Oh, Mom.
Still butchering adages.
“Leopard,” I say.
“Leopards have stripes,” she sniffles.
Dad hides a laugh.
“Do you remember when we used to stay at Moomoo’s house before she died?” I ask.
Moomoo. The name we affectionately called our grandmother, Jason’s mom.
Mom exhales heavily. “I do.”
“There was never any room for us at holidays because Aunt Jane and her family took up the two spare rooms,” I remind her. “You would get so upset because we’d have to camp on the living room floor in sleeping bags.”
She nods slowly. “You’re saying that I need to change my spots,” she says.
“I’m saying,” I sigh as I reach across the table and place a hand on hers, “don’t let anyone take what’s yours. Not your room. Not the spare room. Nothing. Stand up for yourself. And you,” I turn to face Dad, “you have to have her back. Work as a team. Two heads are better than one.”
“Hearts,” Mom interjects. “Two hearts are better than one.”
That’s not the saying, but Jill gets it. I know she does.
“I have some news,” I say.
Their faces pale.
“I’m not pregnant,” I quickly reassure them. “I promise.”
“Thank goodness.” Mom places a hand on her chest. “I was so worried.”
“But I am moving,” I say to them.
Their eyes widen at the exact same time.
“You’re moving?” Dad furrows his brow.
“I am moving,” I proudly proclaim. “But not until the fall.”
“You can’t,” Mom gasps. “I… you… Jason make her stay here!”
I blink, thoroughly confused. They couldn’t wait for Isla to leave and start her “adult” life far away from them. They don’t even know where I’m moving to yet.
“You’re going to California, aren’t you!” Mom wails.
“I’m going to New York,” I say.
“You’re not!” they both yell at the same time.
“Aren’t you the ones who told Isla to spread her wings and fly?” I question.
Or do I remember that conversation from all those years ago wrong?
Tears slip down Jill’s cheeks. “But we don’t like her!”
Dad exhales heavily. “What she means is that we like having you around, Ingrid. You get us.”
