Last night, my boyfriend met my mother for the first time.
Technically, they met at our UGA graduation three years ago (we both met each other’s families in passing, then). Yesterday afternoon, I received a text from my mother asking if Ceddy and I wanted to have dinner at her house. I replied that we would. After work, we got stuck in traffic for an hour and a half, but finally made it to Alpharetta at a quarter to eight.
Ceddy gave my mother the orchid we got her. She said it was pretty, but admitted she had a tendency to kill plants. After chastising us for being late (though I called her with a traffic update), we had dinner in the kitchen. Brie and her nanny scurried upstairs. Raf was out with his friends. We faced her without buffers.
For the next hour, we endured a lecture on living in sin and the importance of family (even when they treat you like shit). Ceddy fielded a barrage of questions. He took the high road and apologized to her for offending her and my dad, since that was not our intention when we moved in together. When I started to get angry, he squeezed my hand as a reminder to take yoga breaths.
By the end of the hour, we left Alpharetta with three bags of food. My mother is the passive aggressive hostess. Her selective amnesia allowed her to pass judgment while projecting all of her and my dad’s issues onto us.
In the car, I fidgeted anxiously. As always, Ceddy reassured me that it was no big deal. It’s not our job to make haters (like my mother) see that we are good for each other. All we can do is continue to live our life together.