“We’re flying tomorrow. It’s a good thing I came around.”
I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe. “We need to talk about you going through my phone.”
“Ah, yes. Who’s J?”
“That’s not what I meant. You can’t do that, Mum. It’s not okay. It’s a massive invasion of my privacy. As is letting yourself into my flat.”
“Why haven’t you told me about him?”
She might as well have put her fingers in her ears while singing ‘la, la, la’. What do I expect to gain from calling out her bad behaviour? An apology? A promise she’ll never do it again?
“Because it’s none of your business.”
She presses her lips into a hurt line. “Why are you being so defensive?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you snuck in here while I was in the shower, took my phone from my room, and nosed through it.”
“I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t hiding things from me.”
I push away from the doorframe and throw my hands up. “I’m not a teenager, Mum. I don’t have to give you a blow-by-blow rundown of everything that’s happening in my life.”
She doesn’t have room to talk. She got married without telling me. Married!
She pouts. “It would be nice if you did. I miss you.”
Guilt tugs the pit of my stomach. Great. I sit beside her. “Maybe ask rather than snooping through my phone next time?”
She pats my knee. “You’re seeing someone.”
“Yes.”
“Is it serious?”
Good question. No, except when we’re cuddled together having sleepy conversations, it feels like it could be. But Jacob’s concerns about what people will think about our relationship aren’t going to go away anytime soon, and I have no idea how to soothe them. I can’t tell Mum any of that.
“No. We have fun together, that’s all. Neither of us is thinking about settling down.”
“What’s his name?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Josiah.”
Mum gapes. “That’s…old fashioned.”
“Right? He hates it and prefers to be called J.” Is any of this credible?
“Understandable.”
Ugh, lying to Mum is shit. But what choice do I have? I can’t break Jacob’s confidence. It would ruin things between us. Plus, his fears are valid. I might not care what other people think, but he does.
“Well, if it does get serious, I’d like to meet him.”
I force a smile. “Of course.”
How would that conversation go? Not something I want to think about now.
We talk for a while longer, and Mum insists on helping me pack, even though I’m capable of doing it myself.
