Moving East: Too close for comfort.
So, I waited to break the news to my mom that I’m moving back to the east coast— or so I thought.
I had what I considered a foolproof plan. I’d call her, open with, “Okay! I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Obviously, she’d say bad news, because everyone says bad news, and I’d say, “Well, I won’t be able to come home for Thanksgiving this year. Sad, right? BUT, I’ll be home for Christmas, and then FOREVER!” Joy would ensue.
That’s not what happened. Instead it went like this:
Me: “Hi, Mom!”
Mom: “Hi. I’m driving around Santa Monica right now looking for parking so I can have lunch with Beth.”
Me: “Oh, that sounds fun.”
Me: “So! I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
Mom: [pause] “You’re moving back to New York.”
Me: [F***.] “…Did Beth tell you?”
Mom: “Yes. Thanks for keeping your Mom informed… although I guess that would mean you have to talk to me.”
Me: [pause.] “Well… I wanted to wait until it was for sure.” [Sidebar: You’re right. I can’t imagine why I don’t talk to you more frequently when our interactions are this great. I certainly can’t wait to have 3,000 fewer miles between us.]
Mom: “Okay. Yeah. Can I call you back? I need to look for a parking spot.”
Me: “Sure.” [You are so going to get talked about onstage for this, and you’re going to deserve it.]
No joy ensued for either of us, I’m pretty sure. I did, obviously, gchat my sister in the middle of this with a hearty “WHAT the F*** were you THINKING?” Her response of “I didn’t know it was a secret” is flimsy at best. Still plotting retaliation.