Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

And while I might doubt her judgment when it comes to major
life changes like marriage and moving out of the country, Mom is
usually completely sane when it comes to discerning reality from
fantasy.
As if she can sense my shock, she reaches out and places a hand
on my knee. “I know this is difficult to digest—”
“Difficult?” I shout. “Difficult? Algebra is difficult. The Ironman
is difficult. This is insane.”
“I thought so, too,” Mom says. “At first.”
“So you believe this?” What happened to rational Mom? “You
believe him?”
She nods. “I’ve seen proof.”
“You’ve seen—” I shake my head. This is not happening. “What
kind of proof?”
“It’s a little hard to explain,” she says, blushing. “He made roses . . .
materialize.”
“Roses?” Ha! I’ve got him now. “He’s just a magician. He pulled
them out of his sleeve.”
Mom blushes even more. “He wasn’t wearing sleeves at the
time.”
Ewww! Therapy is definitely in my future.
All right, so the rational, that’s-not-really-possible approach isn’t
working. I’ve got more tactics in my arsenal. I just need a minute
to regroup. While I’m trying to come up with my next move I realize
that, since I haven’t seen any roses around since we landed in
Greece, Mom must have known before we took off from LAX.
Even if she’s being totally played, she should have said something.
29