By twenty-seven, I’d stopped trying to impress her. There was no winning. Still, I told her I was seeing someone.
We met at her favorite restaurant—dark wood, crisp linens. She wore navy, ordered wine before I sat down.
“I’m seeing someone. Her name is Anna. She’s a nurse.”
Approval flickered. “Good. Parents?”
“Both alive. Her mom’s a teacher. Her dad’s a doctor.”
She smiled. Then I added, “She’s also a single mother. Her son is seven.”
The pause was subtle. Her tone cooled.
“That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“She’s an incredible mother,” I said. “And her son… he’s special.”
“I’m sure she appreciates the help,” my mother replied.
She never said Anna’s name again.
She asked Aaron one question.
“What’s your favorite subject?”
