As the days before you mom’s visit ticked down, I kept asking you if you’d told her yet. Every time I got a negative. I felt like such a nag. And I think I eventually stopped asking. I had already paid my money to walk in the Susan Komen race, so I was going to meet her one way or another. Though the pessimistic thought that you’d make me walk a mile behind you guys so she wouldn’t see me did cross my mind. (I have a terrible, worst-case-scenario syndrome. I can’t control it. Negative thoughts pop into my head at the worst times and once they’re there, I can’t shake them. I think I get it from my mother.)
Finally, you did tell her. I wasn’t wholly thrilled about it, though. You waited until literally the last minute. I thought you were going to have to tell her at the airport when you picked her up. But you called her a couple of days before her trip and filled her in on me. I’m not sure how the phone call went. You seemed super relieved when you told me, so I assumed it had gone well. A weight off your shoulders, letting your mother in on a secret in your life. A silly secret, if you ask me. But then I didn’t know your mother. I’m sure you had your reasons.
Now that your mother knew about me, the plan was for me to meet you her at the race on Sunday and then go to brunch with you and your roommates afterwards. Easy enough. Part of me wished that she (or maybe it was your doing) had wanted to get to know me a little better than just one morning and afternoon hanging out with you and your friends. But then the other part of me was happy to have a free weekend.
I’m not complaining, because I love your friends, but I always felt like I tagged along with them on the weekends instead of seeing my friends. I’m that friend who disappears when he’sin a relationship, I know. I learned that after doing it three times. But I was excited to have a Saturday night to myself. I made plans to hang out with Scott, Kristen and the rest of the kickballers. I was looking forward to a nice relaxing Saturday morning and afternoon of catching up on Netflix and then an early night out with my friends so I could get up bright and early Sunday to meet you and your mom for the Susan Komen race and then have brunch.
A simple enough plan. Unfortunately, I didn’t execute it so well.
The first kink came on Saturday morning when you called. Apparently your mom had decided that she wanted to spend more time with me and had invited me out to lunch with you two. Great! More time spent with your mother was a good thing. She could get to know me a little better. I was fine with that. Happy even. I didn’t have any plans until that evening, so I could definitely do lunch. And even that wasn’t a huge commitment. I would have plenty of time to relax before I went out for the night.
But then it trickier, or at least a little more annoying. Your mom didn’t want to have lunch just anywhere. She wanted to have lunch in New Jersey. She has this thing where she wants to do something in every state in the US. And I guess she hadn’t marked New Jersey off her list yet. Talk about out of the way. But it was your mom and I wanted to make a good first impression, so I got myself ready and set out to meet you, feeling a little disgruntled now.
I felt like you had hijacked my weekend. My entire morning and afternoon were spent riding public transit. First I took the crosstown bus to the West Side. And then I hopped on the uptown 1 train to get to your place where we immediately turned around and got on the downtown 1 train which we rode to Penn Station. Then we transferred to the PATH train and rode it across the Hudson River to Hoboken where we got off and literally walked all of ten yards to a pizza place there.
Hours of my day spent commuting. And for what? So your mom could say she had eaten at a nondescript pizza place in New Jersey? It didn’t seem worth it to me. Not when there are so many great places to eat in Manhattan. Places a lot closer to where we both live. I was annoyed, especially considering I had to get back on the train and redo almost the entire trip to get home. (And let me tell you, it’s not easy getting to the East Side from Penn Station. It took me three trains!)
So yes, I was peevish afterwards. And it had nothing to do with your mom. Meeting her was lovely. She was nice. And although I felt a little subdued by my own fears of what she’d think of me, she was friendly and we got along well enough. It hadn’t been a disaster by any means.
The disaster came the next day. So I guess it was the second and not the first impression where I really failed.