Memoir: The Moment My Mom Came Out

I walked along the cracked and neglected sidewalks as the sun disappeared behind the shingled rooftops, leaving behind it an otherworldly, green hue that lingered in the trees.

It was dusk and, as I rounded the corner onto my street, I saw the garage door of my house lit up by the headlights of Jennifer’s pink, 1990 Geo Tracker. It sat idling in the driveway, as Jennifer stood on the front stoop, lighting one of her menthol cigarettes.

“Hi, Mike!” She said cheerfully, exhaling a plume of smoke. Her voice had the forced enthusiasm of a stepparent who was trying.

“Hey.” I said cautiously, as I walked through the front yard towards her. I’d cut the grass earlier that day and my footsteps kicked up the perfume of wet clippings. Cicadas hummed loudly and fireflies strobed their tiny green lanterns in the shrinking space between us.

It was at that moment everything I suspected was confirmed. Jennifer dropped my mom off and walked her to the door. They were on a date.

The next day, I sat on Jeremy’s bed with a Sega Genesis controller in my hand, guiding Sonic the Hedgehog through a maze of gold rings glistening in the 8-bit sun while EPMD’s, Business as Usual spun in the CD player of a boombox.

The phone rang.

Jeremy picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.” This, he did in the voice of…