Page 74 of RomeAntically Challenged
There were photos of that time in Annie’s adoption album, a present from her mother on Annie’s eighteenth adoption day. Each one had a handwritten description, detailing the location and names of the people in the photo, and each one was accompanied with loving words from her parents about what that precise moment meant to the both of them.
At times, Annie struggled with how to be the person her parents saw when they adopted her.
Before Annie could ask Mai more about growing up in Vietnam, another woman sat in the chair across from her and pulled a brightly colored fan from her pocket. She fanned herself while speaking to Mai—about Annie.
Annie didn’t need to know the language to understand she was the topic of their conversation. The puzzle they were trying to solve.
“You are a lucky girl that your parents picked you,” the newcomer said.
“It’s her ears,” Mai stated, reaching out to pinch Annie’s lobes. “They are small, which means lucky in Viet Nam.”
“I’ve heard that,” Annie said.
“Yes, lucky. You don’t speak Vietnamese—how come?”
“Uh, I speak a little,” Annie said. “The town I grew up in didn’t have a big Vietnamese community, so there wasn’t the opportunity to learn. But I can order some mean takeout.”
Annie laughed. The newcomer did not.
“Hai Linh was born here in Rome and she learned how,” the woman said, as if Annie was somehow lacking.
For women like Lynn it was so simple, growing up in a house that passed down all the cultural wealth to the younger generation. But for someone like Annie, who never fit into either community, it wasn’t so simple.
The older woman eyed Annie calculatingly. “How much did you cost?”
Even though there was no harm intended by their questioning, they made it sound as if Annie had been one of many kids locked in kennels while her parents strolled along saying, “Oh, she’s too old. And this one’s too fussy. But this one, right here, she has small, cute ears—we’ll take one of her to go, please.” Before handing over a cashier’s check that amounted to their entire life savings to the “Baby Seller.”
And while most of America would be shocked at the line of questioning, Annie took it in stride. She’d been asked it enough over the years to understand that the adoption process was a mystery to most, and every culture viewed it through a different lens.
But adoptive families came together the same way as biological ones. Annie was Maura and Marty’s daughter. She just happened to have been carried by another woman, eight thousand miles away. And instead of being the product of two people’s love, people like Annie were the sum of four people’s.
In her book, that made her twice as loved and doubly special. At least that’s what she told herself in moments of doubt. Moments like this.
“My mom says I’m worth every penny.” It was the light-hearted answer that always got a laugh. And it didn’t fail her tonight.
She fielded more painfully familiar questions that sparked even more painfully familiar emotions as she recited the recycled answers. Eventually, the questions slowed, leaving only awkward silence, marking the end of “Get to know Anh.”
Only they didn’t knowherat all. They knew her story, where she came from, and how to properly say her name. But they didn’t know the first thing aboutwhoshe was, and that was as isolating as the conversation that continued in front of her, none of which she was included in or could understand.
The result: Annie had never felt so out of place in all her life—and that was saying a lot.
“Cháui,” Nurse Tran said to Annie. “There is something wrong with yourMì Hoành Thánh.”
Yeah, about that.
Annie stood and smoothed her sweaty hands down her shirt. She’d taken care with her appearance, wearing a denim skirt with a silky teal top. “It’s not really Mi Hoanh Thanh. It’s my mom’s version of dumpling soup.”
Nurse Tran sent her a leveling glare. “But I explained that this wasMì Hoành Thánhnight.”
“Mi Hoanh Thanh is a Vietnamese dumpling soup, right?” When no one moved, she added, “Well, I brought matzo ball soup. It’s my mom’s signature dish.”
The ladies exchanged looks, but it was Nurse Tran who spoke. “You mean, your mom’s American dish?”
“My parents are Irish, but it’s a traditional Jewish dish that we make around... well, that doesn’t matter. It’s my family’s recipe and it’s quite good. In fact, my mom has won awards at the local temple cook-off.”
“Hai Linh takes me to temple every week,” Mai said gently, patting Annie’s knee in support.
But Nurse Tran wasn’t having any of it. She said something in Vietnamese, speaking for so long Annie thought maybe she was reciting the complete works of William Shakespeare just to screw with her.
