Chapter 1 #2
Heat rises to my cheeks. Even after everything we’ve been through, he still has the ability to make me feel like a flustered schoolgirl with just a few words.
“That’s right. I’m your mom now too. So keep calling me that, baby,” Mom says with a firm nod. “You’ll be the son I never had.”
“Order up!” Tony calls from behind the counter.
The cheesesteaks arrive in paper-lined baskets, and they’re everything my mother promised and more.
Thinly sliced ribeye piled high and glistening with grease, smothered in melted provolone and topped with grilled onions and peppers. The hoagie rolls are perfectly toasted, soft on the inside and slightly crispy on the outside, barely containing the mountain of meat and cheese within.
My mouth waters at the sight.
“Go on, honey,” Mom urges Jin. “Dig in. Don’t be shy.”
Jin picks up the sandwich with both hands, examining it with the same careful intensity he brings to everything. Then he takes a bite, chewing slowly, his expression giving nothing away.
I watch him, waiting. Mom watches him too, practically vibrating from anticipation.
Jin swallows. Then takes another bite. Then another, larger this time.
“This is good,” he says finally. Simply, as if it’s a statement of fact. “Very good.”
Mom claps her hands together, triumphant. “I told you! Didn’t I tell you? Best cheesesteaks in the city. Maybe the whole East Coast.”
I grin and pick up my own sandwich, suddenly ravenous. The first bite is everything I remember—salty and savory, the meat tender and the cheese deliciously melted. I close my eyes and let out a small hum of appreciation.
“God, I missed this,” I mumble around a mouthful of food.
“It’s good to have you home, baby,” Mom says. She reaches over and squeezes my knee under the table. “Both of you. It’s good to have you both here.”
For a few minutes, we eat in silence, more concerned with chowing down than any filler conversation.
The noises of the restaurant serve as our soundtrack instead—our own chewing and the rustle of the paper in our baskets, the sizzle of the grill, the murmur of other customers placing orders, even the occasional bark of laughter from Tony.
I’m halfway through my cheesesteak when it hits me.
One second I’m chewing, savoring the flavors, feeling hungrier than I’ve felt in days. The next, a wave of nausea rolls through me so suddenly and so violently the sandwich slips out of my fingers and plops back down into the basket.
I press a hand to my mouth, brows knitting in confusion.
“Monroe?” Jin says, noticing right away. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m… I’m fine,” I manage. But my stomach’s churning, threatening to revolt. “I just… um, I think I need the bathroom. Excuse me.”
I slide out of the booth before either of them can respond, making a beeline for the small restroom at the back of the restaurant.
The door’s barely closed before I’m in one of the stalls, hunched over the toilet, spewing everything I just ate.
The nausea comes in waves, each one more intense than the last, ’til I’m left clammy and trembling, my forehead slick with sweat.
I sit back on my heels when it finally passes, pressing my back against the stall door and trying to catch my breath.
What the hell was that? Do I have food poisoning? Was it something I ate earlier?
It takes me another few minutes to properly clean myself up—flushing the toilet, splashing water on my face, washing my hands with plenty of soap, and even popping a piece of gum into my mouth to get rid of the awful vomit taste.
By the time I return to the booth, both Jin and Mom seem concerned by the absence. I gift them a reassuring smile as I slide back into my seat and tell them it was nothing.
They believe me—or at least act as if they do—but I’m more preoccupied by what brought on my little puking spell.
Appetite gone, I pick at the rest of my food while the other two finish theirs.
Mom’s townhouse is a time capsule of the past. It’s been years since I moved out for college and Dad passed, yet she hasn’t changed a thing.
The living room is cluttered with knickknacks everywhere you look.
Lavender candles sit on the mantel alongside ceramic doll figurines.
Paperbacks with cracked spines and old photo albums crowd the bookshelves.
Lively, leafy plants dangle from the ceiling while others are stationed in corners of the room, decorated by huge, colorfully painted pots.
A crocheted blanket drapes over the back of the cognac leather sofa, and in front of that is the coffee table and the stack of magazines she’ll probably never read.
But it’s the framed photos adorning the walls that always get me.
They’re practically a timeline of our family and my childhood. A shrine dedicated to us.
Photos of Dad in his old Air Force uniform, standing tall and proud.
My parents on their wedding day, young and beautiful and so in love with each other it radiates off them even in pictures.
Me as a toddler with my hair in puffy pigtails and an embarrassingly neon windbreaker tracksuit only fashionable in the ’90s.
Cousins and aunts and uncles at family reunions, gathered around picnic tables loaded with food.
More Dad. Dad is everywhere.
His face smiles out at me from a dozen different frames, frozen in moments I remember and others I was too young to recall.
The ache of loss throbs from within, never really gone. Always secretly present when you lose someone. Just more present at certain times than others.
I release a calming breath and remind myself he won’t be coming back but he’ll never truly be gone. He really will live on in these photos.
In our memories and our hearts.
Jin seems to sense what’s on my mind as he puts an arm around me and presses a kiss to my brow.
“How’re you feeling, Tokki-ya?”
“Better. I’m fine. Really.”
Mom calls out to us from the kitchen, already digging around in the fridge. “I know you two are stuffed from Big Tony’s, but I made my famous peach cobbler last night. You have to at least try it. Jin, honey, you like peaches?”
He glances at me, half taken aback by how hospitable yet lowkey bossy Mom can be, then seems to realize he’s too polite to turn her down.
“Peaches are a favorite,” he says.
“Then come sit down! I’ll cut you and Moni a slice each. You want some vanilla ice cream?”
I laugh quietly to myself as I shake my head and then escape down the hall.
It’s only for a moment, and only ’til I put to rest the questions that have started forming in my head. After we left Tony’s, I asked if we could stop by the drugstore.
The official excuse I gave was needing to buy a new face cleanser. The one I packed for our trip ran out. The real reason was a little more shocking.
I slip down the hall to the guest bathroom, snicking shut the door and digging around in the plastic bag.
The pregnancy test feels so foreign in my grasp as I stare down at it, and my stomach ripples with another sudden nauseous wave.
“It’s okay… it’s nothing,” I whisper to myself. “You have an IUD. It’s like… 99% effective. There’s no way you’re…”
I trail off with a breath that rattles out of me. Then I tear open the box and read through the instructions.
Three minutes. That’s all it takes.
But they quickly prove to be the longest three minutes of my life.
I try to distract myself with my phone, scrolling through TikTok and checking my email, but how do you take your mind off the chance you might be pregnant?
It’s not a thought that’s come out of nowhere—the nausea was sudden, but it’s not the first time I’ve felt that way in recent weeks, and my feet and other body parts have been tender and swollen as of late.
My sense of smell has been unmatched.
Mom would probably say I was a little cranky during her tour today.
“No,” I whisper. “Definitely not… right?”
What would Jin say?
We’ve never really talked about children. Jin’s been honest about how he spent most of his life certain he wasn’t the type of man to be a husband or a father.
Falling in love with me has changed his mind about love and marriage. But being a father? That’s an entirely different thing.
Honestly? I’m not even sure if I want to be a mom. If I’m even ready to be.
I’m only thirty which, in the past, used to mean women were already married and popping them out, often one after another. But these days, thirty is still so young…
These thoughts and more spiral out of control ’til I’m imagining myself with a belly the size of a watermelon and feeling even more nauseous.
Then I remember it was only a three minute wait and glance down.
Two pink lines. Clear and unmistakable.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I grip the edge of the sink to steady myself. My reflection stares back at me—wide eyes, parted lips, an expression caught somewhere between shock and wonder.
Pregnant.
I’m… pregnant.
There’s a baby growing inside me. A tiny life, half me and half Jin.
The tears come before I can stop them, sliding hot and fast down my cheeks. I press a hand to my still-flat stomach and try to wrap my head around the enormity of what this means.
I don’t know how Jin will react or how we’ll navigate bringing a child into the complicated, dangerous life we’ve built. Before we’ve even walked down the aisle and gotten married.
I wipe my eyes and draw a deep breath.
“Okay,” I whisper to my reflection. “It’s… it’s going to be okay.”
Now I just have to figure out how to tell Jin.