She laughed.
She bloody laughed when I said that.
And I was dead serious.

It's not that I'm superstitious. I don't think she'd jinx it. I didn't think that celebrating with her would ruin it, make me lose this new wonder.

I just want to cuddle up with the news, alone.

I don't feel like spending a celebratory evening with my mother's friends. Granted, they are nice, granted, they are important to her, and granted: she wants to share.
But it's MY celebration, my news, my decision to do this, and I want to keep it close for a bit.

Not closed, or hidden, but I want my personal delight to stay that way, I want to have a good secret. Something that will make me grin every now and then, give me warm fuzzies, before I have to plaster a smile on my face and be publicly happy, grateful, excited.

I just want time to absorb it.

Oh, I'm so thrilled! she says.
Yes, well don't run out to buy the champagne, 'aight?
She laughs.
And I laugh too.
She's my mother. What did I expect?
At least I had it to myself for a day.

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