A conversation with my mom

The phone rings. It's my mom. I cringe. I haven't told her that I was fired from my job last week, but I'm Facebook friends with her best friend and some people who attend her church, so it was only a matter of time before she found out.

"Hello."

"Hi, Amber. I was cleaning out some stuff, and I need to know if I can give this UNO game to Goodwill."

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't even know what you're talking about."

"It's UNO, and Jenga...and a doll."

"A doll?"

"It's a doll in a box."

"Keep the doll. I think Grandma gave that to me. She wanted to leave one for each of her granddaughters."

"OK, I'll keep the doll."

There's an awkward silence here. We both know this call isn't about some games. I think she's waiting for me to fess up about the job situation, but I'm not budging. She makes her move.

"Are you looking for a job?" 

"Yeah."

"Were you laid off?"

"Yeah." Lie. I was fired.

"When did it happen?

"A few days ago." If "a few days" = "a week."

"So it was just a layoff?"

"No. I was fired."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I didn't *do* anything. They just told me they didn't like the job I was doing and they fired me. I don't really--" I mean to say "I don't really want to talk about it," but I stop short. 

"That's it? They just told you they didn't like the work you were doing?" Translation:  "Why aren't you telling me the whole story?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it." Translation:  "I don't owe you the whole story. You wouldn't understand."

"Are you going to stay there, or are you coming back this way?"

"I don't know! It's only been a few days."  Translation:  I'm doing everything I can to avoid "coming back this way," but I can't tell you that, because you wouldn't understand why.

"How long will you last in your apartment?"

"Probably through February." Possibly a lie. I won't know until I receive the rest of my pay, but probably not that long. I don't want her to freak out on my behalf. I do enough of that on my own.

"Well, let us know if you're coming back this way. I can try to clean out the bedroom..."

"OK."  

Another awkward silence. I think she's giving me one last chance to elaborate or explain myself or cry. I'm thinking of an exit strategy for this phone call when she breaks the silence. 

"I'm sorry."  

"Yeah, well, it's life."

"OK, well, I'll leave the doll here. You can look at it when you visit. Talk to you later."

"Bye."

"Bye."