“Insomnia is an all-night travel agency with posters advertising faraway places.” – Charles Simic
Walking out of my sociology lecture an hour and a half later, the last thing I wanted to do was visit my parents. As cruel as it sounds, they were some of the most insufferable and overprotective people to ever roam the face of the earth. With constant reminders that I wasn’t doing what they wanted in terms of my choice of career, and the repetitive crooning over Georgia’s many successes, there was almost nothing I would rather not do than see them.
Dragging my reluctant feet towards the curb, my arms full of the books I hadn’t bothered putting back in my bag, I hailed a taxi. Feeling too lazy to walk despite the amount of energy I had obtained from such an undisturbed sleep, I simply collapsed into the grey material of the back seat.
“Viet City on Greenwall Ave. Thanks.” I found myself surprisingly chirpy considering what I was heading to do. Within seconds the driver had wordlessly put the car into drive and we were on our way to the restaurant.
Viet City was a well-known Vietnamese restaurant buried in the center of the city beside two other equally as expensive bistros. It was a common meeting place for esteemed business owners, stockholders and any other important people that roamed the city with briefcases and austere attitudes. It also happened to be the typical place my parents would want to have lunch at.
People born into poverty who slowly climbed the social and monetary ladder of hierarchy, they loved spending their time splurging on small portioned overpriced meals. Which happened to be one of the many reasons I’d refused accepting their money in order to go through university, much to my father’s chagrin. Now I was poor, exhausted and working my arse off but I had promised myself I wouldn’t stoop so low as too use my parent’s money.
After having everything I wanted dumped on my lap my whole life, I’d chosen on my own regard to learn to live life the hard way. Besides, to accept their money would be to admit defeat, and that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
Using the time in the cab to my advantage, I put all my books back into my backpack. Knowing my mother would mention something ridiculous to do with her expecting better manners and how ‘rude’ it was to bring a school bag to a ‘family’ lunch, I typically decided to bring it along for the kicks.
Checking my reflection in the rearview mirror and winking at the cab driver when he gave me a judgmental stare, I ran a hand through my hair and slapped my cheeks a couple of times for good measure. With my brown strands sticking up at odd ends I looked disheveled, which was the exact reason my mother used to scold me each time I tried to leave the house with my hair styled as such. Not being able to hold it back, I smirked at the prospect of letting her see me like this. A cheap shirt paired with jeans that hadn’t been washed once in the past week but worn at least four out of the seven days, I was far from the prodigal son she had raised.
As the taxi pulled to a stop, I slung my bag over my shoulder, tossed the driver a tenner and jumped out onto the curb. Before me sat a quaint restaurant packed full of obnoxious wealthy people I’d spent the past year and half trying to escape. It was obvious designed to look as authentic as possible, with bamboo furniture and plants, calligraphy decorating the tables and chairs set in front of the eatery and traditional Vietnamese music trickling out of speakers both within and without the restaurant, it was hard to imagine this as anything but Asian.
Sighing and pulling my bag further up my shoulder, I trekked inside. The place was just as traditional inside as it was out. Paintings that looked to be hundreds of years old were artfully placed on the walls, with each individual booth separated by an intricate bamboo screen, it felt as though I’d walked directly into Vietnam. The only thing out of place was the restrained actions of the customers, chattering quietly in reserved manners, it seemed to be the complete opposite of what I’d imagine an Asian restaurant would really be like.
“Jason! Honey, over here!” A high pitched and overly eccentric voice called out, and shivers ran down my spine at the familiarity of it. I turned to the direction of the voice, and found to no surprise, my mother. She stood dressed to impress with her white pearls and professional dress beside my father, who looked equally as dressed up. Simply looking at them made me feel underdressed, but I didn’t let it get the better of me. Forcing a smile, I made my way over.
“Mum, dad.” I greeted once I had arrived at the table they had clearly reserved, giving my mother a hug and my father an old fashion handshake. “How are you guys?” We all politely sat in our respective seats, which to no surprise meant they were sitting beside each other whilst I was situated directly in front of them. All the better to interrogate, I say.
“Oh, we’re lovely, lovely. Aren’t we Harrison, honey?” My mother had a tendency to repeat certain adjectives, and often enough it was impossible for her to not address my father by his full name.
“Right you are, darling.” My father confirmed, his voice impassive with a facial expression to match. Occasionally, I think half of the things he does is to simply please my mother, as he was clearly not as interested as seeing his only son as she was.
“Should we order something? I shall call the waiter over.” My mother raised her slight hand and looked in the direction of a lanky guy that seemed to be in the middle of high school. Poor lad. He hurried over, notepad at the go and shot us a compulsory smile.
“Harrison, honey. You go first.” My mother urged. She shot a strained smile his way and handed me a menu, mouthing for me to look over the options.
My father ignored whatever she had said and looked up to our waiter, “I’ll have the beef noodle phở?” Only he pronounced it ‘fough’.
Chuckling, I raised my eyes from the menu to my father, “actually, dad. It’s pronounced ‘fuh’.”
I could practically see the steam pouring from his ears as she clenched his menu and glared at me over the table. Just before he was about to do something extremely public and drastic, my mother cut in with her order.
“If you won’t mind I’ll have the vegetable noodle soup. Whatever that’s called.” My mother, as usual with her total disregard for bothering herself with traditional names, simply pointed to what she wanted on the menu before looking back up to the waiter.
Just as I was about to place my own order, she spoke up again. “And my son here will have the same.”
Holding back a dramatic sigh, I simply opted for rolling my eyes. “Actually, I’d prefer the Bún Thịt Nướng with a side of Bánh tẻ and Bia hơi.” Allowing myself to use this chance to let my parents pay for my meal, which I knew they would do, I ordered some of the more expensive meals on the menu.
My mother who had been flipping through the menu looking for what I was ordering, only happened to find the last item I had mentioned and immediately went purple. “You are not having beer!” She shouted, the reaction causing neither my father nor I to jump in any way. We were far too used to her outbreaks.
“Interestingly enough, mum. I am.” I smirked, crossing my arms as our waiter scurried away to place our order. It wouldn’t have surprised me had he been terrified of my mother’s wrath. Most people were.
She looked desperate, and turned to my father for help. “Harrison, you can’t let this happen!” Her hands were planted firmly on his forearms as she pleaded with him for such a pathetic cause.
Rolling my eyes again, I leaned back in my seat, “mum,” I drawled, waiting for her to scowl at me before continuing, “I’m nineteen. I can drink. Deal with it.”
“He’s right, Erin. Let the boy buy a beer.”
Smirking triumphantly, I watched as my mother’s face fell at the words of my father. She was clearly hoping he would side with her on the matter and since he had not, she was left deflated. Moving to sit back in her seat, she tucked some of her dyed brown hair too similar to mine behind her ear and settled back. It was awkwardly quiet for a few moments, the chatter of other customers enveloping our table before it was broken.
“So I see you’re doing well.” It was my mother that spoke, her voice tight and contained after she had calmed down. The tone of voice matched the way she looked at me and I did my best to not fiddle under her gaze. No matter how many times I could play the cool and collected Jason I wanted to be, she was my mother and she still made me uneasy.
“I am. Georgia’s great, before you ask. She’s doing a dance tour in a couple of months. She’ll be travelling all around Europe.” Although I hated it when they fawned over my girlfriend, I often encouraged it as I’d rather talk about her and her many successes than have to spend a minute talking of my dull life. As soon as the spotlight turned back to me I was always faced with the same questions regarding my disorder and medication, my studies and a possible change of direction and my almost non-existent social life. It was just easier to talk about someone that impressed them.
Finally my father actually looked over at me in interest, and my mother’s eyes lit up with excitement. It took everything in me not to hurl at their enthusiasm.
“That’s such amazing news! Did you hear that Harrison? Georgia is really going places.” My mother nudged my father’s side to gain his attention, which really wasn’t needed as the mere mention of my girlfriend had caught his interest. I knew that when my mother said Georgia was going places, it was really just a tool to try and hint that I should try and do something as productive. Dancing wasn’t even what she did for a job, a highly esteemed personal assistant at a big magazine all the women in fashion read, she had a bright future including a position as editor and chief, not to mention her many awards as a dancer.
It was exhausting to hear about, let alone talk about. But as I’d previously stated, it was better than talking of my life.
“Yes, yes, darling. I heard what he said. What I want to know is how her position as that woman’s personal assistant is going?” He was leaning forward on his seat now, arms resting on the table as he stared at me with such intensity I wondered if he had a thing for my girlfriend.
“Great. She loves working for her and Laurel loves having her around. A promotion is on the horizon. They were in Dubai just the other week overseeing some kind of fashion shoot for the latest issue. She just got back a couple of days ago, actually.”
My mother's face broke out into an uncontrollable and vaguely wistful smile, her hands clasped together and pressed to her heart. "Oh, how I would've loved to go to Dubai." I watched as she sneakily glanced at my father and it took everything in me to not roll my eyes, again, at her actions.
Every time my mother wanted something, anything really, all she had to do was subtly hint to my father and within the next couple of days or weeks something would be planted in her lap. It was how she managed a trip to France simply to shop in the authentic French atmosphere. This time was no different. "I can probably talk to Jeffery later today and we could organise a trip in spring, how about that darling?" My father beamed up at my mother, his expression anticipating her response like a child waiting for Christmas. It was cute they really loved each other and all, although I did second guess it sometimes, but the way my father would treat my mother like porcelain really bugged me, and I happened to be the only one who thought that too.
"Sounds dashing, honey." My mother beamed, triumph set into every wrinkle she sported and every breath she took. Typical.
The waiter brought over our meals, along with my drink which I immediately took a much needed sip of. Both my parents pretty much ignored their meals as I took my first bite, they were far too invested in questioning me about Georgia to even contemplate eating.
“Why isn’t she here with you?” Mother asked, her forehead wrinkling as she glared down at me. She was acting as though I’d committed some kind of felony, which resulted in me presuming that she thought I’d somehow stuffed up the relationship.
“We’re still dating, mum. I haven’t fucked anything up. She’s in a lecture right now, s’all.” Making sure to slurp the broth in my soup, I smirked when I caught her grimacing at me.
My father coughed and sat upright, picking up his fork rather than use the chopsticks skillfully placed on the bowl. “You should’ve told us earlier, we would’ve changed the time for a little later so we could see her.” He was completely oblivious to how offensive it sounded, as was my mother.
It took everything in me to not groan and smack my head against the table in annoyance. This was typical of my parents. They would literally do anything in order to see Georgia, even if it meant changing their schedule around to fit hers, only if I was to call and say I had to change the time they would spend a good fifteen minutes lecturing me on proper manners and social etiquette etc. It’s reached a point where I don’t bother trying to change the time, I just change my life to suit them, as they expect.
We ate our food, still chatting about Georgia for a good ten minutes before it became obvious they were intent on changing the subject. This was odd enough for them, in most situations they could rave about my girlfriend for hours on end and it would take everything to shut them up, but now they were beginning to redirect the conversation back at me every chance they had.
“Seriously, darling. How are you? Are your studies fine? Remember if they’re too hard your father and I are more than happy to speak to the school, you can always change to business.” Eventually it had to come out, and of course it was my mother to utter the words.
I didn’t say anything for a while, simply soaking up the total lack of disappointment, as it was that common. My father didn’t say anything, in fact he just looked at me expectantly with such evident hope that I’d break down and claim it all true. Only I didn’t, because I was enjoying sociology and psychology, as I always was. Sure, the workload was hard but its university and that’s expected, I knew what I wanted to do and there was no way their hopeful expressions would change that.
“I am so used to you asking that question, that I’m not even disappointed anymore.” I admitted, my voice as flat as it could be. Looking up from my empty bowl, I moved my eyes from one parent to the next and sighed when they both shared the same confused expression. “Every time I see you guys, you expect me to hate my studies, you pray with all you have that I want to switch to business and follow in your footsteps, dad. But it’s not going to happen. I’m set on being a psychologist. I just want you guys to accept it already.”
I watched as my father once again turned an interesting shade of pinky purple and grabbed the table, “We just want the best for you,” was all he managed to get out in between counted breaths and closed eyes.
Not even bothering to hide it this time, I rolled my eyes. “Oh for God’s sake, this is what’s best for me. This is what I want. And that makes it better than any decision you two have already made for me.” I argued, my voice louder than it had been. It wasn’t quite shouting, which would’ve only made matters worse, but it was enough to draw the attention of nearby customers.
“We’re your parents.” My mother spat, smacking her hands down on the table as she stood up. A few strands of her hair were flailing around wildly in the humidity of the restaurant, but she either didn’t know or didn’t care. Far too focused on the task at hand, she attempted to stare me down.
But I was done with this, I’d taken enough of their crap for long enough and it was about time I made it clear that I wasn’t going to change my plans. “Yes, you’re my parents, but that is all. I am my own person, I can make my own decision. I do not want to take over dad’s business, I have no intention nor desire for it. I’m sticking to psychology and sociology, and if you have any problems with that, too bad. I don’t care.” I stood, my voice sharp and definite, to show that I really meant what I said. Pulling out a meager fiver from my wallet, I slammed it on the table, “that’s for the beer.” With that, I spun on my heel and walked out of the restaurant, not wanting to spend another minute in my parent’s insufferable company.
The air was wonderfully cool in comparison to Viet City, and I took a moment to inhale a large breath of air before deciding to walk home. If my parents wanted to contact me, they’d do it. Otherwise I wasn’t interested in talking to them, they had to accept that I could make my own decisions, and if the fact that my mother had tried to order for me was notion enough that they couldn’t see that, I didn’t know what was. Crossing my arms, I waded through the midday crowds on my way home, a large cup of tea and some revision replacing the horrible memories of lunch.
No part of me had thought of Emily once during the lunch, possibly because I’d been far too invested in the conversations at hand. All the things we had gotten up to only a day or two ago didn’t once threaten my mind with their presence. She was far from my thoughts for the first time since we’d met, I didn’t miss her. It wasn’t as though I was expected too, only I’d completely forgotten about the confusing thoughts that just wouldn’t lay to rest. It was a welcomed feeling, only I didn’t realise how short such a moment was allowed to last.
//a.n// right so here it isssss, as per usual, comment any errors, vote, let me know what you think in general and of the characters etc. ummmmm, this is quite late, hoping to write more but i've been sooooo busy this hols so it's weird to not be writing as much as i'd like. anyways, dedicated to shanna (@ravensandroses) for commenting and liking melanie so there you go! hope you guys like it!
lots of love,
bea xx