She wore navy, her signature color when she wanted to project authority, and had already ordered a glass of wine before I even sat down.
“So?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Is this a real-life update, Jonathan, or are we just catching up?”
“I’m seeing someone, Mom.”
Her eyes sharpened with interest. “What’s she like?”
“Anna is a nurse,” I said. “She works nights at a clinic near the hospital.”
Her expression barely changed, but I caught the flicker of approval.
“Smart, brave, I like that in a woman for you, Jonathan. Parents?”
“She has both parents. Mom’s a teacher and her dad is a doctor, but they live in another state.”
“Wonderful!” she said, clapping once.
“She’s also a single mom. Her son, Aaron, is seven.”
The shift was subtle. She lifted her wine glass, taking a measured sip, as if recalibrating her thoughts.
“That’s a lot of responsibility for someone your age.”
“I guess, but she’s incredible,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “Anna is a wonderful mother. And Aaron… he’s a great kid. He told me I was his favorite grown-up last week.”
“I’m sure she appreciates the help, Jonathan,” my mother replied, dabbing her lips delicately. “A good man is hard to find.”
There was no warmth in her tone. No curiosity. No invitation to continue.
We moved on to safer topics—work, the weather, an art exhibit downtown. She never said Anna’s name again, and I didn’t push it.
Not yet.
A few weeks later, I introduced them anyway.
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