Inconvenient Daughter: A Novel

By Lauren J. Sharkey

“Illuminates with cutting truth the layers of longing and grief which underlie a transracial adoption . . . sharply written, intense, and page-turning.” —Randy Susan Meyers, bestselling author of Waisted

Rowan Kelly knows she’s lucky. After all, if she hadn’t been adopted, she could have spent her days in a rice paddy, or a windowless warehouse assembling iPhones—they make iPhones in Korea, right? Either way, slowly dying of boredom on Long Island is surely better than the alternative. But as she matures, she realizes that she’ll never know if she has her mother’s eyes, or if she’d be in America at all had her adoptive parents been able to conceive.

Rowan sets out to prove that she can be someone’s first choice. After running away from home—and her parents’ rules—and ending up beaten, barefoot, and topless on a Pennsylvania street courtesy of Bad Boy Number One, Rowan attaches herself to Never-Going-to-Commit. When that doesn’t work out, she fully abandons self-respect and begins browsing Craigslist personals. But as Rowan dives deeper into the world of casual encounters with strangers, she discovers what she’s really looking for.

With a fresh voice and a quick wit, Lauren J. Sharkey dispels the myths surrounding transracial adoption, the ties that bind, and what it means to belong.

A Finalist for Foreword Review’s 2020 INDIES Book of the Year Award in Adult Fiction—Multicultural

“Stirring . . . a moving account of Rowan’s difficult reckoning with her identity. This is an adept portrayal of the long shadow of abuse and the difficulty of being an adoptee.” —Publishers Weekly

• Language: English
• Publisher: Akashic Books
• Release date: Jun 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781617758379

Lauren J. Sharkey

LAUREN J. SHARKEY is a writer, teacher, and transracial adoptee. After her birth in South Korea, she was adopted by Irish Catholic parents and raised on Long Island. Sharkey’s creative nonfiction has appeared in the Asian American Feminist Collective’s digital storytelling project, First Times, as well as several anthologies including I Am Strength! and Women under Scrutiny. Inconvenient Daughter is her debut novel, and is loosely based on her experience as a Korean adoptee. You can follow her at ljsharks.com.

Book preview

Chapter one

---

If you've never hated yourself and want to, do not correct them when they assume you've been raped. Accept kindness from the hardest nurse ever to work the ER as she hands you a clipboard and asks for identification. Hope no one will recognize you, for this wouldn't be the first time you were found somewhere other than where you said you'd be. Pray the answer is in your blood and it isn't too late.

Rowan, the nurse reads, closing the curtain behind her, you believe you were sexually assaulted?

No, I whimper as she wraps the nylon cuff around my right arm, I was. I was fine and then he . . . I wanted to stop, but I couldn't—

Easy, easy, she says, finally looking up from the clipboard and placing a hand on my shoulder. Take a deep breath for me, okay, Rowan?

Okay.

As the Velcro cracks against the silence, I try to calm myself.

130 over 90.

Is that bad?

It's a little high, but not too bad. Do you smoke?

No.

Cigarettes, marijuana?

No.

Do you drink?

No.

But you drank last night?

Yeah, but I don't drink a lot, like, normally.

And how old are you, Rowan?

Twenty-four.

It says here you're on birth control.

Yeah.

Any other medication?

No.

Any family history of cancer, diabetes, heart disease?

I'm adopted. No family history.

* * *

It was my first day at big-girl school, and we were late because my hair would not curl. Mom hit the brake of our tan Chevy Astro so hard I lurched forward in my car seat.

The night before, Mom had asked how I'd like to wear my hair for my first day. I remembered my fingers getting stuck in her dark brown curls, and asked for curls of my own. When she took the curlers out the next morning, I cried when I saw my hair was still straight.

Don't cry, Rowan. You have beautiful hair. People would give anything to have thick, straight hair like yours.

She wiped my tears and separated my hair into two braids, promising if I kept them in all day and slept on them at night, my hair would be wavy the next day.

In the years to come, Mom would try different ways to give me the curls I wanted so desperately—Wash 'N Curl shampoo, ion curlers, and curling irons—but it always ended the same way: curly before I caught the bus, deflated by lunch, and straight by the time I walked up the driveway of our house on Elderberry. We didn't realize all I wanted was physical proof we belonged to one another—something tangible, an undeniable link.

* * *

I heard Mom breathing hard as she slid the door open, attempting to undo the seat belt. When I was finally undone, my Cinderella lunch box got caught in the straps, and I whined as Mom struggled to free me.

Damn it, she said through clenched teeth.

Mommy! You're not supposed to say that!

Shhh, Rowan! Come on, come on.

I saw boys and girls, in jumpers exactly like mine, going through two double doors and into a large building—their mommies alternating between waving goodbye and wiping their tears. Mom began to walk faster, dragging me behind.

Mommy, slow down!

Once inside, a wrinkled lady pointed down the hallway and said Mrs. Matthei's classroom was on the left. We sprinted down the hallway, and headed toward a room where we heard laughter.

Hi, said a round woman with blond hair, freckles, and a smile, you must be Rowan.

Yes, Mom replied, this is Rowan.

It's very nice to meet you, Rowan. My name is Patty—I'm Mrs. Matthei's helper.

Hi, Patty, I said, slightly cowering behind Mom.

We're going to get started soon. Why don't you have a seat at the table with the green chairs—do you know which one that is?

I nodded and pointed to the round table with lime-green chairs.

Very good! Do you want to say goodbye to Mommy before she goes?

Mom crouched down to meet me at eye level and hugged me tight.

You're coming back, right? I asked.

Yes, I'll be back later, and I want to hear about all the fun things you do today.

Mom?

What, sweetie?

I don't want to go here.

Rowan, we talked about this, Mom sighed.

I want to come home with you.

Tell you what—you be a good girl for Mrs. Matthei and Patty, and there will be chocolate chip cookies when you get home, okay?

Okay, I said, squeezing her one more time. Bye, Mommy!

I ran past tables with blue, red, yellow, and purple chairs before sitting in the last available green chair, quietly taking in the room. The blackboard at the front of the classroom was blank, while the one on the far wall had a chart with each student's name, accompanied by small boxes to the right. I saw some boys and girls placing their backpacks into the cubbies beneath it but was too afraid to take off my backpack without permission.

I rested my head on the Cinderella lunch box Mom bought at the Disney Store especially for my first day, inhaling the scent of crayons and pencil shavings. The boys across from me were giggling and one asked, Who is that lady?

I followed his finger and noticed Mom was still at the front of the classroom talking to Patty and Mrs. Matthei.

That's my mommy.

Why don't you look like your mommy?

I don't know, I said honestly. My mommy says I'm special.

My brother is 'special.' He can't go to school with normal kids 'cause he's retarded. Are you a retard?

No! I did not know what a retard was.

She's adopted, the girl next to me explained. My mom said your real mommy is in China but she didn't want you, so she gave you to a lady in America who can't make babies.

Gross, the boy said, pushing his chair away from the table. That's worse than cooties!

The rest of the children pushed their chairs back—no one cared about my Cinderella lunch box with its matching thermos.

I looked at my mother. While I couldn't remember what color my eyes were, I knew they were not blue. They were not round. They were not hers.

I began to panic and attempted to fix myself by taking a deep breath and lifting up my eyelids as far as they'd go.

* * *

I simply didn't notice. Mom and Dad looked as they did, and Aidan and I looked as we did.

I'm not sure how Mom and Dad explained what it meant to be adopted. Even if I knew their exact words, at five you're too young to understand that fertility either strengthens or destroys a marriage, a dream . . . a person. You don't get that adoption isn't just a solution to a problem—it's arguments that last days and forms asking the same questions and home inspections. It's interviews and your call is very important to us. It's hormone injections and low sperm counts and old wives' tales and nonresponsive to treatment. It's what seems like yet another defeat in a long line of shit that isn't working.

It starts coming together when kids begin using their middle and index fingers to pull the corners of their eyes and laugh, Me Chinese, me play joke—me put peepee in your Coke. It gets clearer when your classmates ask why you brought Irish soda bread in for Culture Day instead of fortune cookies. You are Asian to the people around you, but not to yourself.

I didn't know what it meant to be Asian, but it seemed everyone else did. They expected me to know karate, be good at math, and be able to use chopsticks, but I could do none of these things. As I moved through grade school, the novelty of my having slanted eyes and a permanent tan seemed to wear off.

I forgot the first time I met Mom was in an airport, and not in the delivery room of a hospital. I forgot the stick never turned blue for her, and instead, motherhood was delivered via phone call during my grandfather's wake—Rowan James, my father's father, after whom I was named. I forgot there was another woman out there I could call mother.

* * *

Valentina and I gave each other knowing smiles as Sister Joan wheeled in the trolley. Despite the Panasonic being held in place by tension straps, Sister Joan still needed assistance to force the structure over the threshold that could not have measured more than half an inch in height. I found myself thankful Jessica Kautzman had transferred from Sacred Heart Academy, bumping me out of the first row, and sparing me the responsibility of helping Sister Joan work the VCR.

Unlike Mrs. Matthei's classroom, Sister Joan's was devoid of color and personality. Her desk, meticulously organized and questionably uncluttered, was at the far end, by the windows. It would later migrate to the center of the room, allowing Sister Joan a better vantage point to observe whether Valentina and I were passing notes.

Six rows of six desks each faced the blackboard, and the bookcase that shelved enough copies of the New American Bible, St. Joseph Medium Size Edition, for each Mercy girl.

Sister Joan looked as though she had been born cranky. I surmised she earned her wrinkles by perfecting the perpetual frown that sat between her nose and chin.

Ladies, ladies! she said, clapping her hands together. No talking. While Miss Kautzman sets up the television, who can tell me who founded Our Lady of Mercy Academy? Yes, Miss Finelli?

If there's one girl I hated at OLMA, it was Gianna Finelli. She got on at the last stop on the bus to Mercy, and always managed to hit me with her Jansport just as I had fallen asleep for the last half hour of the morning commute. I had this fantasy of yanking her black ponytail and hurling her onto the floor before using a Sharpie to connect her freckles.

The Sisters of Mercy, Gianna answered, giving me the finger as my eyes followed Sister Joan down the middle row.

That is correct! But who founded the Sisters of Mercy? Miss Aiken?

Catherine McAuley.

"Yes, Sister Catherine McAuley opened the first House of Mercy in Ireland in 1827. She wanted to use her inheritance to build a place where women could be sheltered and educated. Some of these women were unwed mothers whose families had disowned them, which is why it's always important to practice abstinence."

Giggles.

Ladies, Sister Joan said sternly, there is nothing funny about abstinence and there is most certainly nothing funny about the consequences of premarital . . . relations.

Even at her age, the good sister couldn't bring herself to say the word.

Many of the girls were no older than you are now—forced to live on the street, starving. Some of them with wee babes in their arms against the bitter cold. Yes, Randi, I see your hand—what is it?

The class shared a collective groan. If there was one girl all of us hated, it was Randi. In fact, the amount of irritation she evoked incited us to begin calling her Fuckin' Randi.

I guess our hatred had something to do with the fact that she didn't roll her skirt up like the rest of us, and her hair looked as though she'd only had enough time to run a brush through it once. Even though she was never tardy for class, she gave the appearance—and, unfortunately, the odor—of someone running late. Perhaps it was because she wore a rosary—not Sarah-Michelle-Gellar-wore-a-rosary, but like actually wore a rosary.

A girl from my church got pregnant and she's only fifteen and I think it's absolutely disgusting. Randi smiled triumphantly, as if never having kissed a boy was something to be proud of.

Were you there when she got pregnant? I muttered to Valentina.

Sister Joan's lips formed a tight line as laughter rippled through the rows.

I watched Randi smile and blink blankly, confused as to why my comment was so humorous. What? she laughed nervously.

It was then I realized we didn't hate Randi—we envied her. Despite her frizzy black hair forever being out of style, and the visible sweat stains of her white polo, Randi was completely secure in who she was. She didn't give a shit what we thought, and we wished we could be as confident as she.

Do you have something to add, Miss Kelly?

Nope, nothing to add, I said, trying to suppress a smile.

Getting back to you, Randi. Tell us more about this young woman at your church.

Well, Randi began, clearing her throat, sitting up straight, basking in having the room's attention. She told us about how the girl tried to hide the pregnancy from her parents, how she still loved the boy who did it to her, and how she was being sent away someplace upstate and would be back in a few months . . . without the baby.

Murmurs.

"Ladies, please—ladies, that's enough! Thank you for sharing with us, Randi. Understand this, girls—intercourse is meant to be an act of love. Genesis tells us, A man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. Intercourse symbolizes two people becoming one in the hopes of having a child they may raise in God's image and likeness. This is why it is sinful to have relations before marriage. Not only is it sinful, but when young, unwed mothers find themselves with child— Sister Joan inhaled deeply, clutching her rosary. There is no greater sin than taking the life of another, except taking the life of a child. Abortion is never the answer, which brings us to today's presentation." She pushed the cassette into the VCR, which had God Bless the Child scribbled in blue pen across a piece of masking tape.

On the screen, I watched Theresa and her daughter Hilary move from shelter to shelter, sleeping on the streets when there were no beds, or when they didn't make it back to the shelter on time. After Hilary contracted lead poisoning, a social worker at the hospital told Theresa the only way Hilary could lead a normal life was if Theresa abandoned her.

Before they left the hospital, Theresa presented Hilary with a necklace.

You know what that heart means? she asked. It means your mommy loves you. And whenever you look at it, that's what I want you to remember—your mommy loves you.

Theresa took Hilary to the park and placed her on the swings, promising to return with sandwiches. Then, hiding behind a tree, she watched social workers take Hilary, who called out for her mother.

I'd never given much thought to my biological mother since the first day of kindergarten. Yet here I was, nine years and one Cinderella lunch box later, shedding tears for a woman I'd never met.

Sister Joan tapped me on the shoulder and escorted me outside, leaving the door ajar so as to listen for mischief and unwittingly aid eavesdroppers. Her classroom was the last on the right, but there was still another on the left, plus three yards, before the end of the hall.

As we strolled past Sister Pat's geology lecture, I could feel the class's gaze follow us until we disappeared from view, though whispers and speculation still lingered.

I'd been in high school exactly two months, and already had a reputation. I rolled my skirt above the knee, chewed gum in class, and painted my nails black in the hope of getting expelled and being banished to Mineola High School and the boys who smoked Newports outside.

What's the matter, Rowan? Sister Joan asked.

Sister Joan knew she was my least favorite teacher, and that she was my least favorite teacher because she taught my least favorite class—theology. She'd written me more demerits than any other nun at Mercy—mostly for uniform violations. Two weeks prior to this conversation, she'd sent me home with a sealed envelope, which Mom was to sign and return. Enclosed was a copy of the dress code, with the following passage highlighted in orange: Skirts are to be worn at the knee or slightly above the knee. Skirts are never to be rolled at the waist. There was also a brochure on the relationship between modesty and abstinence. I'm not sure I confided in Sister Joan because I wanted to, or because fourteen years was too long to hold it in.

I told her I hoped this was how I came to be here—that my biological mother loved me and wanted the best for me, even if that meant we couldn't be together. That she knew it was better to give me to another family than have us suffer together. That she was willing to break her own heart so I'd never know the hardship she'd endured alone.

The bell rang and I watched the sea of navy and maroon sweaters funneling out of the classrooms and down the hall as Sister Joan took me in her arms and said, "Rowan, God sought fit to bless you with two mothers—your adoptive mother, and your biological mother, who loved you so much that she chose life, not death. She placed you in the hands of God, in the hope

Reviews for Inconvenient Daughter

[pinklady60 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An adopted Korean teenage girl runs away from home and, while trying to fit into her Caucasian family and feel accepted, continually chooses the wrong boyfriends and ends up in many casual encounters and abusive relationships.This book begins as a rather humorous young adult book, but gradually deals with emotional and complex issues of self-esteem. To make the story flow a little more smoothly, I would have appreciated a more in-depth look at the relationship between Rowan and her mother.

[brangwinn · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Rowan only knows life living in suburban Long Island, but everyone seems to identify her as Korean. She was adopted from Korea by her Catholic parents and knows nothing of Korea. She worries that she’s never been wanted, and like a teenager doesn’t know how to deal with that other than by isolating herself from those who care about her. The first-person narrative does an excellent job in portraying roan’s loneliness and search for identity. It seems a little uneven and that is distracting.

[christiana5 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received this book from the Early Reviewers program in exchange for an honest review. This is the author's debut novel, and she notes that it's loosely based on her own experiences. She's a good writer, and her story is raw and honest, and more than a little disturbing. She was adopted from Korea by a white family on Long Island, and spent much of her teens and early twenties trying to work through her feelings about her "BioMom" having given her up. Her initial efforts at this largely consisted of rebelling against her adoptive mother, engaging in relationships with abusive men, and seeking out casual encounters, much of which were quite painful to read about. The ending implies, but doesn't clearly explicate, that she found her way to more effective and positive ways to cope with her feelings, and I certainly hope she did. Well written, but not an (emotionally) easy read.

[jeanie0510 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed this book about the life of a child that was adopted from Korea. The author follows her life as a child through an adult. During her childhood, she struggles with her identity and why she doesn't look like the other kids in school. She is teasedand shunned because of her race, however, as she becomes an adult she continues to struggle with her identity as part of an American family versus her identity as a Korean. She struggles with why her birth mother gave her up for adoption, butdoesn't investigate further. Her American parents love her dearly and would do about anything to make her happy, but nothing seems to satisfy her feeling of loneliness. As an adult, she goes to college for a few years and then leaves collegeand returns home only to become involved with abusive men and one night lovers to satisfy her feeling of not being loved by her birth mother. This was an easy read and had some very poignant descriptions of her family life and the ways they tried to help Rowen to be happy, have a good education and a good life. and the ways she tried to find that happiness in destructive ways.

[mel927 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A sad tale of a Korean child adopted into a loving Irish Catholic family, but she can never accept that she is worthy of love. I read it in one sitting.

[nyiper · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When I saw on the back cover that the author "loosely based" her own experience as a Korean adoptee as a basis for the book---I had to assume that the story was possibly part memoir. That may have been a huge mistake on my part because the author is generous in expressing her love for her parents in the Acknowledgements. But oh dear me, what a story---almost impossibly sad. In some ways it shows a young person destroying her life almost on purpose. The ending....left me....speechless??? I'm just not sure I really understood the final paragraph.I do give the author a lot of credit for writing a very compelling story---even with some pretty gruesome descriptions. Jumping back and forth between times was a little confusing ---almost too many time lines to follow easily---especially when they changed in one paragraph right next to another different one.I'm quite sure Sharkey can write another novel---she's good with descriptions and a story line over time. I just hope she doesn't have to use any of her own personal background for the main character in her next work.

[jsbancroft · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I wanted to like this book much more than I did. The portions of the book dealing with the protagonist's feelings of self-doubt and lack of belonging as a result of her "BioMom" giving her up for adoption were honest and heartfelt. The protagonist's feelings of loneliness and not fitting in in middle school and high school were heart-breakingly real. I was less engaged by the portions of the book where she tries first to find love and then to prove to herself how worthless she is through abusive relationships and meaningless sex. I thought the book dealt honestly with issues of emotional partner abuse, and the trauma of sexual abuse.***I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.***

[alliepascal-876024 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Was really looking forward to reading "Inconvenient Daughter," but it didn't live up to my expectations. I thought it was contemptible and try-hard. At best, I would call it an early draft that has a good core but needs more work.What drew me to this novel was the fact that it was about trauma as a result of adoption, specifically transracial adoption. The problem is that it is so unsubtle in the way it presents Rowan's issues.Because Rowan can't really accept the fact that she was abandoned as a child and put up for adoption, she has a contentious relationship with her mother, and as a result of that she leads a troubled life. She's rebellious. She disagrees with her mother on just about everything. She gets into smoking, and drugs a bit, and then boys. This comes to a head in college when one of those boys ends up being abusive. She eventually finds herself in a situation that lands her in the hospital, and we learn from the very first page that she's there to falsely report that she's been sexually assaulted.This would be an okay narrative if the writing was stronger, and if the main character was more sympathetic, but I thought Rowan was insufferable. A fairly accurate portrayal of a teenager, but she's so lacking in self-awareness that the "realistic conceited teen" personality lost its appeal pretty quickly. I couldn't even bring myself to care about her landing herself in an abusive relationship because it was so abruptly inserted into the story.Even more abrupt is how the story ends. I did find the ending scene sweet, where Rowan's mother affirms her love for her, but it came on too suddenly, and honestly it was predictable that they would make up (it might have been the book description that spoiled this: "...she discovers what she's really looking for").Other random things that irritated or stood out to me:-every fight between Rowan and her mother lacked buildup and thus emotional impact-twice the book is snide about lesbians; Rowan jokingly calls her friend a lesbo, and Rowan's college dormmate announces out of nowhere, for no reason, that she isn't a lesbian, and that it's important that Rowan knows this because people assume that she is because she plays a sport.-Rowan calls math dumb because she's never going to use it in her life. I'm aware that a lot of people hate math, and believe and repeat this kind of thing all the time, but that doesn't stop it from being irritating to read without it ever being challenged. -Rowan "briefly worked for a telemarketing scam." !!? This line was written so casually, without any sense of shame at all. I wasn't even surprised, because Rowan is that sort of character.Thank you Akashic Books for the ARC (and for sending it out so quickly), but I can't say I found much that I liked about "Inconvenient Daughter." Brilliant title, along with the cover design; it definitely caught my attention. I liked the beginning and the ending, but not much in between.

[3bythesea · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I found this book a little disappointing. The issue of transracial adoption is interesting, however the exploration of it fell short for me. Why is exploring her biological parents roots and her country of birth of less interest to this character than others? Why are negative relationships with men her response rather than other behaviors? None of this is clear and makes it harder to care about Rowan. While the author's style is engaging the plot/characters were almost but not quite there.

[carolee888 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Wow, this review is a hard one to write. First, I want to say that the author has a lot of promise, her writing held my attention all the way through. Please keep writing. However, I want to caution anyone who has a depressive disorder like me to skip this one. The writing is raw, honest and scary.It seemed like the author was a story of two parts.Part One, a baby is born in South Korea to a single mother and given up to a place for adoption. A couple adopted her brother, Aidan who had white ancestry. The baby, named Rowan never bonded with her mother and her mother seemed to a spend her affection more on one of her daycare kids. I wanted to break into this book and scream Family Counseling, but the characters never heard me. Rowan did have some experiences with her father as she was growing older but she never let go of her dream of unconditional love from her adoptive mother.Part Two, Rowan starts seeking the love that she never got from a stream of boys, then teenagers and men. That is when I wanted to tell to get help not men, to learn to love herself. I finished the book but it left me angry, upset and unsettled.