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Tammy leans her forehead against the door, needed a moment of quiet to just breathe.
She’s been a mess of anxiety the last few days, with Sebastian walking the careful line between making themself scarce and being there for support while she shows her mom the place she’s come to call home over the last few years.
It’s a side of her that her mom has never seen.
And so is the gay side. They’ve never done ‘meet the family,’ not really. Not since she was seventeen and introduced Ethan. Relationships are a topic to be avoided between them.
Or, they have been. Now her mom has met Kara and… it had gone better than she could have expected.
But this is the moment of truth; them being alone is when her mom’s opinions all come flooding out.
Steeling herself, she walks back and perches nervously on the edge of the couch, hands clasped in an effort to not fidget with them, waiting for her mom to say something, anything.
She doesn’t though, not a cutting remark or a change of subject. She simply leans forwards to lay her hand on top of Tammy’s.
For a beat, she stays like that, staring into Tammy’s eyes like she’s searching her very soul, then she pulls away, her lips curving upwards.
"She's gorgeous, sweetheart."
Despite her anxiety, Tammy smiles, "Yeah, she is. She's good for me."
In so many ways, Kara is exactly what she needs. She’s forcing her to be more open, face the things she’s still running away from, confront her emotions and learn to deal with someone else’s.
Actually be serious about a relationship for the first time in a long time.
"Tammy?” her mom asks, quietly, “why didn't you tell me sooner?"
She ducks her head, "I thought you'd be disappointed in me." Her voice is only just above a whisper, so unlike her usual self.
"I would never be disappointed with you for being yourself-“ tears spring up in Tammy’s eyes- “I know I was confused when it ended with Ethan... I always thought you were such a lovely couple but I wasn't there all the time, I don't know how it was,” shaking her head, she sighs, “it does make me question what I've done that you couldn't tell me sooner."
"I...” she sniffles, “I've always struggled to tell you things, ma. I've wanted to but..."
But one bad reaction, so many years ago, that’s all it had taken to create the fear of being honest and still not getting the support she needed.
And the more she’d kept her thoughts and feelings to herself, the harder it had been to share them until they’d fallen into their weird adult relationship of worrying about each other from afar.
"I haven't always been there for you. I'm sorry for that, sweetheart.”
The tears begin to creep down her cheeks. This feels like some sort of fever dream, something she’d imagined in the hard times or the dark moments when all she’d wanted was to be close to her mom and sort out everything that has ever happened between them.
Fictional conversations where she’d demanded her voice be heard, said everything she’d always wanted to and received every reaction from a disownment to an apology, which had somehow seemed the least realistic.
Because what sign did she have that this conversation was even possible?
It’s certainly the first time her mom has ever apologised to her.
And as much as she’d wanted to believe, she’d wanted to believe, that her mom would love her anyway… the fear of being wrong has caused sleepless nights and flashes of anxiety for years.
Not bothering to brush the tears away as they’re joined by others falling swiftly, she admits, "I always hoped that you'd love me in spite of it but I didn't want to find out I was wrong..."
"Regardless,” her mom interjects firmly and she frowns, confused.
"What?"
"Not in spite, regardless,” she repeats and Tammy has to stifle a sob, “I’m proud of you, patata, for being who you are. Everything you were always meant to be.”
Taking a shaking breath, she curses the plaintive brokenness in her voice as she whispers, "Why didn't you say something, Ma?"
Wouldn’t that have made this so much easier? Taken away so much of the anxiety and uncertainty?
"I suppose I wanted to think I was wrong so there wasn't a big part of your life you were hiding from me,” her mom explains, open and honest and soft, “so I hadn't failed. Which is selfish, I know."
This is so unlike everything their relationship has been her whole life. It’s been loud, it’s been angry, it’s been full of misunderstanding and stubbornness and arguments.
It’s felt loveless at times.
Like nothing she could do would ever be good enough for her mom. And she’d resigned herself to it so many years ago – resolving to live as unapologetically as she could because there just wasn’t any winning – but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t mourned everything she wishes their relationship could have been if she’d been less… well, herself.
Maybe she could have saved so much anger. Anger at herself for not being the way she thought she should be, anger at her mom for not loving her in the way she needed.
Because her mom does love her. She’s always believed it. It’s just always felt conditional. And the conditions impossible to achieve because they fight against the very core of who she is and loves being.
As if aware of her thoughts, a hand cups her cheek and affectionate fingers brush away the salty droplets.
She leans into it, not able to help herself as she tries to stop this turning into a full-blown breakdown. Even if it’s probably long overdue.
It still feels odd, crying in front of her mom. She’s been holding in her tears around her for so long, refusing to let them out and show the emotion that could be just as easily thrown back in her face.
The arm that wraps carefully around her shoulders feels odd too.
They’ve never been particularly tactile in that way and she nearly pulls away but the hand still cupping her face pats lightly and familiar words pass between them, “Luce della mia vita.”
That single phrase breaks down the dam and the tears begin in full force, shaking her shoulders and turning the world around her blurry.
Every night, as she’d tucked her into bed, her mom would kiss her on the forehead and whisper, ‘luce della mia vita,’ ‘light of my life.’ Those had been days of carefree childhood, when she was blissfully unaware of everything that would happen in her life and they had just been family.
But even though they hadn’t known it at the time, one night had been the last night she’d ever said it.
Tammy wonders if that had been a turning point for them.
And, scraping together all the hope she can hold in her trembling hands, she wonders if this is another.