"Sylvia Dickerson! You're talking back to me!" My mother's hand still hung in the air, her voice shaking with rage. "So what if he's thirty? Thirty means he's not your brother anymore?!"
"I was trying to have a civil conversation with you! Why do you have to be so ungrateful!"
"When it comes down to it, you just don't want to take care of me! I raised you for nothing!"
I pressed my hand against my cheek, frozen in place. "But the life inside me, doesn't that count too?"
"Mom, that's your grandchild!"
"My grandchild?" Her chest heaved violently, her voice cracking. "Did I tell you to get pregnant?!"
"Or are you saying the mother who gave birth to you and raised you matters less than the baby in your belly?"
I looked down at my stomach. This was my first child with my husband. I'd imagined the news would be cause for double celebration.
When I didn't answer, my mother took a step closer, her voice bearing down on me. "Sylvia, wasn't it you who had your husband look into this treatment plan?!"
"You know every detail of the surgical protocol. What's wrong with me asking you to be here for it!"