"Haven't you noticed how Marcia's son was looking at you at their cousin's wedding?" my mom asked me as we were having lunch in Florence.
We went on a short vacation to Italy to spend some quality time together, catch up, and explore the wonders of Tuscany. Italy has always been one of our favorite countries, and it was a true delight travelling together. Until this very moment, when she started to talk about my love life. There was nothing I hated more, than my mother meddling in my relationships.
Not that I've had any serious relationship worth mentioning in the last 26 years of my life, but still. Every time she'd insist on matchmaking and introducing me to some of her friends' sons I'd immediately change the subject to something else, or we'd end up fighting for the next half hour. This was about to be one of those conversations.
"Oh, mother, please," I rolled my eyes, taking a bite of the delicious Italian pizza. God, what was it about that exquisite dish that made me want to live on eating only that?
"What? He was. That's why he came to introduce himself, when Marcia took her daughter to meet us. He's such a gentleman," she said excitedly.
"He's also a child," I said repulsively, trying to let her know I really don't want to talk about her fixing me up with someone, "I was always attracted more by older men, you know that."
"Don't be ridiculous, Natalie, he's 24," she answered nonchalantly taking a sip of her sparkling water.
"Fabulous," I replied sarcastically, "And since he's a guy, we'll take four years off of his emotional maturity, which will put him on a level of a twenty-year-old. I'm 27, which is practically 30, so you're technically fixing me up with a teenager. That's low even for you, mother."
"Oh my God. Could you be more cynical?"
"Please, have we met?" I answered proudly, flipping my long brown hair back, so it won't end up falling in my plate.
"First of all, he's not a child, second of all you've been 26 for only a month, so you're not even close to 27, and third, since when have you started adding up years to yourself? You've been telling us not to ever remind you of your real age, because you'll always feel like you're 16. Which I never understood why, but never mind," I could see the frustration in my mother's behavior, but I didn't really care. Just as she didn't care about respecting my decisions and always had to push me to do something I didn't feel like doing.
"Are we seriously going to ruin this beautiful lunch with that ridiculous story of yours?"
"How is me wanting to make you happy always ridiculous?"
"You're not serious, right?" I asked in disbelief.
"Of course I am."
"What could possibly make you think I was not happy?" I asked frustrated.
"The fact that you're always alone. You've never brought a boy home, you're always hanging out with your friends, and you never mention anyone special in your life. Everyone needs someone to love."
"I love my friends. And I love spending time with them. Is there something wrong with that?"
"Of course not, honey, but you need a guy in your life to take care of you and love you and..."
"Just like you and dad love each other?" I asked sarcastically, and raised my eyebrow. Their marriage seemed worse with ever year that passed by, and the more time I spent with them, observing their relationship, the less I wanted someone next to me.
I was always a hopeless romantic. I felt like I was stuck in all of those romantic movies and TV dramas, where an unconditional love always conquered all, and where you actually loved that special person so much that you could never imagine yourself next to anyone else. That's what I've always wanted. A guy who'll look at me every time as if it was the first time he saw me. Who'll hug me so tight every time, as if he was about to lose me forever. I wanted a love so consuming that it would make me ache every time I needed to be away from him. But all I saw around me was couples who spent years together, only to get married, have kids and eventually divorce, because one or both of them cheated. Or got tired of one another in only 3 years. On the other hand, I had my parents whose marriage seemed like they were forced to put up with each other, rather than to love and cherish one another.
