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I love my family, and this kind of teasing is commonplace at Sunday dinners. I don’t always attend, but my little brother and his girlfriend never fail to turn up for a free meal.
“So, Larissa, how are you feeling?” my mom asks as she pokes her fork into some green beans.
She rubs her belly and leans back. “Really full.”
“That’ll happen the bigger you get. Baby’s squishing your stomach.”
She grins. “He’s squishing my bladder, too.”
I’m really happy for my brother, and I’m excited to become an aunt, but again, he has something I’ll probably never have.
“So, Christa. You seeing anyone?” Mom asks, trying again.
“Nope,” I say, letting the P pop.
“Why not?” Brett quips. “Too picky?”
Hardly.
I lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
“What happened to that Eric guy?” Brett asks.
I internally cringe. I told them we weren’t seeing each other anymore, but never elaborated on why. They don’t know about his past, either, and I planned to keep it that way. My dad’s a retired cop and he’d for sure hate it.
“We broke up. I don’t wanna talk about it.” I take a big bite of my chicken so I stop talking.
The rest of the dinner goes fine, and my dad tells us cop stories and it keeps my mind off of everything. The chocolate cake after dinner helped, too.
As I go to leave, my mom slips her shoes on and follows me outside. I stop on the porch.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, her light-brown hair streaked with gray and up in a bun that shines in the porch light.
“It’s just been a tough breakup,” I confess, looking down as my chin wobbles.
My mom and I have always been close and I mostly tell her everything, but this thing with Eric, I don’t feel like I can tell her everything. Not yet, anyway. I’m still holding out hope we’ll get back together and I don’t want to say anything negative in case we do. I don’t need my family having preconceived notions that he’s a jerk or a player or that he cheated on me or something. They never even met him—we hadn’t gotten around to the meet-the-family thing yet—but I wanted them to. I know my dad will remember his case, as he was still a cop back then, and I wanted Eric to explain it to them, not me. It’s not my story to tell.
“If you need anything, baby girl, just call. I’m a good listener,” she says, hugging me.
“I know, Mom. And I will. Thank you.”
Despite my sadness, I do feel better. I guess a girl is never too old to need her mama.
