“It’s such a shame about the breakup, sweetie. I know you two loved each other. You definitely won’t be getting back together, right?”
“Mom! No!” I grumble.
“I’m just making sure, dear!” She smiles. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I know.” I sigh.
“No make up?” she asks with a wince.
“Seriously?”
“You never know when you might meet the right man!” she says. “Person!” She corrects herself quickly. “The right person!”
“Who am I going to meet at a seven-year-old’s birthday party?” I snark.
This shuts her up.
She’s tried to be supportive since I came out as bi in high school. With three other (mostly) straight children, two of them happily married, sometimes she still defaults to the heteronormative. I know she means well, but she’s had over a decade to get used to the idea.
I glance in the mirror. My hair is a bit of a mess. I resist the urge to fix it. After all her fuss, I’m not going to mess with it now and let my Mom think she was right about that. I apply some mascara, smudge a little blush into the apples of my cheeks, and grab my favorite neutral lip color. Normally, I might have taken a little extra time for my face, but with my Mom here, I’m ready to stand my ground and leave the house looking low effort. I straighten my glasses and declare I’m ready.
“You are beautiful, dear.” Mom smiles. “I hope you know that.”
“Thanks, mom,” I reply on reflex, grabbing my bag from the pile by my front door. It can be hard to truly acknowledge her compliments. I know she loves and supports me, sometimes she just picks the worst ways to show it.
Unsurprisingly, we end up at a cat cafe. My newly seven-year-old niece is completely obsessed with cats at the moment. Cat Rhapsody’s is a new addition to the neighborhood, an adorable little building, freshly painted, all pink and purple and white. With a counter of human snacks for sale and a whole room full of cats and their toys.
“Welcome!” the pretty white lady behind the counter exclaims. She has a heart-shaped face and bright pink hair in a pixie cut. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Bagel?” She is practically buzzing with excitement.
I snag a latte, grateful to finally get a bit of caffeine into my system, and settle into a seat beside my youngest sister.
“Penny.” My exhausted brain gives the simplest greeting possible, to be sure my sister knows who is sitting beside her. Her visual impairment means she can’t exactly make out facial features, even sitting this close.
“Running late?” Penny asks. She lounges on a long bench, her little pregnancy belly bumping her sweater out. She’s fouryears my junior, with similar red curls, although hers have always been a bit more tamable.
“Mmph,” I respond.
“Having a tough morning?”
“Mom is in a mood today,” I mutter.
“Be on the look out,” Penny says. “I think she’s got someone special for you to meet.”
“What? Why do you think that?” I ask with a laugh.
“Oh, because she told me she invited her spin instructor here for you to meet.”
“Penny. No. No. Right? You’re joking with me?” I ask.
She laughs in response.
“No! Pen! Penny! I can’t tell if you are teasing or not!”
She shrugs, a mischievous smile on her face.
“Michael! Come over here and tell your wife she has to tell me the truth.”
“I know better than to get into an argument between the sisters!” he calls from across the room, where he and our niece are playing with a pair of calico kittens while our oldest brother, Paul, and his wife entertain our parents.
