unlike the Americans, there were few parties beyond the Spring Festival.
Its always like that. Unlike the Americans. It is one of her mother's favourite phrases, second only to her near-daily warning:
You know what the right thing to do is, Vanessa.
Zihan, her school-girl friend, used to say that Vanessa didn't have a conscience, only the internalized voice of her mother saying that phrase.
She hadn't been entirely wrong.
So when Vanessa gets the chance to do an internship in America– the same America her mother spoke so bitterly of– to possibly build a future there, Vanessa stands infront of her mother and says:
This is the right thing to do. For the family.
And if it gives her an excuse not to see her mother often?
Well, that's just a little lucky.
America does not lessen her mother's hold on her.
Infact, her influence seems to have only increased. Because America is unknown and unfamiliar, and her mother's calls and reminders are, although unpleasant, an anchor of a sort, a reminder of all that is normal and known.
So Vanessa listens to them, and tells her mother about life in America, about the internship, about securing a job, about the growth in her career. And any time she needs guidance, advice to make a decision in this intimidating place, she looks to her mother, simply because there is no one else.
And every time, her mother sighs.
"You know what the right thing to do is, Vanessa."
And so it goes on.
Amy comes to America, bringing their parents along for a visit. Their presence is welcome initially– Vanessa is tired of being the strong one, and she hopes for some relief from it.
Her hopes are quickly dashed to the ground. She is reminded pretty soon of why she was so desperate to leave her family in the first place. Amy is good and reliable as she always has been, if a little careless of what is and isn't appropriate. Her father fades into the background as he always does. But her mother?
Her mother is everywhere. She is stifling.
She visits her at work, goes out shopping with her, has dinner at hers. Although her parents are staying with Amy, who has rented her own apartment, they are present more in Vanessa's house.
"Your sister is unravelling," her mother says, when she dares to ask. "She insists on seeing some boy. All this time I spent trying to set her up with Jun, good, sensible Jun, and she comes for the American–"
Vanessa tunes her mother out, after that.
Later, she asks her sister. "Aren't you being foolish?"
"No," Amy says. "I'm being happy."
"At a cost. This relationship isn't appropriate."
Amy smiles. "You sound like her."
Vanessa does not need to ask who.
She never questions Amy's relationships again.
Walsh is handsome and good, although troubled thanks to a messed up childhood. She pities him and helps him but she also eyes him in a way she has no business doing, and he looks at her like she isn't a foreign therapist but like she is one of them and human, and around him she feels fiery again, and it is this that is both the danger and the appeal.
She knows what she should do but more than that she knows what her mother would say. She looks at Walsh, who she has stumbled into while outside, who is looking at her with mischievious eyes and a half-smile and silently daring her to accept his offer of a "cup of tea at his place", and she hears her mother for the millionth time:
You know what the right thing to do is, Vanessa.
She does know.
She snaps, anyways. She wakes up in his bed the next morning. It's the last time she'll ever see him, but she doesn't know this yet.
She stares at the unfamiliar ceiling and wonders what the difference between foolish and happy is.
The pregnancy tests– three of them– come back positive.
She arrives at the clinic early, although she doesn't know why. Maybe because she's sick of sitting on her bed and staring at the test, willing it to change.
The receptionist is there, and so is Patrick. Not Walsh, but Dr. Chen. He is a good man, a good coworker, therapist and acquaintance. Vanessa does not think of him as her friend, but she barely thinks of anyone as her friend, so it changes little.
She sits in the waiting area, hands in her lap. She knows her eyes are red, her hair a mess. She feels devastated, but she has entered a professional setting.
She will not cry.
Dr. Chen watches her for a bit, before carefully taking the seat next to her. They don't speak. He asks no questions, but he must be an amazing therapist when he talks, because even in his silence she feels compelled to lay her soul before him, almost as though for judgement.
"I'm pregnant," she whispers, because there is no one else.
"Ah," he says, as though it explains all, and maybe it does. "The father?"
"There is no father," and she sounds almost detached, as though her fear is not eating her alive.
He takes her hand. She does not know why, but she lets him.
He nods. "We'll have to fix that then," Patrick says.
They're married before the month is over. After coming to America, it is her best decision.
Her daughter, Lucy, is fiery.
She notices it early. Even as a toddling child, Lucy is loud in her passions and beliefs. And Vanessa is torn.
Because her mother had been right. Because straying from the correct path had almost ruined her life, would have ruined her life if it wasn't for her husband. What kind of mother is she if she doesn't teach her daughter to learn from her mistakes?
But despite this, Lucy is fiery.
And Vanessa doesn't dare to ruin that.
She is strict. She knows this and accepts it for the truth it is. She is especially strict compared to these American mothers, who allow their children liberties that land them in either prison or rehab.
But occasionally, Vanessa gives Lucy a win. She lets here take an odd class, attend a doubtful party, indulge in that passion enough to keep it alive but not enough to grow it into something uncontrollable.
It is balance. And if Lucy is so insistent that she is horrible, when Vanessa has fought the odds over and over again, has faced scorn and disapproval on all sides for her sake, has been so careful to learn from her mother without becoming her, if Lucy remains blind to her efforts, then why should Vanessa carry the blame?
It is a phase, she tells Patrick. A small act of rebellion. All children do it. Hadn't she done the same, with Walsh? Hadn't she come to her senses?
But time passed. Days turned into months into an year and still Lucy insisted.
Police work. LAPD.
She is being foolish, of course. Vanessa herself does not think lowly of the profession, although she understands her husband's reservations and– she must admit– prejudice against them. But it doesn't matter what Vanessa thinks of the LAPD, what matters is that her daughter does not belong there.
Lucy has potential– potential which is being wasted on arresting drug addicts and criminals. Vanessa agrees that police officers are necessary. She also agrees that Lucy shouldn't be one.
But her daughter doesn't care for her opinions anymore. Vanessa pushes and pushes and pushes, but Lucy remains stubborn, going from rookie to P2 to sergeant. Against her father's wishes, despite her mother's better judgement.
What can Vanessa do?
She stops pushing. She stops everything, pulling back. Her daughter sends her an occasional message, an update on her life. Vanessa feels disappointment when she reads every single one of them.
It is the Walsh in her, Vanessa decides. Even in his absence, Walsh has tainted Vanessa's daughter.
She tells herself this because it is easier than to admit the truth, that Lucy's fieriness came entirely and definitely from her.
She can not admit this, for a fundamental reason that no amount of time or distance can change:
Vanessa's mother is strict.
And there is no good in straying.
She's leaving the clinic when she sees Lucy's message.
I'm engaged, Mom.
She sends a quick message to Patrick, to explain her absence, and then drives over to the address Lucy had mentioned in a previous message. To the house she lived in with a random man Vanessa has never met.
So many parallels. But Vanessa doesn't think of that. She only drives.
The house is simple, thankfully not cheap. She rings the doorbell. A dog barks from inside– this is believable. Lucy has always been ridiculously overcome by animals.
The door opens.
And Lucy's very clearly sick fiancé appears on the other side.
"She says she'll try to be home in an hour," Bradford says, setting a cup of tea and a tray of biscuits infront of her. She makes no move to touch them.
"Right," she says. "Home from..."
"Work," he says. Her lips thin in displeasure. His polite smile seems frozen on him. Neither of them know why they are in this situation at all.
"Right," she says again.
He coughs, and she grimaces. He is clearly ill, which explains why he isn't at aforementioned work too. A weak immune system, Vanessa notes, is not a point in his favour.
She glances around. The house is well furnished, small and cozy. There's the dog, but he seems well behaved at least. There are odd bits of decor that don't fit in.
The way her daughter doesn't. Not in this man's house.
Her eyes fall on two framed photos. One is of Lucy with her fiancé and the dog. They're all smiling, even the dog. Lucy's eyes are shining.
Vanessa looks away.
The second photo is of this man– Bradford. He's in uniform with two other men.
"Military?"
"Yes," he says, watching her. She doesn't look at him as she says: "So another burden on my daughter."
The damned dog looks up at that.
"Excuse me?"
"Do you not have PTSD, then?" she demands, still not looking at him. She is doing the right thing, she tells herself. She is seeing this man for what he is. A danger to her daughter.
"That's my problem," he says, closed off, and its confirmation, she knows.
"Your problem," she repeats. "And my daughter's burden to bear– yes?"
He inhales. Still, Vanessa, coward as she is at heart, does not look at him.
"I wouldn't hurt your daughter," he says, very very quietly.
"You see," she mutters. "I don't believe you."
They fall silent.
After a moment, Vanessa speaks up: "When is the wedding?"
He shifts. "We haven't decided. September, maybe."
"And are we invited?"
No answer. The dog gets up then, moves towards Bradford, whining quietly. How does Lucy allow the animal to walk around her home so freely?
"That's not my decision," Bradford says.
She gets up, still adamantly not making eye contact with him. "If I am not wanted," she starts.
But he has the nerve, it seems, to interrupt. "Lucy wants you there."
"Her actions say otherwise."
"No, you're actively choosing to believe otherwise. Because its easier than–" he falters.
"Easier than what?"
"Than– shit, I need a doctor."
She turns to him, alarmed, but her response is embarrasingly slow, and he collapses in a heap on the floor before she has time to think.
He swears, Vanessa thinks, very faintly, staring at his now unconscious form in shock. Not in his favour.
Lucy picks up after the third call.
"Mom, I'm at work," she says, annoyed. Her daughter is annoyed to hear from her. Touching. "Is this an emergency?"
Your fiancé fainted in the middle of our conversation, she means to say. All she really gets out is: "Come to the hospital. Your fiancé–" she stops.
She can feel Lucy's panic, even though she can't see her girl. "I'm on my way."
Lucy arrives faster than she'd expected, looking terrified.
"What happened? Where's Tim? What–?"
A doctor appears. "Tim Bradford's family?"
Lucy rushes to him, leaving Vanessa behind. She's beginning to see a pattern, there.
But her daughter is scared, and Vanessa feels just a little guilty at not noticing how unwell Bradford had been through their talk, so she sits and waits without complaint.
When Lucy comes out, her expression is thunderous.
"What did you say to him?" she demands.
"Ah," Vanessa says. "So he is well enough to complain."
"Well enough to explain, yes," her daughter corrects, tone harsh. "He's fine, just overexerted himself despite his fever. He was supposed to be resting, not–"
"Not dealing with me," Vanessa finishes, coldly. "But that's hardly my fault. You couldn't escape work to talk to me, but your boyfriend–"
"Fiancé," Lucy snaps, knowing full well why Vanessa hadn't used the term again. "And this was an actual emergency."
"Your fiancé then," she says. "And seeing as he is fine and you are clearly bent on being dramatic, I'll leave."
She turns around to do so, but Lucy speaks again, the stubborn child.
"Is it true, what he was going to say?" she says. "Are you pushing me away because its easier than to admit I'm like you?"
"You don't want to be like me, Lucy," Vanessa says, simply, not turning back. "Trust me on that."
And she walks away.
I want to be your daughter, Lucy messages, the next day.
And then:
Have dinner with us?
Vanessa agrees.
"So," Bradford says, putting some dishes on the table. "I think we got off on a bad start. What with me fainting, and..."
"And my pushing your buttons," Vanessa says simply.
"Right," he grimaces. Lucy is watching them carefully, clearly ready to step in. "So here's a proper introduction. I'm Tim Bradford, your lovely daughter's fiancé. I don't know you, but I know Lucy loves you, and I also personally know that Lucy's love is enough motivation to patch up things that are a little torn. And I'm pleased to meet you."
The worst part is she can't think he's lying, either.
She takes a breath.
"I'm Dr. Vanessa Chen," and her daughter rolls her eyes but she goes on. "I'm Lucy's mother, and I would appreciate being more involved in my daughter's life than recieving news of her engagement through a message."
Tim winces. Lucy steps forward, eyes serious.
"Do you mean that?" her daughter asks her. And Vanessa mentally curses Walsh, because Lucy's fieriness might be from her, but she recognizes that look of hope in her daughter's eyes as entirely his.
"You will fix things with your father yourself," she warns. "And I will not pretend to be proud of your career. But...yes. I would like to have my daughter back."
Lucy, as overflowing with emotion as always, comes forward and hugs her. Tim behind her smiles, looking at her daughter with love in his eyes. Not like Walsh but like her husband, calm and supportive and caring.
"I want you at the wedding," Lucy whispers.
"Then I'll be there."
Lucy dances at her wedding. Vanessa clicks her tongue, but Patrick puts an arm around her, a gentle reminder not to risk this tentative peace.
"And now there's a husband," Patrick murmurs, slightly incredulous.
"Yes," Vanessa says, watching the happy couple.
"Children next," her husband says. "Lucy would be a good mother, at least. If she would only settle down peacefully..."
Vanessa ignores the last part. She had meant it when she had said she wouldn't come between her husband and daughter. Now, she only leans against him, watching her daughter marry her love in America, and says:
"I suppose she wouldn't be strict."
It is a compliment.