Page 60 of The Star in Room 7

“The ‘when are you going to have kids’ stare.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she huffs, successfully uprooting a weed.

“Uh-huh.”

“I was wondering if he wants kids someday. But probably not.”

“He’s not ready for kids right now. Nor am I. We might never be. Why would you even think about that? You haven’t asked me about kids in years. Besides, you’ve got two gorgeous grandkids. Isn’t that enough?”

“They’re more than enough. And I haven’t asked because you’ve not been serious enough about anyone.”

“And what exactly have I said that makes you think I’m serious enough about this guy? The one you think I have no future with.”

She squares her shoulders and stabs at the dirt. “It’s nothing you’ve said.”

“Then I’m confused.”

“It’s the look in your eyes whenever you mention him.”

“The—?”

“You’re falling for him. Assuming you haven’t already fallen.”

“Mom, I haven’t. I’m not.”

Mom is the only person who can shut me up with a look. She turns that look on me now, forcing me to snap my mouth shut.

“It’ll end in tears,” she says, driving the fork into the dirt on every syllable.

I run my hand over my hair. “I’m done talking about this, Mom.”

She nods sharply.

I blow out a breath and then try the tea. The ice has already melted, but it’s nice. Hate lemon tea hot, but it’s lovely cold.

“Mr. Meyer died last week.” She glances at me. “I take it you remember him?”

“I—” I nod and shift so I’m sitting properly, putting the glass of tea on the grass in the same motion. “He died?” My voice squeaks out of me.

“A heart attack. I thought you’d want to know.” She brushes her fingertip over the scar beside my eye. “I’m sure there’s a special place in hell reserved for him.”

“I hope so,” I whisper. “I really hope so.” I wipe my hand over my face.

Mom puts her hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just… It feels wrong to be relieved, but I am. Fuck. That must make me a terrible person.”

“It doesn’t. And don’t swear around the kids.”

“They’re not close enough to hear.”

“That man was a coward and a bully. He acted all macho, but real men don’t drive their kids to…” She pauses to take a shaky breath. “Well, they don’t beat up their kids or throw them out of the house for being queer.” Her eyes shimmer with tears. “You were a good friend to Kurt. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

I clear my throat, which is sticky with emotion. “Me too, Mom. Me too.”

“I still put flowers on his grave, you know.”

“I know.”