The Love Contract
“Sit up straight,” my mother said, fixing my collar. “This is important.” Though I’m 23, she had always spoken to me as though I was 12. I went to city college, worked at the bar on the weekends, and at the time, still lived at home with her. When I told her my idea to be a teacher, she scoffed, saying I ought to dream bigger—pharmacist, engineer, computer whatever, like the rest of the Viets who went away for college. She even recommended that I learn how to do nails—it’s good money.