The line is silent for a beat. “Hurt you? Honey, I’m helping you.”
“I know you mean it that way, Mom. But sending me articles about my ‘dating curse’ or how to make myself into a different person to win over a guy…that’s not helpful.”
A soft sound of disbelief comes through the line. “How are you going to improve yourself if you don’t know what men want? Don’t you want your relationship with Reed to last?”
“Mom.” I look out the window, watching townies stroll up and down Maple and wander into shops, all of them merrily unaware of the woman just feet away from them making a major life change in her car. “I actually think I’m pretty great. I don’twantto change myself for a man.”
Not anymore. And never again.
“But I do have some things I need to work on. Like getting better at telling people no. And not trying so hard to be agreeable that I lose sight of my own wants and needs.”
My heart slams against my ribcage, letting me know loud and clear this is a fight or flight situation. But for the first time, I’m choosing to fight.
“I don’t understand where this is coming from. Are you saying I’m a bad mother?”
“She said what?” Dad bleats in the background. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m telling you it hurts my feelings when you tell me I’m not good enough and that I always need to change.”
“I’m trying to help you, Rosie.” Mom’s pleading, which only makes me feel worse. She really thinks she’s in my corner, when half the time, I’m shadow-boxing against her helpful advice. “You’re thirty-one, honey. You don’t have a lot of time. You need our help, or you might never find someone.”
I’ve believed that for a long time. Mom and Dad got marriedyoung. They must have had it figured out, right? But I can’t go on feeling like a failure for not having what they do yet.
And that is a resounding yet. Notever.
“I don’t need your help anymore with this. Like you said, I’m thirty-one. I can do this on my own.” My relationships, my wants and needs, my life. I can handle it all.
“But—”
“I love you, Mom. So much. But I don’t want to hear any more about what I’m failing at or how I need to put myself second or all the ways I’m ruining my relationships.” Nerves and exhilaration clash together inside me, making me vibrate with energy like a plucked guitar string. “I need you to stop doing that.”
“If that’s what you want.” She sounds as if I asked her to give up breathing oxygen. “But I just know if you only?—”
“Mom.”
“Oh. I guess that’s part of it.” She sighs. “It won’t be easy to stop making suggestions, Rosie. I want the best for you, I hope you know that. But I’ll…I’ll try.”
Trying’s a start. But we’re not done here. No sense wasting this adrenaline churning through me.
“We also need to talk about the house.”
“What do you mean?” She’s wary now that I’ve thrown her off guard. But I’m not sure I could have approached this in a way where she’d welcome the conversation.
“I painted the living room.”
“Oh, Rosie.” She scolds me like I’m a toddler who just dumped out a bag of flour. “We agreed you wouldn’t do that.”
“I didn’t agree. You told me. But giving me the house and not letting me change anything—not even moving any of your things out—isn’t really giving it to me.”
“The deed has your name on it,” Dad says.
“Yes, and I’m grateful for it. I really am. But I’m not allowed to actually live in it, am I? What am I supposed to do when I find the man I want to share my life with? How do I bring him into my space when I’m still sharing it with you?”
Mom gasps. “Does this mean Reed’s moving in?”
That one’s on me. I walked into it.
“This isn’t about Reed. It’s about me.” I shore up my courage for the last important part. “If you don’t intend on ever moving out of the house, I’m going to give it back to you.”
