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“Where’s your father?” Mom asks.
“He’s at the house getting everything ready for you.”
She nods and we leave the hospital premises. My mom watches the buildings slide by as we drive through the city and into the suburbs.
“Tell me about your date while we’re still alone,” my mom says with a smile. She loves hearing about these things and we can’t talk much with my father around.
“It was nice,” I say.
“Nice!?” She shakes her head. “I need a full breakdown. You’re teasing me.”
I laugh. It’s good to see she’s so full of spunk again.
“It was amazing,” I say, correcting mynicestatement. “Her name’s Natalie. The auction was for her boss, but she got sick and Natalie came instead. And she’s everything I didn’t realize I wanted in a woman.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Mom says.
I nod.
“When are we meeting her?”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Not just yet. I want to see her again, make sure this is right. I can’t afford another mistake.”
My mom puts her hand on mine on the gearshift.
“Sweetheart, Nicole really messed up, but not every relationship ends in heartbreak.”
She’s right. A lot of people are happily together—married or just dating—without anything going wrong. But it’s hard to see myself in that position after what happened.
“It’s a risk I have to take,” I say before she can say it.
She nods. “And risks are often worth it. The reward makes it all better in the end.”
I don’t tell her I’m not sure if there will be reward. But with Natalie, I want to try. She’s different than anyone else, and I can’t stop thinking about her. Even if I want to push her away completely—which I’ve thought about more than once—I can’t stay away from her. I need to know her.
I need to be around her.
So, I’m going to give in to this strange and sudden addiction that I’ve developed since I met her.
“She has a daughter,” I say.
My mom’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“You seem happy about it.”
“Children are a blessing, honey. And we live in a world where anything is possible. Nothing is the way it used to be, and if you can make a family out of it, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
My mom is always so supportive. It’s great talking to her—she’s everything my dad isn’t when it comes to my life and what I do with it.
We stop in front of the house, and the time for deep conversation is over. My dad opens the front door and I let him take over, helping my mom out of the car and leading her to the house. I follow with her luggage.
My dad helps her settle into bed, where she sinks back against the pillows. She breathes hard—the short distance from the car to the bed was already too much for her.
It worries me.
When I look at my dad, I see the worry etched on his face, too.
“What can I get you?” Dad asks.
