Update:
Today Spouse Weasel told me, “First, don’t panic. Your mother called me yesterday.”
It was like this.
“I don’t want a relationship with Spice Weasel.”
“Ok.”
“How is Wee Weasel?”
“He’s in kindergarten. He’s doing well.”
“Do you have any other kids?”
“Nope.”
“I’m doing estate planning, are you okay financially?”
“We’re doing well, and if we had a problem, we have a lot of support on my side of the family.”
“Good, good. Listen, the reason I called is I’ve been really worried about something I talked with Spice Weasel about, about five years ago. We were talking about her miscarriage. I know she’s pro-choice, but I think she may be under the mistaken impression I attempted a chemical abortion in 1986. That never happened, okay? I never did that. Do with that information what you will.”
“…Ok.”
And that was that.
I looked up at him and said, “So nothing has changed, is what you’re saying.”
“Not a damn thing.”
I have no idea what the fuck she is talking about. I would have been three years old in 1986. There’s something new, some kind of psychological distance, because my first thought was, “I really don’t have the bandwidth for this shit right now,” and my second thought was, “Holy fucking shit, that’s weird.” That’s weird, right? This person is not well. Like in an objective way, a vaguely pitying way, and a “keep your distance” way.
Hopefully there’s no delayed onset of guilt or anything, but right now, I’m like, ugh. Now? I have too much going on.
I called my Aunt, who laughed hysterically and told me to forget about it (in a loving way.) Then I did my workout, and, well, I’m pretty okay. I’m glad she didn’t call me though, because it would be tempting info-dumping all the stuff going on with my kid. I’ve got her blocked in every way I can think of for just that reason.