He walks out of the room and I sit next to my mother’s bed.

“You’re sleeping together, aren’t you?” my mom asks.

I’m a teenager again, coming home in the passenger’s seat of my then-boyfriend’s Camaro, asking him to just keep driving for a little while longer.

“Why would you say that?” I ask.

“Well, for one thing,” my mom says, “he’s g-r-e-g-o-n-s-e-u-s, gorgeous.”

“You do know that’s not how you spell gorgeous, right?” I ask with a chortle.

“What did I spell?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Something like gregonseus.”

“Well, that’s not a word, sweetheart,” my mom says. “You really should have paid more attention in school.”

I’m hoping that we’re past her question and onto something else, but that’s a hope that never seems to see fruition.

“You are, aren’t you?” she asks.

“I’m what?” I ask, just going for that last-ditch possibility that there’s still time for me to avoid this conversation.

“You’re having sex with him,” she says. “I may be your mother, but I was a young woman once. I know the signs.”

“What are the signs?” I ask.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says. “Answer the question.”

“Mom, I think it’s just the drugs talking,” I answer.

“So you’re not having a relationship with him?” she asks.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I answer.

“What would you say?” she asks. “Remember, if you don’t tell me, I’m just as happy watching my nature program.”

She lifts a finger toward the television which is on some ultra-violent prison show.

“Mom, what are they giving you for the pain?” I ask, smirking.

“You can’t have any, dear,” she answers. “You know, if I was your age, I wouldn’t waste a minute with that man.”

“Really?” I ask. “You don’t like him?”

“What?” my mom asks, “Why would you say that?”

“You just said that you wouldn’t waste a minute with him,” I remind her.

“No,” she says, “I meant that I would be bent over the arm of the couch with my pants around my—”

OMG.

“Is there any way I could get you to not finish that sentence?” I interrupt with a shudder.

“Do you love him?” she asks.

“Can we talk about something else?” I return.

“If you don’t, that’s okay, sweetheart,” she says. “I just want to know that you’re well taken care of.”

“I like him,” I tell her. “I think love is a ways off, though.”

I was lying to myself…to my mom. I hoped the questions would stop by saying that.

“Is there potential for it?” she asks.

I was wrong.

“I don’t know,” I tell her, “maybe.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she says. “The two of you would have the most beautiful grandchildren. Don’t you think?”

“I really haven’t given it that much thought,” I answer.

“No,” she says. “I was talking to him.”

I spin around and sure enough, Eric’s in the doorway with a bottle of diet cherry cola in his hand.

He pretends like he doesn’t hear the question and, opening the bottle and handing it to my mother, he says, “I think this was the last one, but if you like, we can pick you up some from the store so you have them while you’re here.”

“That’s very kind of you,” my mom says and I know the smile on her face is in reaction to the hot redness of my face. “I was just asking my daughter if she thought the two of you had a future together and she didn’t seem to have a clear answer to the question. I was hoping maybe you might.”

It’s been so long since I’ve dated anyone that I’d forgotten about her little gambits with my significant others.

She did something similar with Will when I was in high school, only that time it took the form of asking him whether he had any useful knowledge about the female anatomy. After he left and I demanded an explanation, she just told me that it was a character question.

When I pressed her on the subject, she said that there was no right answer. If he said yes, he would be admitting that he’s either slept with me or some other floozy (she made sure to include the word “other” before the word “floozy) before he and I got together. If he said no, then he was an idiot. The truth, she said, was in how he answered, not what he answered.

“I don’t know,” he says. “The relationship’s still very new, but I’m hopeful.”

He looks at me and then winks. And that’s all it took to fill my body with warmth.

“And what are you hoping for?” my mom asks.

“How’s your treatment going?” I ask, knowing it to be a futile exercise.

“The doctors are hopeful,” my mom says.

I did kind of open the door for her on that one.

“Thank you for the cola, dear,” my mom says and for a minute, she stares off at the TV.

A doctor comes in the room, but doesn’t say anything. He just checks her SATs and walks back out again as quickly as he entered.

“When I was Jessica’s age,” my mom tells Eric as she continues to stare at the television screen, “I never thought that I was going to meet the right man. Then,” she says, turning toward me, “your father came along.”

“That’s very—” I start, but my mom isn’t done.

“Then I knew I was never going to meet the right man,” she howls.

Eric and I look at each other uncomfortably for a moment, waiting for my mom to stop laughing.

Finally, she catches her breath and says, “Your sister was here earlier. Did you hear that insect she’s been dating managed to slip one by the armed guards?”

Eric cocks his head, not understanding, but my answer to my mom’s question clarifies things well enough, “Yeah, she told me she’s pregnant.”

“Now, there’s a grandchild I already know is going to need some counseling,” my mom says. “It wouldn’t be so bad if your sister’s boyfriend wasn’t such a twat.”

“Mom!” I exclaim and Eric quickly turns away, unable to hide the fact that his shoulders are sharply moving up and down.

“He is, dear,” my mom says. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who’s that high-strung, and I raised you for crying out loud.”

“I think your daughter is wonderful,” Eric says, finally able to contain himself.

“Which one?” my mom asks. “The one that carrying twat seed or the one that’s so caught up with work, she forgot to have a life?”

“I planned on having a life when I was younger, Mom,” I tell her, “but you did a pretty good job convincing me that nothing I ever did was going to be good enough.”

I’d hoped that the conversation wouldn’t devolve into this, but I really should have known better. Even from her hospital bed, my mom’s still the queen of nastiness.

“It made you try harder, though, didn’t it?” my mom asks.

“It made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right,” I tell her. “It made me think that the best I could ever hope for was that a man would take pity on me and save me from my own stupidity!”

“Now dear,” my mom says, “do try to not raise your voice in front of the help.”

“The help?!” I exclaim.

Eric’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I will have you know that this man is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time and no, I don’t know where our relationship’s going, but he’s a decent person and he actually cares about me enough to try to help me feel better when I’m worried about you and your bullshit!”

“So, you think this is going to be it for you, do you?” she asks.

“That’s way over the line,” I tell her. “He’s my boyfriend, and I’m not going to sit here while you talk about him this way. Come on, Eric, we’re going.”

I stand and march to the door, but a sound from my mother’s bed stops me in my tracks.

Boiling, I spin around to find her with a wide smile on her face and laughter coming out of her throat.

“What is so funny?” I ask.

“You never did understand,” she says, laughing. “I’m not the demon you think me to be, dear. Now sit back down and let’s talk for a minute.”