Page 102 of Tilly in Technicolor
I want to beg her to stay. Beg her not to leave me. To act as a buffer. A shield. Anything to delay the awfulness that could come tumbling out of this talk.
But she’s gone, shutting her bedroom door behind her, Mom and me staring at each other in a tense silence.
“Want to sit?” Mom asks, moving to the couch and tapping the spot next to her.
My legs feel wooden, my lungs full of bubbles, my heart in my throat. But, somehow, I walk forward and sit next to her.
I take a deep breath. Then another. One more should do it. Then I’ll say it. I’ll tell her I’ve got a job—two, actually—neither of which she’ll like. And I’ll have to tell her that her opinion on it doesn’t really matter. I can’t let it matter anymore. It’s what I want from life, and I hope, someday, she can be okay with that.
I open my mouth, choking on words as worry zips through my arms and congeals in my chest.
“Tilly, I’ve read your Babble posts.”
Mom says the words so fast, so unexpectedly, my head jerks back and hits the wall behind me.
“W-what?”
Oh no. This is bad. Like, really bad. Because I’m rather,um, honest about my frustrations with my parents on there. Is she going to scream at me? How could she not scream at me?
I brace for impact.
After a moment, she meets my eyes, sadness lining her face. “After our talk, I searched for the article you said you sold. Which was wonderful, too. But then I found your Babble posts. I’ve read them and they’re beautiful. Heartbreaking, but beautiful.”
Ummm what?
“I… you’re so clever. I can’t believe some of the stuff you come up with.”
Once again,what? My eyes are wide as I stare at my mom, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“But, they also made me realize just how… how much I’ve hurt you. And I’m so sorry for that, Tilly.”
I try to suck in a breath, but it gets locked at the top of my throat.
Mom pushes on. “I’m sorry for what I said when we last talked, and for the pressure I’ve been putting on you.” Mom’s voice sounds more fragile than I’ve ever heard it before. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our last conversation. I mean, I just had an exceptionally long flight to think of nothingbutour fight. And I truly am sorry for how I spoke to you. I hope you can forgive me. You see, I worry about you, Tilly. You’re so special. So precious. And I live in fear of the world hurting you. But in trying to do what I thought was right to protect you, I’m the one that caused pain. And I’m sorry.”
“I… I’m not really sure what to say.”
Mom reaches out, grabbing my hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Or you can say everything. I’ve… well, I’ve realized I haven’t been listening to much of what you’ve had to say. And I want to change that.”
She’s quiet, thumb tracing over the back of my hand as she gives me room to speak.
I still don’t know what to say. Words zip around my brain, down my throat, through my limbs. I’m scared to say anything—to ruin this moment she’s giving me. But I decide to be brave.
“I need the room to make mistakes, Mom,” I say, my voice cracking. “I know I’ve made tons of them and I’ll make so many more, but… I need to know that that’s okay.”
Mom nods, reaching out and tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Keep going.”
Tears start rolling down my cheeks as the words pour out of me. “I know that you want what’s best for me, but I also want to know that you’ll be there if I fail. I want to feel safe enough to make mistakes and know you’ll still love me.”
“I’ll always love you, Tilly. That’s not even a question.”
“It feels like a question to me.”
Mom’s silent for a long time, and I’m worried she’s mad. I can’t lift my eyes to look at her, instead focusing on our held hands as emotions build in my chest. Eventually, I hear a tiny hiccup followed by a sniffle.
Oh no. Did I make my mom cry?
I glance up at her, and, sure enough, tears are rolling down her cheeks, too.
