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I sat there, idling in my car on the curb outside my childhood home and let more tears slip out of my eyes. I needed to talk to Mom. I needed her advice so badly, but I couldn’t tell her…could I? I couldn’t break their heart like that.
Then again, If I wanted things to last with Owen, I had to tell them at some point, no matter how much it hurt them.
My chest felt bruised, like it’d been shredded open and glued back together. I hated that my happiness would hurt them.
Then again, was it worth saying anything at all? Chances are things wouldn’t work out, and we would all end up hurting.
Indecision kept me still in the car for more than an hour before Mom spotted me through the living room window and started waving frantically through the open curtains. She disappeared, then came rushing out the door, her arms outstretched like she was just waiting for that hug I was craving.
I got out of the car, trying to suck all my emotions back in, but they all came blubbering out of me the moment Mom’s matronly arms wrapped around me, holding me so tightly.
“Oh, honey, what is it?” she cooed, smoothing my hair while I sobbed. “Tell me what’s the matter, baby girl.”
I just shook my head and sucked snot back up my nose before it dripped.
I was a real mess.
Mom led me into the house and sat me at the kitchen table, then went about preparing some honey and lemon tea. She’d always done that when I was upset about something, and the familiar motions made my heart hurt more.
I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t break Mom’s heart.
Right?
She set the tea before me, along with a box of Oreos because she knew they were my favorite cookies, right behind her homemade ones.
“Now,” she said, stroking my hair back from my face, just like Owen had done last night… “What’s got my baby girl all torn up?”
I wiped at my eyes, my nose, then looked into her familiar blue eyes.
“It’s about the guy I’ve been dating,” I told her, squeaking out the words. “Owen.”
“That’s his name, is it?” she asked, nodding her head. “Tell me what’s the matter, dear. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
A flash of fierce protectiveness flickered across her expression, but she toned it down and waited for me to speak.
I needed her advice. I needed it like I needed to breathe. I had to think of something, because I was freaking desperate.
“Well,” I blew out in a shaky voice. “He’s… There’s a really big thing between us. A big difference…”
How could I word it so it would make sense?
“You mean religion?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows.
I clung to it.
“Something like that,” I started, but she just nodded along, already on to the next part of our conversation.
“He’s not a Methodist, then?” she confirmed.
“No,” I said honestly. “He’s not Methodist.”
Mom frowned.
“Ok. Well, there are worse things,” she said, but frowned again. “Is he Christian?”
I shook my head, realizing that I’d never even asked him.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know if he believes in religion at all.”
