Travails of a Trailing Spouse Read online

  Travails of a Trailing Spouse

  “When Sarah quits her high-powered job in San Francisco to move to Singapore, she hopes to escape the daily grind and explore a continent her parents left decades earlier. A luxury condo becomes the centre of a new world that is both better and more decadent; a community of global expatriates sees to that. But the carefree veneer of the trailing spouses comes at a cost, and the women must travail to keep families and dreams intact. Stephanie Suga Chen digs deep into the expat experience of new horizons, dark temptations, and contentment found in unexpected places.”

  Jo Furniss, author of All The Little Children

  and the upcoming The Trailing Spouse

  “Stephanie Suga Chen captures the good, the bad, and the ugly of expat life in her light-hearted yet startlingly honest debut novel. I found myself rooting for Sarah and her crew to survive the surreal experience they’ve been flung into, while trying to keep their marriages – and sanity! – intact.”

  Lisa Beazley, author of Keep Me Posted

  “Travails of A Trailing Spouse is an energetic, pacy foray into the expat world of Singapore. Stephanie Suga Chen captures perfectly the nuances of expat life and the trials and tribulations of a so-called trailing spouse. Recommended.”

  Alice Clark-Platts, author of crime thrillers Bitter Fruits

  and The Taken, and founder of the Singapore Writers’ Group

  Published by Straits Times Press Pte Ltd

  A subsidiary of Singapore Press Holdings,

  English/Malay/Tamil Media Group

  1000 Toa Payoh North, News Centre

  Singapore 318994

  (65) 6319 6319

  [email protected]

  stbooks.sg

  STRAITS TIMES PRESS

  General Manager: Tan Ooi Boon

  Publishing Manager: Lee Hui Chieh

  Creative Director: Lock Hong Liang

  Marketing and Operations Manager: Ilangoh Thanabalan

  Sales Manager: Irene Lee

  Book Designer: Lydia Wong

  Book Editor: Jill Lim

  Author’s photo © Straits Times Press (photography by Ted Chen)

  Copyright permission has been granted by the Government of the Republic of Singapore to use the song lyrics printed in chapter 26

  © 2019 Straits Times Press

  First published in print in 2018 by Straits Times Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

  in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

  without the prior written permission of the copyright owners.

  Printed in Singapore

  First printed in January 2018

  Reprinted in June 2018

  National Library Board, Singapore

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Name(s): Chen, Stephanie Suga, 1979-

  Title: Travails of a trailing spouse : a novel / Stephanie Suga Chen.

  Description: Singapore : Straits Times Press Pte Ltd, 2019.

  Identifier(s): OCN 1076332065 | ISBN 978-981-48-2719-5 (e-book)

  Subject(s): LCSH: Immigrants—Singapore—Fiction. | Americans—Singapore—Fiction. | Singaporean fiction (English) | Electronic books.

  Classification: DDC S823—dc23

  For Albert

  contents

  CHAPTER 1: ORIENTATION

  CHAPTER 2: PLAYGROUP

  CHAPTER 3: UNREAL

  CHAPTER 4: THE OTHER SARA

  CHAPTER 5: OKTOBERFEST

  CHAPTER 6: ′ME TIME′

  CHAPTER 7: MOULD, MOULD EVERYWHERE

  CHAPTER 8: ′ME TIME′, EXPLAINED

  CHAPTER 9: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CS

  CHAPTER 10: REWIND

  CHAPTER 11: RELEASE

  CHAPTER 12: WORKING GIRL

  CHAPTER 13: RAINY DAYS AND LAZY EYES

  CHAPTER 14: TOP GUN

  CHAPTER 15: LANGUAGE LESSONS

  CHAPTER 16: MOTHER′S DAY

  CHAPTER 17: UPROAR

  CHAPTER 18: THE HAZE BLOWS IN

  CHAPTER 19: PARTNER YOGA

  CHAPTER 20: RUMOURS

  CHAPTER 21: THERAPY

  CHAPTER 22: DISNEYLAND

  CHAPTER 23: BAGUIO

  CHAPTER 24: CONFESSION

  CHAPTER 25: VERY IMPORTANT PAINTERS

  CHAPTER 26: JASON TURNS 40

  CHAPTER 27: UNREACHABLE

  CHAPTER 28: EXODUS

  CHAPTER 29: IN LIMBO

  CHAPTER 30: IT HAS TO BE ME

  CHAPTER 31: GETTING IT DONE

  CHAPTER 32: MYANMAR

  EPILOGUE

  chapter 1

  ORIENTATION

  IT WAS LIKE freshman year all over again, living in the same dorm – without the shared bathrooms, thankfully – keeping their doors unlocked and propped open, popping by at any time to say hello and have a beer, borrowing hammers and bike pumps, drinking themselves silly on any old night of the week. The Manchester Condo, located west of downtown in an area called Goodview, was newly built, 40 storeys in a single block with 340 units, its TOP – Temporary Occupation Permit, as they called it in Singapore – received in January and new occupants filing in steadily since then.

  It was the ideal environment to make fast friends; they had come from all over the world, the US, the Middle East, Europe, Australia, some first-time expats, some veterans on their third or fourth assignment, all arriving in Singapore with choice jobs and ample benefits, substantially better than what they could have received in their home countries.

  They came with young children of similar ages in tow, kids who would play together almost daily, learn to swim, one after another, in the condo pool, and be surprised later when they met friends who did not also live in The Manchester. The husbands, the reason for most of them moving to Singapore, would, when they were not travelling, come home each day from their high-power positions and find hot dinners waiting for them served by efficient helpers who would disappear into the kitchen until they were needed to come clear the table. The wives would greet them, looking lovely from their day of shopping, lunching, exercising, volunteering or helping at the kids’ schools, give them a peck on the cheek, and ask about their day.

  They would take trips together, celebrate one of their 40th birthdays on a private island with immaculate villas set back on a pristine beach, where the staff would quietly steer their children away so the adults could enjoy meals undisturbed, where they would toast their friendship, cherishing the randomness of the condo in bringing them all together. They would look around the table, relishing the moment, but knowing it wouldn’t last; in a matter of months, the group would be disbanded, with everyone going their separate ways, some moving out of the condo, some on to other countries, optimistic and hopeful for the next chapter in their lives, some returning home in utter heartbreak.

  Sarah and Jason had moved into the condo in August; the building was nearly fully occupied by then and Sarah had negotiated hard with the agent as she had not wanted to exceed the housing allowance Jason had been given by the university. The unit was on the fifth floor, which was the first residential level – the carpark taking up the first four floors – and the same level as the pool and playground, something that many prospective residents were turned off by. One of the bedrooms looked directly into the adjacent hotel, adding to the undesirability.

  But Sarah liked the idea of easy access to the condo facilities; she could already envision the kids padding out barefoot in their swimsuits and jumping straight into the deep end (once they learned how to swim, of cours
e). They had never lived in a brand-new unit before, having suffered through low-ceilinged and crusty walk-ups in New York City. Their loft in San Francisco was newer, but not in mint condition, and she loved the idea of being the first occupants in the unit to take a bath, sleep in the rooms, and cook on the stove.

  It had beautifully tiled bathrooms and shiny fixtures, tall ceilings and heavy, dark wood doors; in a split-second decision when put on the spot by the movers, they had given the children the master bedroom to share, and she and Jason had taken the second-largest bedroom, leaving the smallest, third bedroom as a guest room, although the non-rectangular room could barely fit a full-size bed. Sarah and Jason’s room faced the hotel, but at the right edge of the floor-to-ceiling windows – a sliding door actually, to the wrap-around patio – they had an unblocked view of Sonus, a futuristic, bean-shaped building, with alternating floors of glass and greenery, whose name evoked visions of headphones, speakers and sound booths. The first few nights after moving in, they lay in bed, staring out at the shiny, glowing building, holding hands and marvelling that they had made it; they were here, in Singapore.

  Almost exactly one year ago, they had been lying in the same bed, Jason on the left, Sarah on the right, but on the top floor of their tri-level loft in San Francisco, the kids sleeping peacefully two levels beneath them. Sarah had just closed her eyes, hoping to get a full night’s rest as she had to be at her desk before 6am the next day for a call with the New York office.

  Jason had been browsing on his laptop when he lightly tapped her on the shoulder, saying, “Hey, are you asleep yet?”

  She opened her eyes and looked over at him; he turned the laptop so she could see the screen – it was a job posting for a faculty position at the University of Singapore. She sat up, looked at him, and said, “Are you serious?”

  He looked back at her, “Yeah, why not? You hate your job anyways. This could be your ticket out.”

  Sarah had been with her law firm for over 10 years; she had joined fresh out of law school and she had put in the requisite hundred-hour weeks, billing over 2,500 hours multiple years in a row. She was not the firm’s standout star, but she put in steady, hard work, had a keen eye for details, helped bring in a few sizable clients, and was promoted to partner after her eighth year.

  Truthfully, her senior partners were good guys; they had been more than supportive when she had taken maternity leave for their first child, not bothering her once while she muddled through the first three months of motherhood. By the time she had their second child, a son, she had made partner and was leading her own cases, and had no choice but to work straight through her maternity leave. She had hired a pricey night nurse to enable her to sleep at night so she could take calls and review documents during the day, while the nanny, whom she had asked to start right away rather than after her maternity leave, watched the newborn baby.

  The children had given her a temporary distraction, basic needs that had to be met, nurseries that had to be decorated, preschools that needed to be researched. But it didn’t take away from the fact that she was miserable as a lawyer, reluctantly dragging herself out of bed every morning to get to work and churn through documents, slog through meetings and conference calls, put on a cheery yet professional face for clients.

  It was absurd to even think about giving it up. These days the partner track had grown to eight, nine, even 10-plus years; every year she had gone back to her alma mater where young 1Ls and 2Ls would flock to her after the main firm presentation, desperate to shake her hand, to make an impression so she would remember their names later when their resumes came across her desk.

  Her parents, immigrants who had come to the United States on academic scholarships for graduate school, couldn’t comprehend the amount of money she made; their lives had been about literally saving pennies. Her father had once told her a touching story about when they had first come to the US, her dad to Pennsylvania and her mum to Wisconsin; every day he had paid for a stamp to mail a letter to her mother using eight cents – in exact change. They were impossibly proud of her, of course, but it was a world they simply didn’t understand.

  That night, as she thought about the life they would have if they stayed on the current path – raising two kids in the city or more likely moving out to the suburbs for more space and a three-car garage – she had turned to Jason and said, “Sure, why not? Apply, let’s see how it goes.”

  It had quickly snowballed from there – her husband was a capable researcher, had done his PhD under a Nobel Prize-winning neuroscientist, working parallel long hours as Sarah, and had published two papers in quick succession in high-profile journals. Admittedly, his postdoc career had been a little less fruitful, but when they decided to have kids, he had made the deliberate choice to put his family above his career, always home to relieve the nanny before 5pm, while Sarah worked past dinnertime on most nights.

  Sarah would joke, and she meant it, “If Jason could have borne the kids, he would have.” He was a wonderful father, loving and patient, appreciating every moment he spent with the children. When she got pregnant with Ruby, Jason was there for every ob-gyn appointment, even putting on a collared shirt for the scheduled ultrasound scans – “dates with his daughter”, he called them. He was equally doting with little Eric, sitting with him on the balcony for endless sessions of watching traffic below them, looking for motorcycles and shouting “Green one!” every time one went by. Sometimes Sarah would see Jason, cuddling with the kids before bedtime, and think, “I’m so happy to have facilitated these people meeting each other.”

  He was now reaching the end of his postdoc fellowship; having published a paper in a good, but not top-tier, journal, he had applied to a handful of universities in the US, but circumstances weren’t right; the country was just pulling out of a deep recession, and funding for academic positions was still scarce. Sarah was also a bit of a snob, not wanting to stoop to the level that her parents or aunts and uncles had had to when immigrating to the US – choosing the best schools that would offer them a scholarship, in cities that most had never even heard of. Based on the short list of cities she had given him, places where they had friends or family and she could still work at her firm – San Francisco, Los Angeles, and New York – Jason had been thus far unsuccessful at securing an assistant professor position.

  His CV was actually perfect for the University of Singapore; after a bit of investigating through his extended network, Jason learned that they were looking for candidates with “brand recognition”, and who were serious about moving to Asia, not just fishing around. His Nobel Prize-winning thesis adviser and the fact that he was Taiwanese-American seemed to fit the bill to a T. Indeed, the search committee wrote back promptly after he had submitted his application; they wanted to fly him out to interview as soon as possible.

  Jason arrived at Changi Airport past midnight, with a slight head cold that had worsened on the 20-hour journey over. He showed up to the interview in a suit and the chair of the school of biology actually apologised, saying that he should have told him that suits were unnecessary – it was over 32 degrees, for God’s sake. Jason called Sarah from his hotel room that night; he was jetlagged and sick as a dog, but his talk had gone well, the interviews with a handful of other professors in the department were all upbeat and positive, and the dinner with the entire search committee had gone smoothly.

  The informal email offer came even before he landed back at SFO – everyone had been impressed with him, the chair said, and could not wait to get him on board. They would be sending over a formal offer package in the coming days, but the salary and benefits mentioned were quite a bit higher than what Jason had heard his friends getting state-side; more importantly, he would receive a generous start-up package to fund his lab for the first five years, taking the pressure off needing to write proposals for grants, and allowing him to focus on his research. They celebrated over a bowl of spicy ramen, then Jason, who was completely exhausted from the past 96 hours of travel
, collapsed into bed.

  It didn’t take Sarah long to make up her mind. The next morning, she walked into her managing partner’s office, which had a sweeping, floor-to-ceiling view of the Bay Bridge, and ripped the Band-Aid off. She spared him the details of her own dissatisfaction with the job; she just laid it out that her husband had received the offer of a lifetime in Singapore, and this was an opportunity for them to live in Asia while their kids were still young. She was surprised, and frankly a little disappointed, that he didn’t try to convince her to stay. He was completely sympathetic, said he understood exactly where she was coming from, and quickly moved to logistical issues like when her last day was going to be and how to start transitioning her clients.

  Sarah and Jason lay in bed that night, holding hands as they often did, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief, deadpanning, “Well, I guess we’re doing it; we’re moving to Singapore.”

  At her farewell dinner, her partners and associates toasted good luck to her, gave her handshakes and well wishes, told her that in five years, when the Lees were tired of their adventures, Sarah should come back, assuming she stayed on top of her Continuing Legal Education requirements, of course; she would always have a position at the firm. The insecure part of her wondered why they were so eager to send her off, if it was because they really didn’t think she belonged, that she was just the “Asian woman” hire, that they were happy she was moving on so they could go back to their old boys’ club. She resisted the urge to say, “See ya, suckers!” as she walked out on her last day; instead, she gave her assistant a hug and promised to stay in touch through email and social media.

  Sarah and Jason spent their final month in the US packing up their belongings, taking the opportunity to sell or throw away items they had been lugging back and forth across the country, first to college, to law school, to several apartments in New York, and finally to San Francisco. She put the loft up on Craigslist, renting it to a couple who were both doctors and completing their residencies in the area. She traced her children’s hands, Ruby, age four, and Eric, 22 months, on the inside of the Harry Potter-closet underneath the lower level stairs, wondering how big they would be when, and if, they ever returned to live in this apartment.