“Your father?” she laughed. “I was a girl then, but I did meet a man.” “You’ve never said anything.” “There was no need.” “Did Dad know?” “On some level, I’m sure.” “You loved this other guy?” She looked at me, then at her drink. “Did you see it snowing?” I said. “I’m glad you aren’t stuck in some airport.” She was referring to Christmas two years ago. My ex and I lived in a coastal state that seemed another world and we were halted in transit, put up by the airline in a hotel that could have been in any city on any night of the year. I wished she hadn’t brought it up. “I really love her,” I said. I meant Hannah. “And you will too. She’s wonderful. She’s amazing.” “I can tell you’re in love,” she said. “So what gives?” alive.”
“I never got over him. The way he was. He wore a suit and was light on his feet. I felt “That’s how I feel about Hannah,” I said. “You’ll see.” “I’m starting to feel this,” she said and she set down the cup. “Will I be sick tomorrow?” “Tell me.” “I should butt out.” “Say it.” “I love you, Brian,” she said. “I really do. But it’s not in her eyes.”
“Mom, you go all your life and spring this romanticized boyfriend on me now that Dad is dead. I’m sorry if you’re lonely. I’m sorry if you’re unhappy. But Hannah and me, what we have is real. We’re in love.” “I should have kept quiet,” Mom said and she got up from the table. She set the cup in the sink and looked out the kitchen window at the falling snow. I knew that what I’d promised Hannah didn’t matter now. These next few days I would drink as much as I could. Mom leaned over me, kissed me on top of the head, and she said, “Don’t stay up too late.”