No such luck.
“That sounds great, Riley. But why are you avoiding us talking about your fellow? What was his name again? I’m sorry I don’t remember it,” my mom broke in and I knew she wouldn’t let it go.
“Garrett. His name is Garrett Bellows,” I admitted, knowing avoidance efforts would be defeated by my mother’s information seeking militia.
“Garrett. I like that name. How did you meet him? Does he go to Rinard?” she asked and I snorted.
“Not exactly,” I said, knowing I sounded judgmental.
My mom picked up on my snotty tone instantly. “What’s that for? Does he go to a rival school or something? Is this like some sort of co-ed Romeo and Juliet?” she joked and I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me.
“No, he doesn’t go to another school. He doesn’t go to school at all,” I said.
“Did he already graduate?” she asked.
“No, he never went,” I told her.
“Oh,” my mother said shortly. “And this is obviously a problem for you,” she surmised.
“Well of course it’s a problem! He has no goals! Well nothing that goes beyond playing guitar in his silly rock band. How could I ever fit with someone who doesn’t want what I want? We have absolutely nothing in common, Mom!” I let out in a huff. I had gotten loud and I knew I was getting way too worked up.
Mom didn’t say anything for at least thirty seconds. “Well, it sounds like your mind’s made up,” she said succinctly and to the point.
“Yes, yes it is,” I said, feeling myself become irrationally defensive.
“But this guy with no future and no plans that you clearly have no respect for, drove you all the way to Maryland in the middle of the night so you could see your father. Huh,” she said and then went silent again.
Even through my frustration with this direction of our conversation, her words hit me like a ton of bricks.
“I respect him. That’s a little harsh,” I bit out.
“You respect him? Then why spend all this time telling me why he is such a bad fit for you? It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than me,” my mother informed me, sounding entirely too smug.
“I’m going to have a life that matters, Mom. I promised Dad I would have a life that means something. How can I do that with someone whose life doesn’t mean anything?” I asked, feeling like such a jerk for stating the thoughts that so often floated around my head. But it was the crux of my decisions where Garrett was concerned and I needed to vocalize them to the one person who wouldn’t judge me for them.
“How can you say his life doesn’t mean something? That’s very callous of you, Riley and your father and I raised you to be tolerant, compassionate and understanding. Your father said those words to you knowing you would continue to be that amazing and loving girl that we raised. But to make your mind up about someone without giving them the opportunity to show you who they really are, well that’s very Republican of you,” my mom said firmly and I almost gasped.
She had called me a Republican. And to my granola eating, tree-hugging mother, that was the height of insult.
“Mom, how could you say that to me?” I asked, feeling like a little kid being scolded for taking the last cookie. Parents were way too good at making you feel bad.
“Riley, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just disappointed in you. I don’t know this Garrett. And from the sounds of it, you don’t really either. Whose to say his life of meaning isn’t just as beautiful as the one you want to have? Whose to say you can’t make those lives matter together? Because the way that boy looked at you was something special. Your father would want you to do what makes your heart happy. Forget your head,” she advised and I had no words to refute her.
Because she was right.
Damn it, Moms were always right.