Chapter 31
Standing by Ingrid’s car, Maggie tries to put into words how much it means to her…not just the option, but Ingrid showing up here. Teaching her how to dig deeper. Telling her parents that she believes in her story.
“My whole life,” Maggie squeaks, “I’ve been trying to convince them that I can do this. That I am a writer. I can make this work, and I deserve to try.”
“Of course you deserve to try,” Ingrid says softly.
There’s a knot in Maggie’s throat. “But it’s not that easy, not when you have parents who have given up everything for you.
It seems almost selfish to do what you want, like write a book, when there’s so many better ways I can pay them back.
So many better ways to try and reverse all this trauma that my parents are counting on me to fix. ”
Ingrid puts both hands on Maggie’s shoulders and looks squarely into her eyes.
“You’re allowed to be selfish.”
Maggie nods desperately. “I know that now. These last few weeks, ever since meeting you, I’ve felt so alive.
I know this story is in me. I can feel it in my blood.
And the more I talk it over with you, the more I feel like I’m reversing my own trauma.
” Maggie laughs, rubbing a tear from her cheek.
“Maybe this is the real American dream. Just going for it! Not caring what anyone else thinks!”
“Exactly. When you finally let go of external affirmation, that’s when you’ll go further than you’ve ever imagined. I’m so proud of you for carving out space for yourself.”
Maggie smiles. Why did it feel so sinful to think of carving out a space for herself up until now?
“As women, we’re constantly having to fight for our right to take up space,” Ingrid says. “To own our feelings. To be mad! To feel what we feel! To tell our side of the story!”
“Exactly!” Maggie exclaims. “You saw my mom back there. She just didn’t want to hear it from me. Like the fact that she and my dad had it hard in those hotels somehow erases what I had to go through!”
Ingrid nods. “And it probably was very, very hard for them. But you get to have both narratives—there’s space!”
Maggie’s heart thumps with conviction. “You’re right. You’re so right.” She lingers. “And did you really mean what you said about the option? It’s happening?”
“It’s happening.” Ingrid laughs as she reaches into her pocket, takes out her iPhone, and taps on the Stop button.
The motion throws Maggie for a second. Has her phone been recording this whole time?
Before she can ask, Ingrid’s already in her car.
“Now get writing! I can’t wait to read more pages! ”
Maggie waves as Ingrid pulls away.
—
Maggie hurries back inside to say goodbye to her parents. Her mom is in the kitchen. She’s not exactly happy.
“You’re not writing that part about Vivian,” Mom says, looking over from cutting up vegetables.
“What are you talking about?” Maggie says, grabbing her purse.
“The part about me not picking you up at McDonald’s.”
“Why?” Maggie asks, pausing.
“Because it makes me look like bad mom!” she cries.
Maggie sinks into a chair. “But that’s what happened, Mom! I waited in there for hours—”
“I don’t care that’s what happened. It’s a private story,” Mom says, returning to her wok. She throws in the vegetables. The wok sizzles, but it’s not as hot as Maggie’s face. Her mom’s worried about looking like a bad mom? What about then, when she actually gave Maggie to a stranger?
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Mom. It’s part of the story.”
Mom picks up her knife and points it at Maggie. “If you write this, I swear to God—”
“Calm down!” Dad instructs, jumping up from the armchair. “She’s not going to write it…”
“Yes, I am!” Maggie insists.
Mom puts down her knife, takes off her apron, and walks over to the dining table.
She plunges into a chair and starts wailing.
Here goes. Maggie sighs. She should have known this wasn’t going to go well.
But something awakened in her when Ingrid was here.
She’s not going to let them guilt-trip her into silence.
“All my suffering and sacrifice. Coming to this country. Rubbing people’s backs until my fingers blistered. And this is what you want to write about me?”
“This happened to me, Mom,” she says, putting a hand defensively to her chest. “It’s something I’ve been through. And it’s not going to make people think you’re a bad mom. It’s going to make people understand what you went through. What we went through.”
Mom sniffles, reaching for a tissue. “They not going to understand. They just going to see I left you at McDonald’s.”
Maggie can hear the fear in her mom’s voice. She wants so badly to make it go away. At the same time, this is her story. “I’ll make them see. I’ll make them understand. That’s what a good writer does. I’m a good writer, Mom. Otherwise Ingrid wouldn’t have come here today.”
“Otherwise they wouldn’t publish her book!” Dad points out.
Maggie nods encouragingly.
“That woman came here for her own agenda,” Mom finally says before turning back to her wok. “And don’t you forget it.”