Page 52 of Skating the Blue Line
Stupid three percent of doubt.
Today, though, I’m going to push away that doubt and get that three percent and be confident in my decision.
I will.
The only thing in my way is a phone call with my mom.
In all of my life, I have never been afraid to tell my mom anything. As a teenager, she was the first one to know whenever I had problems with my friends or a boy. She knows almost every single secret that I hold.
But just because I wasn’t afraid of telling her everything as a teenager, that doesn’t mean that I’m not afraid of telling her this.
Leticia Vega may be my best friend at times, but she is still a woman that holds strong values, especially when it comes to getting pregnant out of wedlock.
It was ingrained into my brain from a young age to not have kids unless I was married or in a long committed relationship.
I’m neither.
Once I tell her the predicament I’m in, she might freak out and it won’t even matter that twenty-nine years old.
I can’t keep avoiding calling her though.
So even with my hand shaking, I reach for my phone, I send a quick text to Liam to call me when he gets a chance and then start dialing my mom’s number.
Might as well tell her and get my lecture in.
I’m barely able to take a few calming breaths before my mom’s voice comes through the ear piece.
“Hola, hija. You finally remembered to call your mother,” my mom says, guilt tripping me for not calling her.
I nervously start biting my thumb nail. “Sorry, rehearsals have taken a lot out of me.”
It’s not a complete lie.
“I was looking at the performance schedule to plan a visit and it’s a lot of shows.”
One thing about my family is that they are very supportive. They will take time out of their lives to attend as many of my shows as they possibly can. I love them for that.
“Yeah it’s a lot but I’m going to make every performance count, especially if I want to take next year off,” I tell her, cringing a bit as I do.
Slowly, I’m going to do it slowly.
“Why would you want to take next year off? Are you going to dance for a traveling company?” she asks, excitedly.
Being a travel dancer was definitely something that I looked into sometime this year, but I never did anything with it. I told my mom about it, so I know where she got that idea.
I shake my head even though she can’t see.
“No. I’m not going to go with a traveling company. I just think that given my situation, I'm going to need to take some time off.”
I bite down on my nail. After this conversation is over, I’m not going to have a nail.
“Situation? What situation? Estas bien? I can see if I can fly in later this week if you need me to,” she starts to worry, and I can hear her shuffling around, probably ready to call my dad to book her a flight out.
“Ma, estoy bien,” I say, trying to reassure her. “I just…” I pause. I have to tell her. If I continue to keep it in, she’s going to worry even more. “I just have something to tell you.”
“¿Que?”
So much for doing this slowly.
