Kelly, who’s been Mom’s assistant manager since the beginning, grins at me. “Dimi! C’mere and give me a hug, sweetheart. What brings you here on a workday?”
I squeeze her tightly, still marveling after fifteen years that I’m now taller than her. “I came to talk to Mom for a bit. Is she in the office?”
“Yep. Go on back—she’ll be thrilled to see you.”
I give her one last squeeze, then head through the store to the back room, and through it to the tiny, closet-sized office at the back. For whatever reason, my mom is doomed to always have closet-sized offices. I rap my knuckles against the open door—it’s always open, the place gives her claustrophobia otherwise—to get her attention, and when she looks up, she smiles wide. I marvel at that. Given how we left things on Monday, shouldn’t she be a bit wary?
“Hey, baby boy. What are you doing here?”
I step in and lean down to kiss her cheek, then perch on the edge of her desk. There’s literally nowhere else for me to be, and even that is kind of tight. We’d be more comfortable at the little café table in the back room where the staff has lunch, but there’s just a smidge more privacy here.
“I came to talk to you about Jason.”
Her happy smile is instantly replaced by fierceness. “What did he do? I knew this would turn out badly! Just wait—”
“Mom, stop.” My tone is a little edgier than I intended, and it stops her short. I make myself take a deep breath. I don’t want this to turn into an argument. I don’t want bad feelings between me and Mom. We’re going to have a calm, rational discussion, and she’s going to see reason.
If not, then we’ll have the argument.
“Jason’s done nothing. He doesn’t know I’m here. I want to talk to you about your behavior toward him.”
Her jaw sets in a way I recognize. This may not go well.
“It really hurts me that you feel the need to be so rude to Jason.” Sneaky and underhanded? Maybe, but I’m willing to try whatever works.
Sure enough, her expression softens. “Dimi, I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I genuinely don’t see this going anywhere. It’s going to end, and I’m so afraid that you’re going to end up hurt.”
“Why?”
She blinks. “Why? What do you mean?”
“Why are you so afraid I’m going to end up hurt? You’ve never worried so much about any of my boyfriends before. Or anyone else’s.”
“This is different.”
“Again, why?”
Mom hesitates. She’s not a stupid woman; she knows that what she wants to say is wrong. “You need to consider the very different stages of life you’re at,” she tries.
I raise an eyebrow. “How so? We’re both adults—and it’s not like I’m a barely legal adult. I’ve been working full-time for nearly eight years and running my own life for even longer. I have a lease I’m paying on my own. I’m involved in the community. I’m respected at work. Sure, our careers are at different stages, but the fact that his is firmly established means that we can focus on mine.”
“Work isn’t the only thing in life, Dimi. You grew up in different eras—he wouldn’t have had a cell phone until his late twenties or thirties, but you got one the second we let you.”
“Really, Mom? This is because of cell phones?” She’s reaching now.
“The cell phones are just an illustration of how very different your growing years were,” she insists, and I sigh.
“Mom, remember how much you loved Chris?” He was my boyfriend sophomore and junior years at college. “You cried when we broke up because you were convinced we were perfect for each other.”
She smiles slightly. “I remember. Do you ever hear from him?”
“Yeah, we stayed friends on Twitter. My point here is, Chris was raised by missionary parents and spent most of his ‘growing years’ in tiny communities in third-world countries. When he moved back to America for his last year of high school, he had only a very basic understanding of technology. Even after four years, he was still appalled by our consumer-driven society. Chris and I are the same age, but our ‘growing years’ were arguably just as different, if not more so, than mine and Jason’s.”
Mom’s lips thin. “You’re still at different stages of life now. He’s literally old enough to be your father, Dimi. He’s old enough to have grandchildren. You’re at an age to be thinking of children. I know people are having kids older now, but there are differences to your energy levels when you’re in your fifties to when you’re thirty. I’ve been there. I wouldn’t have wanted to have a toddler underfoot when I was in my fifties. It was hard enough in my late forties.”
“I don’t want kids. You know this. As much as I love being the favorite uncle, I don’t want to be a dad.”
“You might change your mind later.” She has the grace to wince and look ashamed as soon as she says it. Mom has always hated when people spout crap like that. “Okay, maybe you won’t. But it’s not just kids. He’s getting to an age where health issues are going to crop up. Even if he’s perfectly healthy, routine wear and tear is a thing.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” I’m getting really exasperated now. “You’re telling me that I should make a decision about my love life based on the health of my partner? What would you tell Pat if Ryan told us tomorrow that he had cancer? Would you suggest Patrick leave him because of his ‘health issues’? For that matter, we know bowel cancer is a thing in his family—did you warn Pat against him when they started dating? Come on, Mom. This isn’t you.”
Her cheeks are pink with embarrassment, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. I know my mom. For whatever reason she’s chosen this hill to die on, it’s completely foreign to everything she’s ever espoused—to the way she raised us.
“I’m allowed to have my concerns, Dimi. This is not what I envisaged for you. It’s going to end badly.”
My head starts to throb with a tension headache, but this needs to be done.
“You’re right. You’re allowed to have concerns. And I’m sorry you’re so attached to whatever you dreamed for me that you can’t let it go even when I’m happy doing something else. But ultimately, none of what we’ve talked about matters. This isn’t about Jason’s age, our respective upbringings, kids, or health. It doesn’t matter if this ends badly tomorrow, by mutual consent in a year, or lasts for decades. This is about my mother not having enough respect for me to be polite to my boyfriend.”
My words hang in the air. Mom looks like she’s been slapped.
“You don’t need to like Jason. You don’t need to want him in my life. You do need to treat him the way you’ve treated everyone else any of us have ever brought home. He won’t complain about you to me, but the way you’ve acted the last two weeks makes all of us uncomfortable and makes him feel unwelcome. I won’t subject him to that anymore, and if he’s not coming to dinner, I’m not either. It’s up to you, Mom. Do you love and respect me enough to accept my decisions, or are you going to force a rift in our family?”
“I can’t believe you can even suggest that,” she whispers, two crystalline tears trickling down her cheeks.
“I can,” a voice says, and we both turn to see Pat and Cait hovering just outside the office door. “Looks like you beat us to it, little brother,” Patrick continues.
“What are you two doing here?” Mom asks warily. “Is today National Visit Your Mother At Work Day?” Her attempt at joking falls flat.
“I wish it was, Mom,” Cait says, her face solemn. “Pat and I thought we should come and talk to you—again. I really thought after last time, you realized you had to let it go, but…. We should have known Dimi doesn’t need our help.” She smiles briefly at me, but it’s a little sad. I don’t blame her. It doesn’t feel good to have to tell your mother she’s being an asshole. And based on what Cait said, this isn’t the first time she’s stepped up o
n my and Jase’s behalf.
“This is absurd.” Mom stands abruptly, squeezes by me, and then pushes past Patrick and Caitlyn to pace in the back room. I follow her out and stand next to my brother.
“It is,” Pat agrees. “We shouldn’t have to be here. If you’d asked me as recently as a month ago if we’d ever need to do this, I would have laughed. My mom would never be so shallow. My mom would never be so rude. My mom would never make a judgment for such stupid reasons.”
“I get it,” Mom snaps.
“Mom, we love you,” Cait says. “It worries us that you’re so adamant about this. Especially since it’s so contrary to everything you’ve ever taught us. If I’m being bluntly honest, yeah, I was a tiny bit weirded out thinking of my baby brother hooked up with a guy who’s so much older—but then I reminded myself that judgments like that are wrong. That’s what you’ve always taught us to do. Why is it suddenly so different?”
Mom presses her lips in a thin line again and turns away. She could repeat all the things she said to me, but Cait and Pat will just react the same way I did—because that’s how she raised us. “None of you understand.”
“What don’t we understand?” I ask. I’m still hoping there’s some magical way to make this better. Maybe if I get what her problem is, I can… fix it?
She doesn’t say anything.
Pat sighs. “Okay. We don’t want to cause strife, but the thing is, the kids are old enough now to notice when things are tense. Ryan and I already didn’t like how the last two Monday night dinners went. Cait and Leona feel the same. If Dimi stops coming, the kids will want to know why. What are you going to tell them, Mom?”
“It’s not up to me to tell your children anything,” she snaps, and Cait shakes her head.
“Oh, Mom.”
Patrick isn’t as gentle. “That’s fine. What I’ll tell them is that you were mean to Uncle Dimi’s boyfriend, and so Uncle Dimi doesn’t want to come to dinner anymore.”
I wince internally. It’s not really any harsher than what’s already been said, but it feels like it is.
Mom takes a deep breath. “I don’t appreciate you threatening me.” She holds up her hand before Patrick can respond. “But I understand why you’re doing it. Let me process this.”
It worries me that she needs to process something that should be so simple, but at least this is better than her blunt refusal to listen before.
“Take what time you need,” Cait tells her. “We’re trying to raise our kids the way you raised us, Mom, because there are no parents in the world that we admire more than you and Dad. When we were kids, if someone behaved in a way that you felt was harmful, you removed us from their sphere of influence and explained why so we would know not to emulate that behavior. How can we do any different now?”
As gently as she says it, it’s still a gut punch wrapped in pretty packaging. Does Mom need to hear it? Yeah. Do I wish she didn’t have to? Absolutely.
“I love you, Mom.” I think she really needs to hear that right now. “It would hurt me to stop coming to dinner every week. But it also hurts me to see you treating Jase this way.”
She nods curtly, and I say, “Okay,” and go to kiss her on the cheek. It’s damp. Life really sucks sometimes—like when the right thing to do means making your mother cry.
Pat and Cait kiss her too, then we all walk out together. Kelly, thankfully, is distracted by a customer, so we get away with just waving.
Out on the sidewalk, I heave a huge sigh. “Well, that was awful.”
Pat slings an arm around my shoulders. “Yep.”
I hold out a hand to Cait, and she comes in for a hug. “Thanks for this, you guys,” I say, my voice muffled by her hair. “I appreciate it.”
Cait pulls back and pats my cheek. “Older siblings are supposed to look out for younger ones.”
I smile at her, because no matter how often I say I don’t have a favorite sibling, Caitie has a special place in my heart. She was the one I always ran to when I needed a Band-Aid.
“Now we wait, I guess. Hopefully Mom will call me soon.”
“If she doesn’t, we talk to Dad and Gram,” Pat declares. “Neither of them looked happy the other night. I don’t want Mom to feel like we’re going behind her back to gang up on her, but when she comes to her senses, she’s going to feel awful about this. Let’s make sure there’s as little as possible for her to be ashamed of.”
***
I’m at Jase’s place that evening, cleaning up after dinner, when my phone rings. Jase holds out his hand for the plate I’m about to slot into the dishwasher. “Grab it. I’ll finish up here.”
He’s being kind of careful with me tonight, and it’s my fault. I’m trying to act normal, but I’m really on edge after today. I absolutely do not want a rift in my family… but even if Jason and I weren’t serious and practically living together, it would not be okay for Mom to act like he has the plague. Like I told her, this isn’t as much about Jason as it is about her respecting me and my choices.
I haven’t told him what I did today. I’m not sure if I’m going to. I guess I’m waiting to see what the outcome will be, as it will have a pretty big impact on what I say.
It’s Mom on the phone, and my stomach takes a sharp nosedive. I go into the bedroom, trying to make it look ordinary and not like I want privacy.
“Hello?” I can’t bring myself to greet her more casually.
“Hello, Dimi.”
“Hi, Mom.” Should I ask how she is? Normally I would, but it seems stupid, considering.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said today.”
Okay, she’s just going to jump right in. That’s good. No suspense.
“While I’m still not happy about this relationship and have serious concerns that it’s going to leave you a wreck, I understand your point. I’ve always tried to let you kids make your own mistakes with relationships, and this should be no different.”
That wasn’t quite my point. Was it?
No. Definitely not.
I open my mouth to tell her that, but she’s still talking.
“So I’m not going to be a bitch to him anymore. Jason is welcome to join you at all family gatherings and events, and he can expect to be treated with the same courtesy and respect as everyone else.”
I didn’t realize exactly how tense I was until she forces those words out and every muscle in my body relaxes. I exhale quietly.
“Thank you, Mom. That means a lot to me.”
“I love you, Dimi.”
“I never doubted that,” I assure her. “I love you too.” I hesitate. “I still wish I understood why you feel this way.”
“Will we see you Monday?”
Okay, so she’s just going to ignore the implied question. I can live with that.
“Definitely.”
We say goodbye and end the call, and I go to find Jason, feeling a million times better than before. Don’t get me wrong, I still wish my mother could like my boyfriend, but I’ll happily settle for her not being nasty to him.
Jase is on the couch, channel surfing, but from the distant look on his face, he’s not actually paying attention.
“Hey.” I settle beside him and lean against his side. He turns his head and smiles at me, then leans in for a kiss.
“Hey.” He hesitates, and I know he wants to ask about the call, but he won’t because I left the room to take it.
“That was Mom. I went to see her today, and we talked about how she’s been acting toward you.”
He looks at me sharply. “I don’t want to be the cause of problems between you and your mom.”
“You’re not, she is,” I say bluntly. “She’s still not happy about us, but she agrees that she’s been out of line and she promises not to be a bitch going forward.”
Studying my face carefully, he say
s, “Okay. But I wish you’d talked to me before confronting her.”
“I thought about it,” I admit, making a face. “But you would have said not to, right?”
His silence speaks volumes.
“It needed to be said, Jase.” I give him a recap of what Mom and I discussed. He winces a couple times at her arguments, but overall just seems resigned. When I mention that Pat and Cait turned up, he brightens a little. “It’s not really you,” I conclude. “Sorry if that punctures your ego.”
He laughs, looking a lot brighter. “My ego is solid enough not to be punctured,” he assures me. “You’re right, though. If you’d told me, I would’ve tried to talk you out of it, and ultimately this is between you and your mom. So… I’m glad she’s going to try to get along with me, and I promise not to make it harder than it already is.”
I snort and steal the remote from his hand. “Like you would. Anything good on?”
Chapter Thirteen
Jason
I’m not going to lie, the first Monday in February is a difficult one for me. Tonight, we’re going to dinner at Dimi’s parents’ place, and we’ll see if his mom really meant it when she said she wouldn’t be a bitch.
I really hope she did.
I’d never tell Dimi this, but the way she acted those first two Monday night dinners devastated me. It felt like being kicked in the balls. On paper, I’m the ideal boyfriend: mature, responsible, respected, with an established career and a history of charitable works. I don’t do anything to excess, and my previous relationship lasted for nearly seventeen years and ended through no fault of mine. Not only am I every parent’s dream, I’m almost too boring.
The thing is, I was already feeling a bit insecure about the age gap. Dimi assures me it’s not a problem for him, and I believe that, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to be a problem in our relationship. Case in point: it’s the reason he was pissed as his mother last week. The reason she’s feeling ganged up on and threatened by her kids. This can’t be a good thing for us.
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