I was so embarrassing. I know. I was also so tired because I had stayed up all night worrying about my son’s reaction to his mother dating—and not just dating anyone, dating the hunky tennis pro. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water and took a sip.
“So,” I said. “What do you want for lunch?”
He looked around. “Where’s Diana?”
“She’s off planning her wedding.” This was a good way to procrastinate. I could talk about Diana. “She’s getting married here,” I said, “on our front lawn. Isn’t that so fun?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. That will be really cool. Hey, can we go out to eat or something?”
I gave him my most offended look. “You don’t want me to whip up something delicious for you?”
“Sorry, Mom. I’m going to go play tennis with Johnny later, and food poisoning will really throw me off my game.” Hegrinned, and I ran my fingers through that sweet head of blond hair, remembering how white it had gotten in the summers when he was a baby. But he wasn’t a baby now. He was growing up, and he was going to figure out what was going on if I didn’t tell him.
I picked my bag up off the floor and said, “Sure, bud. Where would you like to go?”
“I know it’s kind of far, but can we go to Beaufort Grocery?”
Perfect. Fifteen whole minutes in the car to discuss the Andrew situation. I couldn’t chicken out or else it would seem sort of strange when he came to Disney World with us. Only, after we got in the car and had talked about Wagner’s week and the tests he had and who he wanted to invite to his birthday party, we were at the restaurant.You can’t talk about this stuff in a restaurant.
After about the third bite of my overflowing cobb salad, I realized that if I didn’t get this off my chest I was going to be too sick to eat.
“Buddy,” I said, wiping my mouth, “I need to tell you something, and I want you to know that you are allowed to feel however you want about this, and we can talk about it and we will figure everything out. Okay?”
He looked at me like I had grown a unicorn horn and said, “Okay.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m dating Andrew.”
He looked confused for a minute. Then he lit up. “Andrew from the Straits Club?”
I nodded enthusiastically.
“Mom, that’s awesome! Now he can teach me that wicked spin serve!” He took a bite of his sandwich and said, with his mouth full, “Johnny is going to be so jealous. Do you think you’ll get married? I mean, he’d be the coolest step-dad ever!”
I raised my eyebrows. This really wasn’t how I saw this conversation going. I wanted to be thrilled, but I felt like somehow that was the wrong reaction. “I don’t know, buddy. There’s a long way between dating and marriage. We’re just enjoying each other’s company for now.”
He nodded. “Okay. Hey!” He brightened. “If you get married, do you think we could get our own ball machine?”
Seriously?“I don’t know, sweetie. We’ll see. Do you have any concerns or anything? Do you have any questions? Anything you want to talk about?”
He nodded, and I braced myself.
“Yeah. When’s Diana going to be back?”
So that was it. A night of sleep that I would never get back and all that worry for absolutely nothing. He couldn’t have cared less. I didn’t know if it was because he was eight, and he didn’t really get it, if it was because he liked Andrew so much, or if it was because my screw-up of an ex had paved the way, but, whatever the reason my son was so laid-back about my dating, I was eternally, unendingly grateful.
For about an hour. Then I called Marcy. “He didn’t care,” I said.
“He’s an eight-year-old boy,” she replied. “It will come to him little by little. He’ll have questions. You’ll be there. I’ll bethere.” Then her voice took on an undeniable glee when she said, “Andrew will be there!”
We both laughed. Andrew would be there. He absolutely would. And for the first time in a long time—maybe ever—that didn’t make me feel conflicted. Not even a little.
CHAPTER 23
gray: the very best year of your life
It was the day I had been dreading. Only, as the sun came up and the water gleamed outside the window and Andrew was beside me, I realized that maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad as I thought.
Diana came by early and handed me a cake. “Before you get all sassy, I am still perfectly capable of making cake. I’m pregnant, not on my deathbed.” She winked at me. Then she paused, her face changing. “This is bad timing,” she said, “but can we forget it’s your birthday for five minutes?”
