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“Idosupport what you want.” Mom put a hand up. “Hear me out—”
“What I hear is that you’ve decided there’s only one way I can be happy, and you’re determined to make that happen no matter what I tell you,” I interrupted. “I genuinely would rather be alone than pretend to date Justin or Travis or a random teenager.”
“Okay, okay.” Mom waved both hands. “We’ll tell the truth. Your boyfriend couldn’t make it. As long as people know you have one, they can’t make you feel bad for being single.”
“Mom, there’s no boyfriend!” I blurted out.
She stared back at me with wide eyes, then we both glanced at my brother. Patrick threw his phone up in front of his face like a riot shield.
Might as well get this over with. “Adam and I broke up.”
Mom’s expression grew worried. “Oh, honey, why didn’t you say anything?”
I gestured at Mom. “Because I knew I would never convince you to leave me alone!”
“What happened to break you up?”
“Does it matter?” I moved to grab another centerpiece. “This isn’t about me and Adam; it’s about me and you.”
“Okay.” Mom stayed in her seat. “You couldn’t have just told me you didn’t want a date?”
That wasn’t fair. “I texted you that I was okay going to the wedding alone.”
“I thought you were just saying that so you didn’t put me through too much trouble.”
Mom put her head into her hands. “I should have clarified.”
I sat at her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. Now that I’d gotten it off my chest, I didn’t feel as annoyed. “It’s okay.”
She looked up. “Is Adam even a real person, or did you make him up so I’d leave you alone?”
“Yeah, he’s real.”
“And you really broke up?”
I sighed. “Yep.”
“But you felt like you had to maintain the lie that you were together. I’m so, so sorry.” Mom’s eyes started to get watery. “I feel terrible, like the worst mother in the world. When I think about how you must have felt after your breakup, knowing you couldn’t talk to me about it...”
I stared at her while my thoughts whizzed by a mile a minute. Fork in the road number two: fill in the pothole in the relationship by immediately reassuring her that I was fine, knowing the hole would always make the ride a little bumpier, or tear up the old road and make a new one?
I didn’t really want to spend the next couple of decades forced to relive this every time Mom needed me to make her feel better about her mistake.
Another deep breath. “Part of the reason I didn’t tell you about the breakup is that I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Mom dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m angry at myself, honey, not you.”
I raised a hand. “I know. But even though your anger isn’t directed at me, it’s overwhelming, and I feel like I have to keep reassuring you that I’m okay. And it’s exhausting.”
She opened and closed her mouth. “I—I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” I said quickly. “I would love it if we could settle this and then not talk about it again, though.”
Mom nodded rapidly. “Whatever you want.”
That was it? All I had to do was tell her not to mention it and she agreed? I’d imagined Pompeii and gotten a sparkler.
Patrick shot me a sly thumbs up behind Mom’s back.
