"I'm in love." Beca had never said these particular words before. They felt strange yet familiar, like relatives one had never met before but who still shared stories and gestures and DNA.
"You're in love? Wow, that's great, hon… I… Who is he?" And this was the question she had rather not had her mother ask her just now. After all, what did it matter who she was in love with? Couldn't they just talk about how great it was and how exactly she was feeling? Couldn't they start with easy stuff like that bubbly laugh that seemed to burst out of her every time that person touched her? Or maybe just the way she felt entirely stupid because she had to smile all the time? Those were easy, those were… normal. The question of who she wanted to be with, was with… was not. In a way… but then… it felt normal, and real and wonderful. Why should it even make a difference?
"Oh, you know… another student," she answered, very aware that she sounded lame. She wasn't really good at lying, at least not to her mother.
"What's his name? Have you told me about him before?"
"I might have mentioned…. him," she heard herself say and it was not good. It was, in fact, wrong. Why was she doing this? Yes, there was a difference to overcome here but it wasn't such a big deal. This difference made all the difference to her. It made the difference to the girl who never had said 'I'm in love' before. "Actually I have. Mentioned, that is."
"Beca, are you trying to be cryptic here? Just tell me his name, sweety," her mother asked good-naturedly and Beca wondered why she couldn't have guessed from her cryptic-ness what was going on. Why couldn't her mother guess the difference?
"No, I'm not trying to be cryptic, mom. Why would I be? I just… It's… I mean it's nothing bad or anything. I mean…"
"Please tell me you're not dating one of your teachers, Beca." Her mother's voice was now pleading. So strange. A second ago she was laughing at her daughter's antics and now she was pleading. What would her reaction be to the person her daughter was dating? Panic? Disgust? Acceptance?
"Mom, no, I'm not dating a teacher! Why would you… I told you it was a student. Just someone I'm… studying with… a nice, normal… girl. Chloe, that's her name. I've told you about her."
There was a short break. Then:
"Right, Chloe. She's one of the Bellas, right?"
"Yeah, she is. She's a soprano, very pretty," Beca confirmed, relieved but not to the point where she could relax back into her pillow. She was still sitting upright, trying to listen through this conversation, through her mom's feelings to know what this really meant for her.
"Well, I'm… I… Beca?"
"Yes, mom?" Beca felt her heart hammer in her chest, knowing this was the moment she would know whether her mom was okay with this or not.
"Are you sure? I mean, does she make you happy?"
"I'm in love with her, mom. She makes me… very, very happy. I'll send you a picture, okay?" And now it was Beca who was pleading her mother to understand, to accept, to respect her enough to be okay with the choice she'd made in her lover.
"Yeah, I'd like that, to put a face to the name. So, she's petty and a good singer… what else?"
"She's so many things, mom," Beca said, hearing for the first time how close she was to tears. Happy tears. She should have known her mom would understand… that love was love.
