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Mae turns her face to look at me. Her hazel eyes search mine.
“We both had kids relatively young. I was twenty-four, and you were what?”
“Eighteen,” she says.
“Eighteen? Wow. Obviously, I wasn’t as young as you, but still.”
“Yeah. I don’t know many people who have their life figured out by eighteen.”
“I honestly doubt whether or not I have it sorted out at thirty-eight,” I say with a chuckle. “Regardless, Mae, we’re both single parents, both lost a sibling—in one way or another—and both lost our fathers.”
“What about your mom?” Mae asks. “What was her story?”
“Like toward the end?” I ask.
“No, everything. I don’t know why, but I love hearing people talk about their moms. Especially when they were young.”
“Well, she was a ballerina,” I confess.
“You’re kidding.” Mae scoots her chair closer to mine, clearly interested in hearing this story.
“No, I swear. When she met my dad, she was a principal dancer with the Los Angeles Ballet.”
“Wow!” Mae’s smile is as bright as the sun. “I bet that’s where you get your creative and artistic side.”
I smile. “Yeah, I like to think so.”
“So, she and your dad fell madly in love, then what?” I swear Mae gave a little sigh.
“Well, my mom was engaged to another man.” Mae’s hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Oh, this is getting juicy.” She leans further toward me and listens for more.
“Yeah, so as you can imagine, he didn’t have the easiest time breaking them up.” The breeze picks up, and I take in a deep breath filled with Mae’s floral perfume.
“How did he do it?” Now Mae is fully engaged in the tale and it’s so cute.
“My dad was just persistent. He sent my mom bouquets of pink roses, her favorite—”
“Really? Mine too.” Mae interrupts.
“…to her dressing room, and he was always waiting by the stage door at the end of her shows.”
“That’s really romantic,” Mae sighs. I smile. I haven’t told that story in a while, not since Dylan was born, and it’s nice sharing it with Mae, who’s been listening, with a dreamy look in her eyes.
“Yeah. I feel kind of bad for the fiancé.” That part always hits a little too close to home. I know my mom and dad were in love, but I also know what it feels like to be the one left behind.
“But you wouldn’t have existed if he was still in the picture,” Mae counters.
I look up, and she’s looking at me with such sincerity that it makes me feel drunk, even though I haven’t even had a sip of alcohol.
“That’s true,” I agree. My eyes move from Mae’s face to her lips, down to her lithe arms folded under the soft curve of her chest.
“Okay, what happened next?” she asks.
“Well, my mom was from a very traditional Romanian family, and they were not happy that she broke her promise to the other guy, but just like Dad managed to charm her, he eventually won the family over too. I think they could tell how much he loved her.”
A happy sigh escapes Mae’s lips. “So, they got married and had you and your brother?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” I say.
