***
A few weeks later, I brought them to meet her anyway. We met at a small coffee shop near my apartment. Anna was ten minutes late, and I could see that as every minute passed, my mother grew more annoyed.
But Anna didn’t have a choice. Aaron’s sitter had canceled, and she’d had to bring him along.
When they arrived, Anna looked flustered. Her hair was in a loose bun, jeans and a pale blouse, and one side of her collar was slightly curled. Aaron clung to her hand, eyes scanning the pastry counter as they walked in.
“A good man is hard to find.”
“This is Anna,” I said, standing to greet them. “And this is Aaron.”
My mother stood, offered her hand, and gave Anna a smile that didn’t have any warmth.
“You must be exhausted, Anna.”
“I am,” Anna replied with a soft laugh. “It’s been one of those days.”
My mother asked Aaron a single question. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”
When he said art class, she rolled her eyes and then ignored him for the rest of the visit. When the check came, she paid for herself.
When the check came, she paid for herself.
In the car afterward, Anna looked over at me.
“She doesn’t like me, Jon.”
She wasn’t angry, just honest.
“She doesn’t know you, love.”
“Maybe, but it’s clear that she doesn’t want to.”
***
Two years later, I met my mother at the old piano showroom uptown.
She used to take me there on weekends when I was little, saying the acoustics were “clean enough to hear your mistakes.” She called it her favorite place to “imagine legacy,” as if the right piano could guarantee greatness.
Two years later, I met my mother at the old piano showroom uptown.
The room smelled like varnish and memory. The pianos were lined up like prize horses, each one more polished than the last.
“So, Jonathan,” she said, running her fingers along the lid of a grand piano, “is this going somewhere, or are we just wasting time?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I asked Anna to marry me.”
My mother’s hand froze in midair before falling to her side. “I see.”
“She said yes, of course.”
My mother adjusted her salmon-colored blazer, smoothing invisible wrinkles. Her eyes didn’t meet mine.
“Is this going somewhere, or are we just wasting time?”
“Well,” she said carefully, “then let me be very clear about something. If you marry her, don’t ever ask me for anything again. You’re choosing that life, Jonathan.”
I waited for something else, a breath, a tremble, or something that suggested doubt. But her face remained unreadable. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t fight.
She just let me go. And so, I left.
***
Anna and I were married a few months later in the backyard of her friend’s home. There were string lights, folding chairs, and the kind of laughter that comes from people who know how to live without pretending.
We moved into a small rental with sticky drawers and a lemon tree in the backyard. Aaron painted his room green and left handprints on the wall.
We moved into a small rental with sticky drawers.
Three months in, while picking cereal at the grocery store, Aaron looked up at me and smiled.
“Can we get the marshmallow kind, Dad?”
