Beauty Rising (26 page)

“It’s just that we have to keep the specter of propriety. You understand how we couldn’t have inappropriate things going on in the church’s apartment.”

Very little chance of that happening.

“Of course Reverend. But, might I ask. After we are married, would it be all right for me to move into the apartment for a while until we find someplace else?”

“Yes, you may both stay as long as you like. We’ll work out a rent schedule for you.”

Over the next couple of days, we planned out the details of the wedding. The guest list consisted exclusively of my side of the family which meant it would be a very small wedding. There were a couple of guys from work, a few neighbors and a few bowling buddies. We estimated about twenty people would come. I debated on whether I should inform my mother. I didn’t want to. I had been avoiding her since the dinner by dropping by the house during my lunch break, getting clothes and necessities and bringing them over to my friend’s house where I’d been staying. My Phuong insisted that I needed to tell her. She said that my mother had to be invited no matter what she had done.

“But how could you accept her presence after what she did to you,” I asked her.

“It is nothing. Mother-in-laws are meant to be protective of their sons. It is the way of the world. I as the new daughter-in-law have to learn to endure and one day perhaps she will accept me. This is the way of Vietnam. I can bear it.”

I had a lot of trouble understanding her logic, but I agreed that I would notify my Mom.

The other issue I had secretly been working on was to find an engagement ring and wedding bands. For several days after work I had been hitting the jewelry stores in Butler and up at the mall until I finally decided on a simple half-carat diamond with white gold. I had planned on just giving it to her the day of our wedding since she didn’t have that custom in Vietnam and certainly wasn’t expecting one. But after sleeping with it under my pillow for three nights, I couldn’t bear it any longer. On day ten of our engagement, which was the midway point to our wedding, I took her back to Alameda Park where we had our first walk and talk and sat her down in one of the swings. I kneeled down in front of her, and she had this curious look on her face.

“My Phuong, I’m sorry I didn’t do this properly the first time. But now I have something for you. This ring is a symbol of my love for you, and it is a promise that I will do everything to be the kind of husband that you deserve. So this is for you. Will you still marry me?”

Her face lit up with joy. She took the jewelry box in her hand and opened it, placing the delicate finger tips of her right hand on the diamond.

“Martin, a diamond. It’s beautiful. Yes, yes, I will still marry you.”

She jumped out of the swing and into my arms. I stood up, and held her with my arms around her. Her feet dangled off the ground. She felt as light as child. Then we kissed.

I was now down to the last task I needed to accomplish in preparation of our wedding – informing my mother. On the Saturday prior to the ceremony, I stopped by the house around noon and Mom was in the kitchen.

“Martin?” she said as I opened the door. “Is that you?”

I didn’t say anything but walked slowly into the kitchen wearing a rather grim face.

“Where have you been staying?”

“I’ve been staying over at Derrick’s house.”

“Martin, you can live here. You should live here.”

“No, I think this is for the best.”

“Are you still seeing that girl? I didn’t ruin anything for you, did I?” she asked with a slight hint of haughtiness. It was her way of getting information.

“Mom, I have something to tell you. My Phuong and I are getting married.”

My Mom looked at me but remained surprisingly emotionless and calm.

“Next Saturday at the Methodist Church. Reverend Fox is performing the ceremony.”

She nodded as if she understood everything I said, but she didn’t reply.

“I wanted you to know. I know that we haven’t been in agreement about things, but you are still my mother, and I thought you should know.”

“So I take it my wishes in this matter are meaningless?”

“I know you probably wouldn’t feel comfortable coming, but if you want to, you can. I just wanted you to know.”

“What time is it?”

“One o-clock.”

“And you are sure this will make you happy, Martin?”

“Yes. I love her.”

She didn’t say anything else. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor for a moment.

“I have to get a few things. I’ll be moving the rest of my things after the wedding. We are going to be staying in the apartment at the church at least for a while.”

For once there was no yelling or inappropriate language. Even though the tension was palpable, it had gone much better than I had expected. When I pulled out of the driveway, Mom was sitting on the front porch, and I waved to her. She waved back.

As the wedding crept closer, we concentrated on getting every last preparation right. On Sunday afternoon, My Phuong met with a few of the ladies from church who had planned to hold a small reception after the ceremony. One lady had a cousin who ran a bakery and agreed to give us an excellent discount on a small wedding cake. The other ladies agreed to organize some finger foods and snacks as we decided against a formal sit-down gathering. We were very appreciative of Reverend Fox’s congregation for pitching in with so many of the details. Once Reverend Fox conveyed the nature of My Phuong’s background of religious persecution, many people volunteered eagerly to help although some seemed perplexed why she never attended any of the church services. She kept telling them that she would but at the last minute found some excuse to withdraw. We both continued working during the day and then spending our evenings watching TV if there were no wedding preparations to complete.

On Wednesday evening three days before the wedding, we sat in our familiar spot on the couch watching a cooking show. My Phuong had her glass of beer in her hand, and I had my arm around her.

“Martin, you never did tell me why you don’t drink,” she asked while taking a sip. “Don’t you like beer?”

“Actually, I do like the taste of it.”

“Then, why don’t you drink?”

My dad. He ultimately was the reason why I did or didn’t do many things in my life.

“Well, you met my Mom, and you know what she is capable of. My dad was worse. He was a severe alcoholic getting drunk every night after work. I don’t even know how he kept his job all those years. When I was a teen, my dad would get beer for me and friends all the time, so we would party like foolish high school kids. After high school I would continue to drink with my friends getting drunk from time to time. It was in 1996, on a Tuesday night. I had been at the bowling alley, of course, and we had been playing and drinking. I had had way too much to drink, but I got in my car anyways and drove home. I pulled onto Home Avenue and I couldn’t negotiate the turn and I went right into the Smith’s mailbox and right up on their lawn. I staggered out of the car, and I just walked the rest of the way home leaving the car there. I didn’t know what I was doing. I walked into the house and my Mom saw my condition immediately and started slapping me across the face like she always did with dad. I stumbled into the living room and fell onto the sofa and slept. About an hour later, I heard my voice being called so I looked up still partially asleep and I saw my dad laying on the floor right at the foot of the sofa. Then I looked over to the door and there stood a police officer. I tried to stand up, but as I did I stumbled over dad and fell down to my knees. The officer turned out to be a friend of my dad’s, if you can believe that. He took me out to the front porch and sternly reprimanded me. I felt so ashamed. He said he would only give me a warning if I promised to never drink and drive again and if I fixed the Smith’s mailbox and yard. I agreed, and he left. I remember walking back into the living room and just looking at my dad out cold. It scared me half to death that I was going to turn into him.”

My Phuong patted my arm and looked up at me in a loving glance.

“You are nothing like your father.”

“I have never taken a drink since that day.”

“I’m very proud of you Martin,” she said as she opened another beer and poured it into her glass.

“Does it bother you that I drink?”

“No, just as long as you don’t start abusing me,” I jabbed.

“Oh, no,” she said. “The beer is making me drunk. I think I’m going to be angry. Martin,” she raised her voice. “Martin, you’ve been a naughty boy. I’m going to have to punish you.”

She started hitting my arm and laughing out loud.

“I’m out of control, Martin.”

“Yes, but are you ticklish?”

I poked her stomach and she let out a scream and jolted backwards.

“You are ticklish, aren’t you?”

“No, no. Leave me alone, or I’ll abuse you.”

“Ahh,” I attacked her side with my index finger and she screamed as she jerked upwards.

“You stop it!”

“I see your weakness.”

She held her beer above her head trying not to spill it.

“Martin, you are going to make me spill.”

“That’s all right. This place has a good maid.”

“Why you . . .”

As she went to even the score with a blow to my side, the cell phone in my right pocket started ringing.

“Wait, wait,” I said. “Let me get this.”

I reached to get my phone, but it got caught on the creases of my pocket. I pulled it out with a large tug and answered.

“Hello. Mom?” I said sitting back swiftly that my large arm crashed into My Phuong with such force that the beer spilled all over her shirt.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “No, wait, not you Mom. I just . . .can you just wait a second?”

I put my hand over the receiver.

“I’m sorry, My Phuong.”

“No matter, Mr. Clumsy. I’ll change,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.

“Tell your Mother I said ‘hello’,” she whispered in a sultry manner in my ear and stood up, walking over towards the bedroom.

“Mom, what is it?”

“Martin, I want to talk to you about this wedding.”

My Phuong had turned around looking directly at me. Her shirt was stained and soaked in beer. She had a playful grin on her face.

“Mom, there is nothing to talk about.”

“Martin, I’m still your mother and I need you to listen to me.”

My Phuong mouthed something to me about my mother, but I couldn’t understand what she meant.

“Mom, you have been incredibly unfair to me and My Phuong, so I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

Then she did it. My Phuong grabbed her soaked shirt by the bottom and flipped it up over her head. My eyes bulged out, and I froze, looking upon her in only her bra. She twirled the shirt over her head a few times.

“Martin, Martin. Did you hear anything that I just said? Martin.”

“Sorry, honey,” My Phuong cooed at me in an innocent voice. “I didn’t mean to make you sick to the stomach. The bathroom is right over there.”

She laughed out loud then quickly turned and sauntered into the bedroom and closed her door.