Short Breaks 1-20 - Complete

Ping

Ping.

Our therapist's phone went off and she picked it up. She never turned it off, just in case a client needed her. So she said.

"You need to be more... you know," Mom was explaining. "...open and honest about your feelings."

My Mom and I had finally let Dad talk us into something like 'couple's therapy'. So, for better or worse, here we were in the therapist's office.

Our therapist put her phone down.

I was staring at Mom. Oh, what the hell, I'm gonna say it. "Fuck you. You wouldn't know 'open' and 'honest' if it rammed up your ass."

I swear to you, my Mom all but clutched her pearls.

"Language!" she gasped.

"Hey, you wanted open and honest. I gave you open and honest."

Ping.

"Let's try something new and pretend like the two of you just met," our therapist suggested. "What would you ask a person you were getting to know?"

"I'd want to know what she's into, I guess," I said.

Ping.

"Have you ever asked your Mom what she's into?"

"Well... I mean, I see her doing stuff all the time. She sews, she reads, she's in the choir. That's what she's into, right? So why would I ask?"

Ping.

"Try asking anyway."

I rolled my eyes. This is bullshit. But, I'd committed, so I turned to my Mom, "So, Mom, what are you into?"

She looked at me. "It's not just that I like to sew, it's that I like to sew with vintage fabric. And, it's not just that I like to sing, but that I love harmonizing with others. And, it's not just that I like to read, but that I'm studying how a really good author writes so I can be a better writer."

Ping.

"Wait. You write?" I asked, looking at her, sitting up a little straighter. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I've been writing for years. You know how I get up before everyone else? That's when I write. Or, I write on my lunch break. Or, when I'm on the computer and you think I'm just browsing the internet. You've just never noticed. I've been... transparent to you. You haven't seen me."

Ping.

"Wow. I'm... sorry. You're right. I've never noticed." I stared at my hands in my lap.

We sat for a moment before I said quietly, "I write, too."

Ping.

She looked at me, surprised. "You do?"

"Yeah. I've been writing ever since that summer you bought me a diary and then dipshit read it. I write online, under a pen name."

Ping.

"Really? So do I!"

"You're kidding! Ok, so, are you going to tell me your pen name?"

Ping.

Mom actually blushed. "Sally B. Righten."

"No shit! Seriously? She's... you're... one of my favorites! Your most recent sci fi book? Amazing!"

Ping.

"You read it?"

"Mom, I'm the one that edited it for you online."

"You're FallenAuthor?" she gasped. "You're so good!"

Ping.

"Our time's up for today."