Page 124 of IRL: In Real Life
The words landed differently because she did not say them like a tease.
She said them like a mother who had been watching me carry myself for years and knew the difference between looking fine and being full.
I looked down at my coffee again, but there was no hiding the smile this time.
“I am,” I said quietly.
Her face softened immediately.
“Oh,” she said, and that one syllable held more joy than some people managed in whole speeches. “Good.”
I looked up at her, at my mother’s wise brown eyes watching me over her coffee. “That’s it?”
“What else you want? A tambourine?”
I laughed. “Maybe.”
She reached across the table and laid her hand over mine.
“You know what I want,” she said. “I want you happy. I want you safe. I want whoever comes into your life to know the difference between being blessed by your love and getting comfortable with your sacrifices.”
That sat with me.
Because that had always been part of it. Not just disappointment. Not just bad dates and almosts and men who sounded better on paper than they did in real life. It was the slow accumulation of learning how often women were expected to do the extra work. To explain more. To hold more. To stay soft while somebody else stayed unfinished.
I looked down at our hands.
“For a while,” I said slowly, “I really thought maybe I was just going to be... auntie.”
My mother smiled. “You say that like it’s a punishment.”
“It isn’t.” I smiled too. “I’m a great auntie.”
“You are.”
“I just mean...” I exhaled once. “I got used to the idea that maybe that was enough. Single. Unbothered. Well off. Minding my business. Taking trips. Buying nice shoes. Showing up for the kids. Coming home to my own peace.”
“And now?”
I looked toward the den for a second, where my father’s laugh rose over the television and disappeared again.
“And now,” I said, “I don’t know if that’s all I want anymore.”
The truth loosened in me as I said it.
Not because it was new, but because it wasn’t hidden anymore.
My mother’s hand squeezed mine.
“That’s allowed,” she said gently. “Wanting more is allowed. Letting life change shape when something good comes into it is allowed too.”
I swallowed.
“I think I avoided real relationships for a while because disappointment started feeling too familiar,” I said. “After a point, it was easier to act like I had chosen distance than admit I just didn’t trust what was on the other side of closeness.”
She nodded slowly, like she had known some version of that already and was waiting for me to say it in my own time.
“Baby,” she said, “being careful can keep you safe. It can also keep you lonely if you let it become your whole religion.”
