When my sunshine told me how telling his parents about me had gone, he replied “well enough”. I later learned that this meant it had been a 6 on a scale where 10 was “alright” and 1 was “screaming and crying”.
What he really meant is that they don’t like it, but don’t see that there’s anything they can do to stop it.
This bodes super well for my relationship with my future in-laws! Hooray!
His father did the standard “Oh, bloody hell” etc., but there was a football match on and, y’know: priorities. His mother wanted a detailed medical history, after which she went, “good”, and my sunshine was understandably a little upset.
She also said that people, like me, who are “sexually confused” (at which point my sunshine made a small disbelieving noise and she backtracked ever so slightly) form fissile relationships. I didn’t know what fissile meant. Apparently it means likely to fall apart.
I laughed. She’s never met me. She doesn’t know what I’m like. Words that could never be used to describe me include “flighty”, “dreamy”, “changeable” and “inconstant”. Words that pretty accurately sum me up include “direct”, “decisive” and “fucking stubborn”. The thought that someone could get me so wrong on account of my gender identity was hilarious.
And then I went to bed. And I realised.
This isn’t just some random person. This is, on a theoretical level, a candidate for the vacant “grandma of my babies” position. The fact she has such preconceived notions about “people like me” is vile.
I know it’s not her fault. She’s in a cult. But. She could at least… meet me before deciding I will never know love, or friendship, and that she feels sorry for me?
We could, in theory, get along. We probably have some interests in common. Providing she can see me as (and treat me as) a person, everything should be grand.
He says, smiling weakly.
I’m going to meet my sunshine’s parents in all of (counts on fingers) five days and I’m fucking petrified. Look at my writing style. It’s all over the place today. But it absolutely echoes how I’m feeling so it’s staying.
I want to love them so much. And I want them to love me. And I want them to understand that I love their son (and I liked him for a long time before that). I want love, and family, to see us through this whole clusterfuck, and bring us out the other side having learnt a little more about each other.
Please, God. Please.