How Many Chapters In Bye My Irresistible Love
How Many Chapters In Bye My Irresistible Love – Author Jasmine Chan discusses her book club Jenna Bush Hager… Not to be missed School for Good Moms
In this New York Times bestseller and book club’s “Today Show Read with Jenna,” a lapse in judgment lands a young mother in a government correctional program where custody of her child hangs in the balance, in this “unreal” ( People), “remarkable”. ” (Vogue) and an “infuriatingly timely” debut novel (The New York Times Book Review).
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Frida Liu is fighting. She does not have a career worthy of the sacrifices of her Chinese immigrant parents. She cannot convince her husband, Gust, to give up his welfare-obsessed young mistress. Only with Harriet, their cherubic daughter, does Frida finally achieve the perfection expected of her. HARRIET He may have everything, but it’s enough.
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The eyes of the state are on mothers like Frida. those who check their phones let their children hurt themselves on the playground; Who let their children walk home alone. Due to a moment of poor judgment, many government officials will now decide whether Frida is a candidate for a Big Brother-like organization that measures the success or failure of maternal devotion.
Faced with the prospect of losing Harriet, Frida must prove that a bad mother can be redeemed. To learn to be good.
An “intense” (Oprah Daily), “captivating” (Today) that’s also a penetrating novel about the perils of “perfect” middle-class parenting; violence against women by the state and sometimes by each other; systems that separate families; And the boundlessness of love, in the School of Good Mothers, Frida presents every woman throughout the ages. Using dark wit to explore the pain and joy of the deepest relationships that bind us, Chan has written a modern literary classic.
It’s the first Tuesday in September, the afternoon of one of her worst days, and Frida is trying to stay on track. On the voicemail, the officer asks him to come to the station immediately. She interrupted the message, putting the phone down. It’s 2:46 p.m. He was supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. It pulls on the first side street of Gray’s Ferry and Double-Parks. She calls back and starts apologizing, explaining that she lost track of time.
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Frida hangs up and calls Gust, having to leave a message. He must meet her at the Eleventh and Wharton station. “There’s a problem. I’m Harriet.” Her voice catching, she repeated the officer’s promise that her daughter was safe.
When he starts driving again, he remembers to stay under the speed limit, avoid running red lights, breathe. Over Labor Day weekend, he felt faint. Last Friday and Saturday, he had normal insomnia, sleeping two hours each night. On Sunday, when Gust released Harriet from Frida’s custody for three and a half days, Harriet was suffering from an ear infection. That night, Frida slept for ninety minutes. Last night, an hour. Harriet’s sobs were relentless, too big for her body, loud enough to be absorbed by the walls of their small house. Frida could do it. She sang lullabies, rubbed Harriet’s chest, fed her extra milk. She lay on the floor at Harriet’s feet, took her impossibly perfect hand from the bar, kissed her fingernails, fingernails, feeling what needed to be cut, praying that Harriet’s eyes would close.
The afternoon sun beats down as Frida pulls into the train station, located two blocks from her home in an old Italian neighborhood in South Philly. He seems to rush to the front desk, asking if the receptionist has seen his eighteen-month-old toddler daughter; half Chinese, half white; Big brown eyes, curly dark brown hair with bangs.
The receptionist, an older white woman with a smudge of pink lipstick, steps out from behind the desk. Her eyes linger on Frida’s legs from head to toe, her worn Birkenstocks.
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The station seems almost empty. The receptionist walks with a halting step favoring the left leg. He leads Frida down the hall and deposits her in a windowless interrogation room where the walls are mint green. Frida is sitting. In the cop movies he’s seen, the lights are always flickering, but here the flickering is constant. He has goosebumps, he wants a jacket or a scarf. Although she is often tired when she has Harriet, she now has a weight on her chest, a pain that has seeped into her bones, numbing her.
She rubbed her hands together, her focus drifting in and out of him. She grabbed her phone from the bottom of her purse, cursing herself for not seeing the officer’s messages sooner, she had turned her phone off this morning after getting fed up with the endless robocalls, forgetting to turn the ringer back on. In the last twenty minutes, Gust has called six times and sent a stream of alarming texts.
Here she is finally writing. Come quick. He should call back, but he’s afraid. During her half week, Gust calls every night to see if Harriet has any new words or motor skills. She hates the disappointment in his voice when he fails to deliver. But Harriet changes in other ways: a firmer grip, noticing new details in the book, holding Frida’s gaze longer as they kiss each other goodnight.
Placing her forearms on the metal table, Frida lowers her head and falls asleep for a split second. She looks up and sees a camera in the corner of the ceiling. His mind turns to Harriet. He will buy a box of Harriet’s favorite strawberry ice cream. When they got home he would let Harriet play in the tub as long as she wanted. Harriet would read extra books at that bedtime. I’m a bunny. Corduroy.
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The officers enter without knocking. Officer Bruner, who made the call, is a white male in his twenties with acne at the corner of his mouth. Officer Harris is a middle-aged black man with a perfectly groomed mustache and strong shoulders.
She stands up and shakes hands with both of them. They ask to see her driver’s license, confirming that she is Frida Liu.
“Sit down,” Officer Brunner says, looking down at Frida’s chest. He turns his notebook to a blank page. “Ma’am, what time did you leave the house?”
“Maybe lunch. Half past twelve? I went out for coffee. And then I went to my office. I shouldn’t have. I know. It was so stupid. I was tired. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . . Can you tell me where it is?”
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Frida spreads her palms on the table, needing to touch something cold and solid. “It was a mistake.”
Officers arrived around two o’clock, entering through an air vent. The sliding glass door between Frida’s kitchen and the backyard was open, with only a thin screen door protecting the child.
“So your baby… Harriet is her name? Harriet was alone for two hours. Is it true, Ms. Liu?”
They tell her that Harriet is being admitted to a children’s emergency center. “Someone bring him…”
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“Ma’am, sit down,” Officer Brunner says. “You seem like a smart lady. Let’s go back. Why would you leave your child alone in the first place?”
“I had coffee and then I went to work. I needed a file. Hard copy. He must have lost track of time. I was on my way home when I saw you called. I’m sorry. I haven’t slept in days. I want to go get it. Can I leave now?”
Officer Harris shook his head. “We’re not done here. Where were you supposed to be today? Who was in charge of the baby?”
She explains that she summarizes faculty research, rewriting academic papers as short articles with conclusions for the business community. She doesn’t know anything about writing homework. He works from home Monday through Wednesday, when he has custody — a special arrangement. This is her first full-time job since the birth of Harriet. He’s only been there for six months. Finding the right job, or any job, in Philly is very difficult.
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She tells them about her demanding boss, her deadlines. The teacher he currently works with is eighty-one. He never sends his notes via email. She forgot to bring her ticket home with her last Friday, she needed it for an article she was finishing.
“I go in to get the file and then I came back soon. I’ve stopped responding to emails. I should have-“
“Is that how you showed up at work?” Officer Harris nods at Frida’s exposed chambray-buttoned face, smeared with toothpaste and peanut butter. Her long black hair tied in a messy bun. her shorts. The scar on her chin.
They write in their notebooks. They will do a background check, but if he has any prior crimes, he should tell them now.
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— Of course I have no record. Her chest is tight. He starts to cry. “It was a mistake. Please. You have to trust me. I’m under
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