I'm a competent, well functioning adult -- why is it when you get on the phone with your mother, you revert to being a 10 year old?
And there's Andrew, cool as ice, smiling at my predicament. Damnit! When I get off this phone -- ahghghghgh, I can't even look at him.
"Mom, look it's been a real long day...I know, you just wanted to ask how the holiday was, it was great, they were all great and -- no, I didn't have a date for New Years... I love you too, Mom. I'll call you all tomorrow, okay? Okay, goodbye, Mom."
When I hung up, my hands were shaking. I needed a drink. A real big drink.
I looked at Drew. ãAre you mad?ä
Andrew gazed back at me, his eyes so expressive, and filled with bitter disappointment.
"No,ä was all he said.
I poured myself a glass of wine. He was very quiet. I felt myself getting angry.
"This was the perfect opportunity to tell her, Eric. It's time to grow up.ä His patronizing tone made me defensive. ãYou said you knew you had to do it and what? You made a commitment to yourself.ä
"Andrew, I know. I know I have to do this. I KNOW! But you have to let me do this on my time and in my own way. I know you're impatient, but it's my life here too, so just back off!"
"Okay."
"I can't believe you picked up the phone. You know she always calls around eight," I lashed out, like a child.
" I picked up the phone in my own house!ä He reined his own anger in. ãCome here," he said seductively and gathered me in his arms.
