Two days of me thinking about meeting her son and trying not to spiral.
"He's coming home this afternoon," Enya says over breakfast.She's making toast.I'm drinking coffee that's actually decent now that she's shown me how to make it properly.
"Yeah?"
“Yeah.They’re coming home around three."She glances at me."You don't have to be here if you're not ready.I can tell him about you first.Let him get used to the idea before?—"
"I want to be here."
She stops and looks at me properly."You sure?"
"Yeah.I'm sure."
"He might be shy.Or clingy.Or..."She sets the toast down, nervous energy rolling off her."I don't know how he'll react.To you.To the idea of someone new."
"We'll figure it out."
"What if he doesn't like you?"
"Then we keep trying.Until he does."
She studies my face, looking for doubt, for hesitation.She won't find any.
"Okay," she says finally."Okay.You'll meet him today."
The hours until three drag.Enya cleans.I help.We move around each other in her small flat like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
But underneath the normalcy, tension builds.I can feel it in my shoulders.See it in the way she keeps checking the time.
At quarter to three, she stops and stands in the middle of the sitting room, just breathing.
"You alright?"I ask.
"Nervous."
"Me too."
"Really?"
"Really.I want him to like me.Want to be someone he trusts."
"He will."She crosses to me and takes my hands."Just be yourself.That's enough."
I'm not sure it is.But I nod anyway.
At exactly three, there's a knock at the door.
Enya jumps slightly then steadies herself."That's them."
"Want me to wait in the kitchen?"
"No.Stay.Please."
I stay.
She opens the door.Her mam's there.Older woman.Kind eyes.Gray hair pulled back.And beside her, holding her hand, is Warren.
Small.Five years old.Dark hair like Enya's was before she bleached it.Blue eyes.Gap-toothed smile when he sees his mam.
