The Right Moment

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“To whom?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“Look if I wanted to be more straightforward, I would have. Try to think back to our conversations the last time we saw each other.”

She’s silent for a while. I can’t tell if she’s thinking or distracted by something else. After a few seconds, she says, “You mean my mom?”

“Right. You haven’t talked to her, have you?”

“No.”

“You’re not going to?”

“No.”

“But you can’t keep repressing those feelings.”

“I’m not. I don’t care.”

“Are you trying to fool yourself or me? Cause I’m not buying it.”

“I don’t think it’s worth wasting my time talking to someone who’s too shallow to get it.”

“She’s your mother.”

“So?”

“How do you know she’s too shallow? Wouldn’t you be hurt if I thought you were too shallow? Maybe you’re really worried that she’ll understand and still not change. Cause then you can’t tell yourself that she’s doing it because she doesn’t know.”

“Maybe.”

“I still think it’s better to talk things out. Always better to know.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for the right moment.”

“Maybe. And maybe you make the moment.”

She pauses again. “Maybe.”

I don’t want to push her anymore, “I love you.”

“Me, too.”

I put the phone down and hope the right moment comes soon.

Previously? Girlie.