It was.
Eventually, Roland almost always took her side.
We bought a house in Smyrna.
Beverly chose the paint.
Every Sunday we ate dinner at her house.
She sat at the head of the table.
Roland sat beside her.
I sat wherever a chair remained.
When I became pregnant, Beverly was thrilled.
Not because I was becoming a mother.
Because Roland was becoming a father.
Because there would be another Tran.
She bought the crib.
The stroller.
The car seat.
Picked the nursery colors.
Selected the bedding.
She brought over an old baby blanket from 1964 and announced that Wren would sleep under it.
I was too tired to fight most of it.
Roland wanted to name our daughter Beverly.
That was the one thing I refused.
I named her Wren.
Wren Celeste.
For my mother.
We brought Wren home on a Thursday.
The first week barely exists in my memory.
Feedings every two hours.
Exhaustion.
Pain.
Standing in the shower crying for reasons I couldn’t explain.
Roland returned to work three days after we came home.
“I can’t take more time,” he said. “The rest of the leave is unpaid. Mom says you’ll manage. She did.”
Beverly came Tuesday.
