She laughed.
She bloody laughed when I said that.
And I was
dead serious.
It's not that I'm superstitious. I don't
think she'd jinx it. I didn't think that
celebrating with her would ruin it, make
me lose this new wonder.
I just want
to cuddle up with the news, alone.
I don't feel like spending a celebratory
evening with my mother's friends. Granted,
they are nice, granted, they are important
to her, and granted: she wants to share.
But it's MY celebration, my
news, my decision to do this, and I
want to keep it close for a bit.
Not
closed, or hidden, but I want my personal
delight to stay that way, I want to have
a good secret. Something that will make
me grin every now and then, give me warm
fuzzies, before I have to plaster a smile on my face and be publicly happy, grateful,
excited.
I just want time to absorb it.
Oh,
I'm so thrilled! she says.
Yes,
well don't run out to buy the champagne,
'aight?
She laughs.
And I
laugh too.
She's my mother. What did
I expect?
At least I had it to myself
for a day.