Page 86 of Leaning In

Tom’s been understanding of my evolving relationship with my mum, supporting me with my attempts to reshape some of the emotional dynamics. But he doesn’t quite get it. My mum doesn’t usually call to “catch up”. My mum calls to gossip and comment about my life choices under the paper-thin disguise of “concern”, and I have to work to make sure it doesn’t get to me.

We have a new routine, brunch once a month instead of weekly, an occasional phone call. She hasn’t changed much, but I’ve been working with Dr Pratesh on new boundaries.

But it’s hard to explain all that to Tom. Every time I try, the words just fizzle out. Maybe I’m being naive, but I’ve felt happier in the bubble we’ve created for ourselves in the last few weeks than I’ve felt for years. And I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardise that. I desperately don’t want to scare him away with their judgement and comments.

Tom pauses, then says it, the thing I’ve been dreading: “Have you told them about me yet?”

There’s something tentative in the way he speaks.

“It might be nice to see them again. Maybe they’d be more understanding now that we’re officially dating.”

He somehow says that with a completely straight face. Does he really think it will be nice? Maybe he does. He’s such a relentlessly positive person that he probably thinks my parents will take what I want at face value and accept him, even after the way my mum spoke about him before.

I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temples. “It’s complicated.”

It’s all I can manage, and even then, I know it sounds like a deflection.

Tom stands against the counter, watching me carefully. “Claire, I’m not trying to pressure you. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I worry I’m making things harder between you and your family.”

My chest flips. “You’re not.”

“Every time your mum comes up you look stressed. And I know things with her are tricky, but I don’t want to become this massive source of conflict in your life.”

That hurts far more than if he’d sounded angry. Because the truth is that he’s trying. He’s trying so hard to understand dynamics that don’t make sense to him because he doesn’t come from a family like mine. But by only half understanding something Tom thinks he’s done something wrong.

“I’m not hiding you because I’m ashamed of you,” I tell him quickly. “It’s the opposite, actually. I think I’ve just been scared of bringing something good into an environment that’s always made me feel rubbish.”

“I want to be part of your life. Not something that only exists inside this flat.” He pauses. “I’m not asking you to stage a big announcement, but it would be nice for you to tell them. I feel like… I don’t know… like something you’re not ready to admit to.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it? Because you’ve told Kath, you’ve told Sophia, but your mum still doesn’t know. And it’s not going to get easier the longer you leave it.”

The truth is that I’m still afraid of what would happen if he came to my house, but I feel if I try to explain it I’ll just sound overdramatic. The impossible standards, the casual judgement, the way my mother would look at him and see someone to pick apart, not someone I care about. Even though Tom understands a lot of my family dynamics, he’s such an optimist that he believes things will be different now. I’m less convinced.

“Believe me, you’re not the problem,” I tell him. My phone keeps buzzing, like a pest I can’t get rid of.

Tom sighs. “Sorry if anything I said came out harshly. I just worry that I’m causing this chasm between you and your mother, and I really don’t want to do that. Maybe I can help.”

My phone keeps buzzing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I—” I release a frustrated breath as the vibrations of my phone seem to get louder somehow. “I should take this.”

I stand up from the sofa to try and get some privacy.

“Finally,” my mum says when I accept the call.

“Hi,” I answer, picking my way around the furniture and down the corridor to Tom’s bedroom. “Are you alright? I just saw you were calling me and I hadn’t had my phone on.”

I hope she can’t hear the lie in my voice.

“I just wanted to speak to you about Sophia’s Christmas present,” Mum tells me. “Can we go look for something together? Maybe next weekend?”

I stifle my sigh. “Of course.”

“Good,” she says. “It would be nice to spend some time together. Just the two of us.”

“Yep, sounds fun,” I say, tucking the phone tighter against my ear.

“How have you been?” Mum asks. “Busy with work? Any news? Anything to update me about?”