All this Time

Gabby

10th March

Lydia, Nathan and I came back from California on Sunday, one day after Nathan arrived and we kissed and made up. I'm not proud of the way I upped and disappeared from him, but I know how I feel now. The space made me certain that I don't want to be without him.

Not that I couldn't survive. I could, I know how to be a single mom. I just don't have to and I can't remember the last time I felt this happy.

The happiness is what's encouraging me to put one foot in front of the other as I walk up to momma's front door, ready to have a conversation with her that could either go really well, or horribly bad.

I don't bother knocking, I never have and I'm not going to start now, even though I've adopted an almost professional disposition. I've locked my emotions down, the years of her snuffing out my flame, the resentment I feel over how she's belittled my choices and tried to control the narrative in my life.

If I'm going to get through to her, I have to be calm and collected. Letting those emotions take the lead is only going to end up in a screaming fit.

Momma is in the kitchen cooking dinner when I walk inside, a podcast is blaring on her portable speaker. It sounds like an episode about gut health and fiber. She's not facing me, so I tap pause on her phone and the room descends into silence, apart from the sizzling in her pan. She turns to look at me.

"Oh," she blows out a light laugh. "You alright sweetheart? What's going on?"

She watches me over her shoulder, still stirring the vegetables and eggs in her pan.

"I want to talk," I force the words out. It feels strange and unnatural, almost embarrassing to set up a conversation like that. I've never asked my mom to 'talk'.

Whatever serious issues need to be discussed between us, usually come out in a heated, impulsive argument. I've never had the confidence to approach her and tell her in a rational way, that she's hurt me.

Mom stares, her confusion obvious. Slowly, her expression morphs into something hard and frustrated.

"You're pregnant?"

I huff out a sigh of disbelief and lean back against the counter. "No and you would be the last person I'd come to about that."

Finally, she sets her wooden spatula down and adjusts the heat on the element, all the while staring at me. "I would be the last person you come to?"

"Yeah, your less than understanding attitude sort of makes it impossible to confide in you. Which is part of what I want to talk to you about."

She doesn't interrupt me, but I can see from the look on her face that she's already on the defense. Her scowl is dismissing whatever's going to come out of my mouth next and I debate whether it's even worth it.

My confidence waivers but I know if we have any chance of getting to a better place, this needs to happen.

If she doesn't listen, at least I'll know I've done what I can.

"Your constant," I pause, searching for a word that won't grate her so much, but I have no such luck. "Judgement of my life and the snippy little comments and disapproval you give me, is getting old. It's been old. It was old when it started but because I was barely a teenager, I didn't have the backbone to be honest. I'm an adult now. It needs to stop."

Mom's jaw flutters. "Gabrielle, you thought you were grown from the moment you could walk. You might have thought it was unfair, but it's literally a parent's job to teach their children and guide them. The older you got, the more attitude you got, you wanted to run around all over town with Dallas, who by the way, didn't have a parent minding her-"