35. Jonathan
Jonathan
My mom didn’t bat a single eyelash when I strutted into the kitchen early Monday morning.
I’d spent the whole weekend at Lina’s. When I texted her saying I was staying at a “friend’s,” she simply texted back with an “okay.” She didn’t furiously send me her typical barrage of texts: What kind of friend?
Is it your girlfriend? Will you bring her home?
“You’re home early?” asked my mom, eating her breakfast alone at the kitchen bar.
I glanced at what she ate—white rice and boiled chicken stew with herbs, lemongrass, and freshly cracked black pepper. I left my bag on top of a barstool and grabbed myself a plate of white rice. My mom raised an eyebrow at me as I sat down next to her.
“What’s up with that look?” I laughed, scooping a ladle of the stew to drizzle it over my rice. “I’m not allowed to come home early and have breakfast with you?”
My mom smiled, chewing slowly. “I wasn’t expecting you to come home until after work,” she explained. “I’m surprised you’re not heading directly to work from your friend’s place instead.”
She glanced at the fresh mark Lina left on my Adam’s apple. I smiled easily, shrugging. “She insisted it was best for me to come home, so I can properly get ready for work.”
“How thoughtful of her.” Her smile broadened. “No gym this morning?”
I nodded as I ate my first bite. The clear, rich, yet light broth of the chicken stew instantly soothed my body.
I sighed, sipping on another spoonful of the stew.
Silence occupied between us as we ate, but it was neither suffocating nor strained.
Still, it was unusual for us. We were a chatty pair of mother and son and talked often, close as ever. Somehow, not this morning.
“I have a girlfriend,” I said after several minutes of silence. I glanced at my mom. She was already grinning wide. I scoffed, pushing my bloated rice around my plate with a spoon. “Julie told you, didn’t she?”
“No. Your sister is surprisingly very good at keeping secrets.” She shrugged. “But it was clear you met someone. It seems like it was the same girl since she likes your Adam’s apple so much.”
My cheeks became uncomfortably hot as I coughed and cleared my throat. I reached for my glass of water and drank down several gulps. I turned to look at my mom to find her still smiling. I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms.
“You’re not wrong, Mom. Julie is surprisingly good at keeping secrets. Much to my surprise as well,” I said. “But isn’t there something you should tell me, too?”
The amused smile on her lips faltered while she blinked, attempting to regain her composure. I continued to look directly at her as she yanked her gaze away. She wrung her hands together, mouth opening and closing for several moments.
“Mom? There’s something you need to tell me, right?” I repeated.
“Did Julie tell you?” she whispered.
“No. I saw you on what appeared to be a date with a man I’d never seen nor met before,” I said slowly.
“Like you, I had my suspicions. You weren’t home as often.
You go out more now. And you’re different these days, Mom.
I was shocked when I saw you with that man.
It was jarring, even if I did wonder if you were dating. ”
I waited for my mom to say something, but she stayed quiet. I continued after a few beats of the steadily growing tension-filled silence.
“I knew you’d say something to Julie, at least. Even if you couldn’t break the news to me .
. . I confronted her about what I saw. And she confessed everything she knew.
” My previously strong and firm voice faded into this weak, crackling mumble the more I spoke and revealed.
It was barely a murmur when I finally rasped, “Why didn’t you tell me, too, Mom? ”
She turned to me with eyes misted in a sheen of tears. “I’m sorry, Jonathan,” she said, her voice as hoarse as mine. “I was trying to find the right time to tell you.”
“But you told Julie first. What difference would it be if you told me now instead of then?”
My mom let out a soft cry as she wiped the tears falling down her cheeks.
“Because I wanted to see how Julie reacted first. That’s why I hadn’t told you yet.
If you two had been hurt and upset at the same time, I knew I wouldn’t know what to do with myself,” she murmured, choking through her tears.
“I love you two. More than anything or anyone else in the world, just like your dad.”
My lips pulled into a thin line at the mention of him. Various emotions pumped through me, ranging from frustration to disappointment to hurt.
“Jonathan.” Her voice became soft as she placed a gentle hand on my forearm.
Before she could speak again, I spoke up.
“Mom, I know why you’re dating again. It’s been over twenty years since Dad’s been gone.
But it’s the way you’re going about it,” I said, heaving.
“You’re treating us like we’re children.
You’re treating me as if I’m suddenly too young to understand why you’re with another man who isn’t my father. I’m an adult. I know why.”
My chest constricted as I took in deep gulps of breath. Her grip on my arm tightened as her breath shook.
“Sweetie, you and your sister will always be children in my eyes.”
“But you know we’re not kids anymore. Julie’s married and is about to have a baby of her own in a few months.” I shook my head, trying to swallow the thick lump forming in my throat. “I may get married myself and have kids of my own one day, too.”
I never thought I would ever mention anything about marriage to my mom. But, with Lina, I knew I wanted it. With her, I wanted it all. A life together with a warm and loving home—the same way my dad once had with my mom.
Huge tears hung at the corners of her eyes as she said, “I know.”
Silence dawned on us as I finally came to a realization.
My mother is this strong, beautiful woman with a few strands of gray now sprinkled in her silky black hair, soft skin with wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes, and raw loneliness written into the edges of her expression. Has she always worn that?
“I’ve known for a long time that you and Julie are grown up, with lives of your own.
That’s why I’d grown accustomed to eating meals alone, because you’re always running out the door,” she said.
“Although you try to make it up to me by having dinner with me, you have a life of your own. You should have a life of your own. I know you haven’t moved away from home despite the money you make because you’re worried about me, about my safety, and about whether or not I’ll wake up tomorrow morning.
But I don’t want you to give up your life for me, Jonathan. ”
My vision of her blurred while I tried to steady the sob ready to tear through my chest.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan. I was selfish, I know.
To be honest, I was the most worried about your reaction because you were the youngest when Dad passed away .
. . I was your only parent for a majority of your life, and I didn’t want you to feel like this change affects how much I love you, your sister, and especially Dad.
I will always love the three of you,” she said firmly.
“Even two years ago, when Julie asked me why I never remarried, I told her I could never see myself with anyone else then. But now that she’s married with a baby on the way, and you’ll be married with your own babies one day as well, I realized I’m lonely. ”
Silence hung over us again. I contemplated what to say to her.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I apologized in a low rasp. “I haven’t been a good son.”
She cried, wiping her tears. “No, no. It’s neither your fault nor Julie’s. I want you two to live a life outside of me. It’s just . . . I will always wish Dad was here with us to share this happiness with me,” she whispered gently.
I frowned, tears fighting to break through the dam.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I repeated. “I was being inconsiderate. I—”
“You need to start living your life, Jonathan.” She nodded at me. “You need to move out and start living your own life.”
She smiled at the raise of my shocked brows. “Are you kicking me out?” I asked with a gaping mouth.
She laughed and reached out to hold my face lovingly, like I was a kid again. “You’re going to be in your 30s, living with your mom. What is your girlfriend going to say about that?”
I shrugged. “She’s Hmong. She understands.”
My mom’s eyes brightened. “Does she live at home too?”
Traditionally, Hmong families and households were often multigenerational, and adult children didn’t leave the home until they were married.
Hmong sons have especially been raised to take on the responsibilities of caring for their aging parents.
I was no exception. I grew up understanding the importance of being there for my mom as her only son.
No one from the Hmong community has ever questioned why I was still living at home despite my career and income. In fact, the elders praised me for it—for being such a good and thoughtful son.
“No,” I replied.
She laughed again. “See? Your girlfriend doesn’t live at home, so you shouldn’t either.”
I hesitated. “Aren’t you worried people are going to gossip about me moving out and practically leaving you to live alone? People are going to say I abandoned you. Especially the elders—”
My mom waved her hand dismissively. “Jonathan, you know I’ve never been a traditional Hmong mom.
If I were, I would be fighting tooth and nail if you even mentioned the idea of moving out, especially before you get married,” she said firmly.
“Traditions are traditions for a reason. But some of those don’t need to be upheld anymore—not when they stunt your growth as an adult and as a person. You need to move out.”
“Now?” My mouth hung open again.
“When you’re ready.”
I frowned. “Why does it feel like you’re kicking me out instead?”
She smiled. “You shouldn’t live with me forever.”
“Just like how you shouldn’t be alone forever too,” I said softly.
Her eyes brimmed with a fresh set of tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and Julie at the same time that I was dating again. This changes nothing about how much I love you two and Dad though. I will always love you both and him.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize how lonely you were, Mom. You’ve always said you were happy with it being just us three, so I never took the time to slow down and acknowledge your loneliness,” I said. “You looked happy with your boyfriend, by the way.”
My mom laughed hard. “At my age, it sounds strange calling him my boyfriend. We both agreed we’d just call each other good friends.” Delight spread across her lips in a big and warm smile. “Hais tias yog kuv tus phooj ywg.”
Say that he’s my friend.
I nodded slowly, letting everything we just talked about sink in. I knew I wanted to talk to her about the relationships we had with our partners. But I didn’t expect the conversation to segue to me moving out.
“I also wanted to clarify something with you. I wasn’t lying to you, Jonathan,” said my mom, grabbing my attention. “Kham—my friend—and I were truly platonic at first before any other feelings developed. He’s a widower himself. He lost his wife five years ago to ovarian cancer.
“They had no children, so it’s just him now.
We understand each other . . . our losses, and one another’s grief.
He’s not here to replace Dad, and I’m not here to replace his wife.
We’re not looking for a second marriage.
We’re just two lonely people who lost our life partners too early, and we’re just seeking companionship. ”
“I’m happy to hear you found someone who can be there for you in the ways Julie and I can’t,” I said. Emotions tightened my chest with a shuddering breath. “I mean it, Mom. I’m happy for you.”
Her breath rasped. “I’m happy for you, too, Jonathan.”
We smiled through teary eyes as we finished breakfast, savoring the food and silence.