“Mom,” I try to sound less agitated than I feel. “I was just telling you I’ve been throwing my guts up every day, and you interrupt to ask me about him. Bo is fine. He’s great. Butyour daughtercould use some maternal advice.”
“Sorry, you’re right. I was so sick with you too, chickie. It’s awful, but someday soon, it’ll all be worth it.”
“Any tips?”
“The only thing that worked for me was consuming my weight in root beer and salted pretzels daily. Doctors would probably warn you against that method these days.”
“Think that’s how I got my hand?”
“Winnifred June!”
I giggle into the phone. My mom does too, but she’s fighting it as she always attempts to.
“I’m due July twenty-fourth,” I tell her once our giggles soften.
“Oh, wow. So… you’re afewmonths along.” There’s an unmistakable twinge of hurt in her voice that I obviously put there. I hate that she’s upset, but I also can’t say I wish I had called earlier. If I hadn’t waited, if I’d told herbeforedeciding to move in with Bo, this conversation would be a lecture and a series of disappointment-filled platitudes.
I thought you’d have learned from my mistakes. I raised you better than this. How exactly are you going to provide for this baby on your own while working at a café? What man will want you now?
And, sure, I’m using Bo as an unknowing safety net by allowing my mom to think we’re together romantically. But what neither of them don’t know won’t hurt them.
“I’m fifteen weeks along, as of yesterday.” I pause, feeling a tinge of guilt. “It really has been busy. I promise.”
“Well, thanks for telling me now, I guess.”
“Iamsorry, Mom. I think I got in my head about telling you. I wasn’t ready for it to feel real yet.”
“Does it feel real now?” she asks.
“No,” I answer honestly.
She sighs, some compassion returning to her humming tone. “I felt that way too. Up until they put a teeny, screamingyouin my arms, it all felt a bit made up.”
“Then it felt wonderful? The biggest blessing of your life? A gift from the heavens?” I ask, my voice theatrical.
“Sure did. Then scary. Then wonderful some more. Then scary again. You sort of repeat that until… forever. And if you’rereallylucky, one day, that baby calls you on a random Sunday evening in February and tells you that you’re going to be a grandma.”
“Surprise,” I singsong weakly.
“Guess it’s my turn to visityouthis summer, huh?”
“I’d like that, please.”
“I take it your schedule is a bit freed up,” she laughs out.
“August may be best—to make sure the kid shows up before you arrive. Wouldn’t want you here for my due date in case the baby gets stage fright.”And I don’t want you anywhere near that hospital room,I think to myself.
“Well, let me check with Duncan about when a good time for me to come up would be.”
“Did you get a new psychic? What happened to Maureen?”
“No,sweetie, Duncan is my beau. We’re going on four months. We’ve talked about him before. Oh!” She laughs in delight. “I have abeau,and you have aBo.”
Duncan? I don’tthinkI’ve heard of him before. But I can’t say that to Mom without risking another feud like theTravisincident of last July. My mother takes great offence at my lack of interest when it comes to her love life and my inability to keep track of the men coming and going.
I know it makes me a hypocrite, because I couldn’t care less when friends of mine sleep around or are serial monogamists, but Ihateit for my mom. Always have. I want more than for her to pour all of herself into a man for a few weeks or months at a time and then feel emptied out when they stop showing up.
“Duncan, right. Of course. Is he a pilot or just very astute at knowing when travel is appropriate?” I ask, a tad bitchy, I’ll admit.
