Page 1 of Breaking the Rules of Love

1

Sadie

I love my mom,but sometimes I wish I had the nerve to either give her a nice punch in the guts or just block her phone calls.

“You’re going to end up a sad, single, childless old maid, Sadie,” my mom says, giving me that I-know-best look on the other end of our FaceTime call.

But even if I did block her, I know she’d just drive over here to bother me in person. Her house is, after all, less than half an hour away.

“Thanks, Mom,” I reply, giving her a fake smile. “I appreciate that.”

“You know I’m just looking out for you, Sadie-bear,” she replies. “This no-relationship rule of yours is beyond silly. You just turned 30, sweetie. You’re not exactly young and fertile anymore. The men aren’t going to be beating down your door much longer.” My jaw tightens, and I feel my insides start to twist up, but I try not to show it.

You love her, Sadie. You do. You don’t want to kill her.

“This is you looking out for me?”

“You need to find a man you can at least tolerate,” she explains. “A man you can show that you’re a good woman with domestic skills and lock his butt down!”

She’s in one of her moods right now. I call them her “mom moods” that are basically impossible to shake her out of. Like a boxer working the bag, I just have to let her tire herself out.

“I see.” I take a sip of my jasmine tea, prop my phone up against my stack of landscape photography coffee table books, and lean my chin on my hand. “Anything else, Mom?”

She frowns. “Actually yes!” I don’t even disguise my deep sigh. “Youneedto stop sleeping around.”

“Okay, that’s it,” I gasp, sitting up. “I’ve got to go–”

“Sit back down, young lady!” my mom snaps.

I may be a grown woman, but when my mom takes that tone, it still has the same effect on me as it did when I was a little girl. I plant my butt right back down on the couch and frown at my phone screen.

“Now you listen to me,” she continues. “A good man is not going to like to hear that his would-be wife has been going around…practicingwith every xy chromosome out there with a pulse!”

“That isnotwhat I’ve been doing, Mom!”

“Oh, so you’re changing your story now?” she asks.

God this is awkward. I knew I never should have had that conversation with her in the first place. But I guess now it’s too late. Lesson learned:Your mom is not your best friend. Watch what you tell her.

“I know what you’re referring to–”

“When you said you were going to be havingcasualsex with tons of men?” my mom asks with disgust.

“Again, that’snotwhat I said.” My face is on fire now. I must look like a big, blown-up tomato with a pair of eyes and lips on it.

“Well, what did you say then?” she asks indignantly.

“What I said was,” I snap back, “that after what happened with Howard, I wasnotgoing to get married again. But if the right man came along, Imightconsider something more casual with him than marriage. Okay?”

The horror of having this conversation with my mother is nearly too much to bear. This is a conversation I should be having with Julia from work—who would understand what it is I’m talking about and not shame me for it. I don’t need to be discussing my sex life with my mother in any way, shape, or form.

My mom crosses her arms over her chest and twists her lips to the side. Apparently, she’s starting to understand, but she’s clearly still not on board or happy with my idea.

“Well, like I said, Sadie-bear, you’re not getting any younger.”

Sometimes I just want to scream at her. She acts like sheknowshow I’m supposed to be living my life, when in reality, she has no clue. She was married happily to my dad for ten years before I was born, and she wants to tell me what it’s like to date for people in my generation?

Yeah, I don’t think so.

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