When I return home now, I am part daughter, part guest. My bedroom is still filled with my furniture, but the drawers are empty and my favorite outfits are hanging in a closet across the country. I have to ask my mom where the dish towels are kept, because she has moved them since the last time I was home. The ice machine doesn’t work, but I don’t know this because when I was last home a few months ago, it was making ice just fine.
And I have learned this routine, half home in New York, half home in Texas. I have learned to live in this divided way; I have even learned to love it. But this summer my mom came to visit me in Austin, landing in my dorm room with a roller suitcase, Italian bread, and heat exhaustion. Suddenly, I wasn’t her guest, but she was mine.
It was the first time I’d ever had to invite my mother into my life, because our existences were not already shared. I had to show her how to turn on the shower, and where I kept my hairbrush, and how to swipe into my dorm room. I was host, now, and the role reversal was palpable.
I had created enough of a life separate from her that just by sharing the simplest parts of my routine, I was bringing her into a place she was unfamiliar. I had to welcome her into a world she had never seen before, only heard about over phone calls and glimpsed through snapchats.
Though she still played mom, buying me things for my dorm and taking me out to lunch, there was a distinct difference in the weekend spend with her. I have always been her navigator to aid her lacking sense of direction, but this weekend we were in a city she had never been to, one I had become comfortable within. Each street and building was new for her, while I waltzed around with familiarity and ease. The heat staggered her and kept her in bed while I slipped on jeans without thinking about the humidity.
And so, just for a weekend, we lived in a world that was more mine than hers, and I was able to show her a place where I had become myself. I was able to give her context for each of the moments she had commented, “But you’ve changed so much,” when I flew to New York to come home again.