“Like, I’ve been learning how to chop vegetables, sauté things. Make sauces. Also, I’m kind of an egg expert now,” I say with a hint of pride.
“Oh. I didn’t know that was something you wanted to learn about. But that’s great. It sounds like you’re having fun.” Her words are kind, but her tone is flat. Confused maybe.
“I am.” The doorbell rings. It’s an excuse to hang up, but I wish that I didn’t want one. “Mom, I’m sorry, but someone is here. I gotta go.”
“Keep me updated on the house.” Right before we hang up, she says awkwardly, “I’m glad things are going well. With this cooking and all. Meeting people.”
“I am too.”
“Before you go, do you have a guess about how long all of this work will take?”
I can sense her agitation. “I know you want this all done soon, but it’s not going to be as fast as you want. House renovations take time. You know that.” I force myself to take a deep breath before I say what I do. “I think I’ll need to be here through the summer.” And that’s only a partial truth, but it’s all that I can admit to myself right now.
To my surprise, she reacts more calmly than I would have expected. “That’s okay. I understand. Through the summer seems reasonable. It’s an old house; it needs much more work than I wanted to admit, but it sounds as though you’re handling it all.”
“It’s not as though there’s any reason to rush back. I haven’t left anything behind.”
I immediately regret my words, but my mother hides any hurt when she finally replies, “Please come home when you’re ready.”
She might think of Los Angeles as my home, but it feels less and less so, if it ever was.
