thing, I’m Southern, but my mama is country. Ask anyone in the South and they will tell you there’s a big difference. Her family is from Kentucky, where you never pronounce the g sound on the end of a sentence, and when you’ve had enough to eat, you’re “full as a tick on a hound.” She’s like sunshine poking through a rainstorm.
“WHERE did you find this sweatshirt?” I ask, holding up the most amazing article of clothing that’s ever been created.
I hear Mama clapping with excitement on the other end. “It’s the best, isn’t it? I bought it a month ago, and it’s been torture waitin’ for it to get to you. I found it in a little Etsy shop called 90s Hot-tees. Get it?”
You know those moms you see on TV that seem too good to be true? The ones you watch, feeling jealousy grow inside your chest because no one that amazing really exists? Well, she does. Her name is Bonnie Broaden, and she is my five-foot-nothing Southern firecracker mama with teased-up blonde hair, toenails that always match her purse, and just enough progressive opinions to make you question everything you thought you ever knew about this particular stereotype.
Only a mama like mine would commit to a five year long inside joke, buying up every unique piece of fan merchandise devoted to the king of 1990’s hot guys: Nick Lachey.
Five years ago, when I called off my wedding at the last minute with the weak excuse of it just didn’t work out, I expected my family to be angry and full of questions. But my mama took one look at my puffy, bloodshot eyes, asked if I wanted to talk about it—to which I responded with a firm no—and then never questioned me again. She took care of canceling the venue, returning my wedding gifts, and contacting all of the guests to let them know that Ben and I would no longer be getting married—all without ever demanding a single reason why. Sometimes I look back and wish I had told everyone the truth right way instead of hiding behind the excuse that we weren’t right for each other, but it just hurt too bad at the time to say the words out loud.
On the day of my supposed-to-be wedding, Mama showed up at my doorstep first thing in the morning, giant cup of coffee in one hand and a massive gift bag in the other. When I opened the bag and pulled out a huge fleece blanket with the image of my high school celebrity crush, Nick Lachey, printed across it, she said, “I figured if you’re not gettin’ married today, you might as well have your favorite man in the world to snuggle with.”
And that was that.
From then on, every holiday, every birthday, and sometimes when she knows I’ve had a hard week, I find presents like this one on my doorstep.
Today’s treasure, though, is my all-time favorite. It’s a white cotton grandma-style crewneck with a picture of the band 98° in their red zipper jumpsuits with text down the side that says Turn up the heat!
Basically, it’s better than gold, and I’m going to be the most popular girl at school. Well, actually, I’ll probably be trolled in the grocery store by thirteen-year-olds because I’m a grown woman and shouldn’t be wearing boy band apparel from the 90s, but I don’t give a crap. I will risk humiliating remarks from teeny-boppers because I adore my mama and these trinkets of love she sends me. They are our thing. Our secret code. Our BFF bracelets, if you will.
Sometimes I feel guilty that she’s given me all of this unconditional love, and I still haven’t told her what happened between Ben and me, but the more time that passes, the harder it gets to rip those memories out of the steel vault I locked them away in. They are better left sealed away where they can’t hurt me anymore.
Or…at least where no one is able to see that they hurt me.
After I finish gushing to Mama about the sweatshirt, we talk about the bachelorette party. I tell Mama a happier version of the night, tiptoeing around the part where I accidentally got hammered and made a fool of myself (even cool moms don’t want to hear those bits). But mostly, I use all of my energy avoiding any mention of Ryan and how he’s ridiculously hot now, and successful, and brought me home safely, and made me