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Mom, we ve been through this.
Or someone like him. There has to be a boy out there that s cute and nice& and hung.
No, seriously. Why can t you whine at me about finding a nice girl, getting married,
having the picket fence and two-point-four kids like all the normal mothers.
Because I m not a normal mother, and you re not a normal son.
I had to agree. She had a point. We are kind of awesome, aren t we?
We are, she said, tipping her wine glass toward me before draining it. Anyway, you
don t want a nice girl. You want a nice boy.
I put my wine glass down. Mom, I like girls too, you know. We ve been through this.
Girls and boys.
Mom rolled her eyes at me and poured herself more wine. Sweetie, you don t want to
settle down with a girl. You don t want the mood swings, menstruation cycles, shopping, and her
bitching to you about me.
Don t I?
She shook her head. No, sweetie. You want a man. Someone to watch football with,
someone you can share wardrobes with. Someone who loves me. Someone like Will.
Mom&
Oh, please, she said, sipping her wine.
I took a mouthful of wine. You know, I m gonna marry a girl just to piss you off.
Mom laughed. Then you ll deserve estrogen-fuelled psychotic rants about shoes and
cellulite.
Isn t that a little stereotypical?
Of course it is, Mom said nonchalantly. Just like saying all gay men love cock and
lesbians love to munch clams.
I spat my wine. Mom, that s gross.
See? She smiled. I told you, you don t want a girl.
I sighed, something I did a lot around my mother. Why can t you be like other moms?
She snorted. Because that d be boring, dear. Now, what s for dinner? I m starving.
And that s how my evening went.
I heard all about the dramas in the country club s lifestyles of the rich and shameless, all
about the short cruise she took with Gloria and how it s a terrible shame that the role of cabin
boy has been made redundant over the years. She d requested to see the captain, but the manager
assured her there wasn t much he could do about acquiring a cabin boy that didn t involve
solicitation. Mom was considering writing a letter, she said. All cabins should have one, she
said with a laugh. Then she got a faraway look in her eyes. Though the barman was very
accommodating.
Mom, there is something called too much information , I reminded her.
But she just laughed. Don t be such a prude.
Dinner eaten and two bottles of wine later me having two glasses, Mom drinking the
rest I called a cab for her. After she d gone and I d tidied up and sprayed air neutralizer, which
was probably worse than the cigarette smoke, I checked my phone.
No messages from Will.
I typed out a quick message to him. Everything okay? Call me if you need.
An hour later, by the time I got into bed, I still hadn t got a reply. I was just about to send
another message when my phone beeped.
At Grant s. Call you tomorrow.
I didn t sleep well.
* * * * *
I didn t see Will until Monday, though he did call like he said he would. He sounded tired
but happy enough on the phone, and when we were at work, I asked him for some details about
his night at Grant s but he didn t tell me much.
The movie was good. Dinner was good.
Is Grant good? I asked with a smile. Come on, Will. You ve told me nothing.
And I won t tell you anything, he replied cheerfully. I m not the kind to kiss and tell.
You ve told me before, I reasoned. Why is this guy different?
Will shrugged and turned back to his computer screen. He s not, really&
And that was all he said.
I had to keep reminding myself that this is what I wanted for him. This is what Will needs
to be happy, for him to stay in Hartford.
So I would give him space. I would encourage him, if that s what he wanted. Seeing him
again?
I think so&
That s good, I said, sitting back down in my chair. Let me know when he s ready to
meet me.
Will laughed, as though that notion was a joke, and he never mentioned him again until
Friday morning.
I d asked him if he wanted to go out, somewhere different, I suggested. It ll be fun, I
added.
Oh, well, I um& He stopped, then started again. I can t tonight. But what about
tomorrow night?
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