"Sure, Mom, yeah. It's just… Don't you think this is all a little soon? Like, maybe it's happening a little fast?"
Shit. I shouldn't have said that. As soon as the words leave my lips, it's like someone cranked down the dimmer switch on Mom's joy.
Those old, angry lines etched in around her mouth appear again in sharp relief.
"Fast?" she echoes.
"I'm just saying, isn't it—"
"You know what your problem is, Erica?"
She's not whispering anymore.
"You think you're better than me. You've always thought that."
"Mom, hold on, I don't think—"
"Ever since you were old enough to talk, you've thought you're better than your mother.
And worst of all, you hate seeing me happy. You've always, always hated it."
Her hands are shaking now, the dish towel in her hands trembling like a red flag in the wind.
"But at least I'm not alone. I have someone."
I take a step back, and then another, until my shoulders bump the counter and there's nowhere else to go.
