Chapter 14 Magnolia
MAGNOLIA
Parker and I dated for almost a year before he proposed to me.
The proposal itself was sweet, but not a surprise because, of course, we’d very sensibly discussed it in great detail beforehand.
We’d had meals with both my parents and his where marriage was brought up, and nobody expressed any negative opinions about it.
We were, after all, perfect on paper—both of us from similar ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds.
We even looked good together; Parker was five eight, tall for a Chindo guy, and when we stood next to each other, people often remarked what a cute couple we made.
We rarely fought, and at the time, I thought it was because he was so agreeable and reasonable.
I didn’t think of how muted I had become over the years, how it had simply become habit to nod and agree with whatever anyone said.
You know what makes me mad, even to this day?
That later, when shit hit the fan, most people thought I had tricked Parker.
They thought I’d deliberately hidden my true personality to entrap him into marrying me before shedding my sheep’s clothing and revealing the she-demon underneath.
As if I could be bothered to trick any man into marrying me.
Parker proposed at our favorite steak house.
It was the kind of place where everyone spoke in a low murmur.
I had known he would be proposing then because he had told me, in advance, to “wear something unforgettable.” When I’d read the text earlier that afternoon, Ellery’s voice had immediately popped into my head.
Dress like a penguin, Ellery said. That’ll be unforgettable.
And I’d grinned and shook my head. In the end, I opted for something safe.
An off-shoulder, knee-length LBD. Hardly unforgettable, but I’d been with Parker for ten months now, and I knew his fashion sense veered toward conservative.
Mama, who had sensed that this would be the night, squeezed my hand when I came down the stairs.
She smiled at me, her eyes shining. I thought she might tell me she loved me, or some other form of motherly affection, but what she actually said was “You have fulfilled our expectations.”
I had, in fact, fulfilled nothing. Aside from getting into a serious relationship with Parker, that is.
And that was it, the extent of their expectations.
The beast inside me stirred at this comment, then I swallowed and forced a smile, and it tucked its head back into the crook of its arm and went back to sleep. I stepped out of the house.
The proposal came after I had finished my tenderloin (150 grams, medium-rare), the ring placed on top of my tiramisu.
I smiled wide when I saw it and Parker went on one knee as the whole restaurant watched.
He was obviously uncomfortable; public proposals weren’t really a Chindo thing.
In fact, formal proposals weren’t really a Chindo thing.
But we were modern, we were Westernized, and we wanted to do things like in the movies.
And so he got down on one knee, took my hand, and said, his voice stammering, “Maggie—”
My smile wavered at the nickname, but I shook myself and pumped the smile full of renewed enthusiasm.
“Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
A small voice whispered: Is that all? That was kind of uninspired.
I smacked it down. How awful could I be to not be absolutely swooning at this proposal?
Who cared about originality when he’d gone to such efforts to court me and now to propose to me?
What the hell made me think I deserved better than this?
I had nothing to offer anyone. No real career, no real personality, no nothing.
I was very aware of everyone’s eyes on us, so I made sure to put on a good show.
I placed a hand over my mouth as though I were shocked.
I blinked hard. And I said in a loud but breathless voice, “Yes!” Everyone cheered and clapped.
Parker gave me a swift hug and kissed me chastely on the cheek, then we sat back down, our faces hot from the spectacle we’d just made.
We grinned at each other, and I remember, even now, how brightly his eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
When I looked at him then, I saw our future rolling out before me, a smooth and safe path, straight all the way through to the end, every bump and pothole easily visible and quickly smoothed over.
And I felt myself ripping into two pieces, one saying: I did it.
I got the Chindo dream. And the other saying: Is that all?
Papa actually got teary-eyed when we came home and told them the news. Mama hugged us both and said to Parker, “Now you can stop calling me Tante and start calling me Mama, you hear me?”
Parker obediently said, “Yes, Mama.” He nodded at Papa and said, “Papa.”
This time, both of them teared up; they’d finally gotten the son they’d longed for ever since Iris was first born.
Papa couldn’t stop patting Parker’s shoulder and muttering phrases like “Good man” and “Good job, Son.” We talked briefly about wedding plans—all vague, no real details, because we were still dreamy and distracted then.
After a while, Parker went home, and Papa went upstairs, leaving me alone with Mama.
There was a strange atmosphere in the room. I glanced at Mama, wondering what this static in the air was. She should be elated, and I could tell she was, but there was also something sliding under the surface, lurking in the water the way a big fish would.
“I’m pretty tired—”
“You did it, Magnolia,” she said.
My mouth pinched shut. Mama’s eyes slid to mine.
“He’s a good boy.”
“Yeah. He treats me well.” That wasn’t a lie, at least.
“You will be a good wife.” This was delivered as a prophecy.
I nodded, unable to bring myself to speak. A knot had appeared deep inside me, and as Mama spoke, it twined harder and tighter, choking me.
“You must be strong and patient and…”
The knot inside me gave another vicious twist and I jumped up to my feet, startling Mama. “Sorry. I’m really tired. I’m just gonna—”
“Yes, of course.” She looked chastised, and now I felt guilty. “Rest. You’re going to be busy.”
As I started toward the staircase, Mama grabbed my arm.
I stiffened under her touch; neither of my parents were huggers.
She looked like she wanted to say something, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted desperately for her to say it or if I wanted desperately to run away.
The moment passed. She swallowed whatever it was that had been about to wriggle out of her lips, and instead said, “Good night.”
By the time I got to my bedroom, I was breathing hard, my chest rising and falling rapidly and my thoughts scrambled.
I raked my fingers through my hair and yanked off the hairpins that had held it in place.
I ripped off my little black dress, which had been comfortable at the start of the evening but was now inexplicably suffocating.
I wiped off my makeup savagely, rubbing my skin raw.
I didn’t stop to think about why I felt like I wanted to peel off my skin.
Finally, when I was completely naked, I hunched over my dressing table, still out of breath.
My hands moved on their own accord, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a piece of paper and pen. I scrawled on the paper while still standing.
Let’s see, give me that pile, Izzy, that letter should be in here somewhere…
Dear Ellery,
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
You know what? Looking at this entire page filled with nothing but “I miss yous” is kind of mortifying. Are you laughing at your grandma? That is very disrespectful.