Jennifer Lohmann - A Promise for the Baby

His mom grabbed the waistband of his pants, preventing him from walking out of the kitchen. He sighed in response. Some days, you are still five years old to your mother. “You married a woman I’ve never met. What am I supposed to think?”

“Mom, even if she were pregnant—and I’m not saying she is—I wouldn’t tell you until she was three months along. It’s bad luck.” At least Vivian had been kind enough to give him something to tell his mother while he lied to her.

“What do you know about this woman you’ve married? Where’s she from? What’s her family like? How do you know if you have anything in common with her?”

He removed his mother’s grip on his pants and turned to face her, surprised when her expression held fear. “We’re here for family dinner. You can ask her all the questions you want. Get to know her. You’ll probably like her.”

I do. More than the curve of her lips and line of her neck. He could relax in Vivian’s calm presence. She had a quiet, efficient manner and he found himself watching her move about the apartment instead of enjoying his view of the Chicago skyline. He had even changed the chair he sat in while in the living room so he could watch her knit or play solitaire.

“She’s just—” his mom halted “—different, and I’m not sure she belongs.”

Of all the things he expected to come out of his mother’s mouth... “Are you saying you don’t like Vivian because she’s not from Chicago, not Catholic—” at least, he didn’t think she was “—or not white?”

“I just think marriages work better when the couple shares a common background.”

He set the pierogies on the counter in exasperation. “You complain about Tilly and Dan not even planning a wedding yet—”

“‘I’m building my business’ isn’t a reason not to get married,” she interrupted.

“And you’re a devout Catholic wishing your sister could marry her longtime female partner.”

“She’s my favorite sister. Their relationship has lasted longer than most marriages I know.”

“Vivian and I have done what Aunt Maria and Josie can’t do and what Tilly and Dan haven’t cared to do. Be happy about that.”

“I just wish I knew her.”

“No, you wish you’d had the chance to approve of her before I married her.” Like you approved of Jessica because the two of you wanted the same things out of me, and they weren’t what I was willing to give. The marriage you approved of led to divorce. And Jessica and I had a lot in common.

He picked the pierogies up off the counter and headed through the living room to the dining room and the rest of his family.

In the dining room, Vivian was laughing at the anecdote of Dan panning Tilly’s restaurant and then picking her up at the Taste of Chicago, each unaware that she was the chef to whose restaurant he’d given a bad review. Instead of being an uncomfortable story, Tilly’s lively hand gestures and gift with words made it one of their best party stories. Karl slipped into the chair next to his wife with the odd feeling that the family table was finally complete. Until tonight, hearing Vivian chuckle at Dan’s tales of the ribbing his friends had given him over the review, Karl hadn’t known something had been missing.

* * *

THE CAR RIDE home was uncomfortable. Vivian’s enjoyable chat with Karl’s sisters had come to a screeching halt when his mom had entered the dining room with roast pork and twenty questions. Vivian had smiled and tried to remain pleasant, while avoiding the questions she thought were none of the woman’s business—and inappropriate to be asked at a get-to-know-you dinner.

“Everyone seemed very nice,” Vivian remarked to the passenger-side window and cars they were passing. By everyone, she meant Karl’s sisters, his brother-in-law and Dan. She hadn’t expected someone as straitlaced as Karl to have a sister with wild blue hair, and his other sister, Renia, while reserved, had an undercurrent of real warmth.

Qualifying her statement seemed rude, and she could be polite to Karl, who had watched the interaction between her and his mother with interest but hadn’t done anything to interfere. Just because she came from mysterious people and a state that Easterners couldn’t distinguish from Iowa, didn’t mean she didn’t know how to be polite.

“Did you enjoy the food?”

“Yes. It’s the first time I’ve ever had pierogies. Probably the first time I’ve ever had Polish food that wasn’t kielbasa from the grocery store.” The only thing the sausage they’d eaten for dinner had in common with the vacuum-wrapped oval from the meat case was the name. Then there had been the cucumbers in a light sour cream dressing. “It was all delicious.”

“No Polish blood in you?” His question was lightly asked, but she’d been asked that question about ten different ways over the past two hours.

“I didn’t realize you were also obsessed with my ancestry.” Being offended warred with her fear of losing the little stability she had managed to grasp.

And she’d thought better of him.

“Of all my mom’s questions that you avoided answering, that’s the one I care least about. Tell me why you got fired and why you’re hiding from your dad, and I won’t bat an eye when you tell me that your grandparents are from Jupiter.”

“Is that why you didn’t stop your mom from combining dinner with a security clearance interview?”

He didn’t sigh, but she could feel the frustration come off his body in waves at her remark. “Vivian,” he said finally, “I haven’t known you very long, but you don’t strike me as the type of person who wants a man to rescue her just so he can prove he’s not neutered. You were holding your own. If you had needed to be saved, I would have done so.”

“What do you call me living in your apartment, eating your food and using the transit cards you leave on the table?” Suddenly she needed the parameters of their relationship defined. If he didn’t see her as helpless and dependent, how did he see her?

“Providing you with a helping hand isn’t the same as a rescue. If I were rescuing you, I’d have done this whole thing differently.”

“How?”

“I’d have a suit of armor and horse,” he said with the same flat tone with which he said everything else.

Something between a snicker and a sigh escaped her mouth. She hadn’t told his mother anything about her heritage because she was offended that it seemed to matter. When Karl said he didn’t care, she believed him.

Besides, if she offered him some answers, perhaps she’d win a reprieve from the questions about her father and why she was fired. She didn’t know that much about “her people” anyway. Her father had a habit of alienating people, even family. Maybe especially family.

“The last name and most of the blood on my father’s side is Chinese, but there’s some Mexican and Sicilian in there, too, I think. There were lots of different ethnic groups working on the railroads, fighting forest fires and mining out west. My mom’s a hundred percent Chinese, though.” She let the silence consume the oxygen in the car and extinguish her fear. “Would your mom like me more if I had Polish blood?”

She didn’t want to care what his mother thought, but this was his baby, too, and that woman was the baby’s grandmother. If the baby’s grandmother couldn’t get past her nonwhite skin, well...well, she’d figure out something. She always had.

“It would give her something to hang on to until she got to know you better. Being Catholic would work just as well.” Her leather seat creaked as she turned from the window to look at her husband, but the darkness swallowed his expression—if he had one.

She turned back to the window, disappointed in his answer and disappointed in herself for caring. “The Mexican and Sicilian parts are probably Catholic.”