TITLE: Love Elopes (and Other Ways to Avoid My Mother
GENRE: Women's fiction
Where are the people who are always running those theoretical medical experiments, diagnosing strange conditions with even stranger methods? Because I need to know. Can one actually develop an ulcer from mother-anxiety?
Today my stomach says yes.
"I'm going to throw up," I say, turning back. "Let's just go."
But Job stops me and knocks on the door. "Remember last night, what you said. You're thirty, you're happy, you're done with the mind games."
"I changed my mind."
He spins me around, leaning down to mutter something in my ear, but the door swings wide and there stands my mother, grinning stupidly from ear to ear. She pulls me in and kisses both of my cheeks. Has she gone blind? This is me we're talking about--right? Not any of the daughters you're proud of, and certainly not the one who's just returned from a sensational Hawaiian honeymoon.
But that's what you get, I suppose, when you name your kid after the patron saint of both chastity and gardeners. She should've known what she was getting into.
"Agnes, dear," Mom says as she propels me to the living room.
I'm seized by a roomful of relatives who pull me in with hugs, kisses, and applause. Actual clapping. I stand there like an idiot, stupefied, certain I've stepped into someone else's home.
Though knowing my family, this could just be an elaborate stunt to punctuate the fact that I haven't shown my face for an unacceptably long time. In this case, about two weeks.