Last night my partner was on the phone with her mother. “Don’t tell Heather,” she said.
Then she left the room and continued her conversation.
Yesterday was long and tiring, and my better self was done for the day. I was feeling petty and easily wounded.
By the time she finished talking to her mom, I had a whole story made up about what she wasn’t supposed to tell me.
Turns out they were talking about tomatoes.
I love tomatoes. I grew up in NJ eating perfect, juicy, just-ripe tomatoes from my father’s backyard garden. Now I live in Alaska, where growing a ripe tomato is impossible without a greenhouse.
My partner’s mom was talking about how good the tomatoes in Michigan have been this summer, and my partner said, “Don’t tell Heather.” Then she needed something in the other room, so she went to get it, continuing her conversation there.
I tried to hold on to my grievance-it felt good to be right, even though I was wrong. But soon I had to laugh at myself, at my silliness.
Sometimes it’s just about tomatoes, and our minds fill in the gaps with our fears and insecurities. We make up stories, trying to make sense of what we think we know. And we get cranky about tomatoes.