“Are you going to sit down, or what?”
“We only have cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning,” I said, breathless and weak. I was panicking over a cinnamon roll. What was wrong with me?
She made a face, looking away. “That’s… it made sense as a tradition when you were younger, but roles change as we grow older. You’re going away again soon. And you always loved cinnamon rolls. So this seems like as good an opportunity as any for a special occasion.”
Slowly, shakily, I eased myself down into the chair, sitting rigidly as Mother set a plate down in front of me with a roll. It was probably… gauche, if I started crying right now. “When did you… talk to Bridget?”
“We talked about it on Christmas,” she said. “And I suppose I hid from it, and she brought me up on it when she came to see me on Sunday.”
“On Sunday,” I repeated breathlessly. Well after our… breakup, if you could call it that. Even with everything I did—everything I didn’t do—she was still going around trying to make my life better.
“Yes, well, she came around and told me about how she… er… well…” She tented her hands. I waited for her to finish. When she didn’t—seeing her no longer a terrifying authority figure but just an awkward middle-aged woman looking for words—the tension left my abdomen, just a little.
“About how she… what?”
“She gave me a little more insight about her… career.”
I blinked. “How… much… insight?”
“Oh, all of it, I’m inclined to believe, unless there’s something else hiding.”
I laughed awkwardly, the tension diffusing more. I took my coffee cup in both hands. “I see,” I said.
“Have you… ever…” She cleared her throat hard. “You haven’t, say, contributed, have you?”
“Mom… are you asking if I’ve shot porn with her?”
She went scarlet, sitting up taller. “I just don’t think that’s the best career choice for you,” she said, words carefully chosen.
“She mentioned me a couple of times to her audience, but she’s very respectful of my privacy. Nobody knows my name or face. Or… body.”
She let out a long whoosh of air. “So, you, er, knew about it when…”
“When we started seeing each other, yes.” I had been refusing to ever acknowledge it that way, but I was tired of pretending. It felt so much easier just putting the words together.
“You don’t think it’s a problem.”
“No, of course not. If anything, I think she has the more honest job. I help big companies convince people to give them more money. She provides something people want.”
“I—I see.” She processed about a hundred different thoughts before she said, “Aren’t you just a bit worried about… you know, if other people have seen your partner…”
“They’re just looking. And only in ways she lets them. It doesn’t take anything away from her, from me, from us.”
“Right. Yes. I see.” She let out a long breath, looking down at her plate, her hands folded in front of it. I almost thought she was being uncomfortably stuffy about this before I realized my hands were folded in front of my plate too, in the exact same way.
“It’s a bit moot right now, isn’t it?” I said. “I mean… things went the way they did.”
She sighed. “I still have my reservations about Sam, but I’ve… invited him and Kevin to dinner with me on Friday. Do you want to come?”
“Er—I mean, I suppose I… could.”
She hung her head. “Maybe it’s because your Nan has been beating it into my head that Bridget is right, but I just… want to… try to do a little bit better. I love you. I just wanted you to grow up capable and respectable. And I guess I was trying to be… serious and respectable with it too. But maybe that wasn’t the approach you and Kevin needed.”
I felt like I was going to be sick. And probably cry at the same time. I wasn’t… accustomed to… losing my cool like this. “I… okay,” was all I managed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the words clearly agonizing for her to say.
“There’s—there’s nothing to apologize over,” I laughed nervously. “I’m perfectly fine. I mean, we’re all just doing our best. Parenting a child isn’t easy.”
