Ugh, why was I giving her all this information? When would I learn?
Mom:Are you sure they’re broken up?
Mom:I want to meet him to make sure. I can’t have my Jingleball with just anyone.
Merrie:Matt is not coming to your party.
Mom:That’s OK. I’ll come to his office.
For the love of—
Merrie:NO! DO NOT GO TO HIS OFFICE!
Mom:You don’t need to shout.I’m just trying to look out for you, Jingleball!
I leaned over tothunkmy head on the counter. Now on today’s to-do list, along with baking a bazillion cookies, was convincing my mom not to start stalking Matt.
He is never going to want anything to do with you once he meets Mom.
I was shocked he still wanted to sleep with me after meeting Aunt Bettina, but maybe Matt had been extra horny.
I jumped when he appeared in the kitchen.
Then I prayed with all my might that the person ringing the doorbell was not my mom. Surely it wouldn’t be her, right? That would be crazy, right?Right?
“Oh my god!” my mom exclaimed loudly from the hallway.
I turned off the stove and poured myself a shot glass of hollandaise sauce.
Matt was confused when he followed my mom into the kitchen.
“Jingleball!” My mom spread her arms for a big hug. A cat sat in her purse, and she was wearing her lucky coat, which consisted of a patchwork quilt of scraps of clothing that held meanings from different Christmases in her life. She had made it herself, and she was not a professional seamstress, to say the least.
“Merrie invited me over,” she told Matt.
“I didn’t,” I hissed at her.
I could not believe it. Who had their mom show up for breakfast right after a hookup?
He is going to throw you out and delete your number, and I can’t even blame him.
My mom bustled around the kitchen. “You let that bacon cook a little too long, Jingleball, and I’m taking your toast out of the toaster because it’s getting a little burnt, and you don’t want to feed my future son-in-law burnt toast, do you?”
Matt’s face was a cold, unreadable mask.
Fuck my life.
“Sorry,” I mumbled to Matt, ducking my head.
“I know I’m interrupting your morning,” my mom said, taking plates out of the cupboards and grabbing fruit out of the fridge. “You can’t just feed him half a breakfast, Merrie,” she chided, deseeding a pomegranate.
“You can’t just come into someone else’s house without an invitation,Mom.”
“I’m trying to help,” she insisted as she cut up a pear. “And I came to invite you and Matt to my ugly sweater Christmas party.”
“He’s busy,” I hissed, trying to take the pear from her.
“You can’t be too busy for a Christmas party,” she scoffed. “What are you doing tonight?”
