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“Stevie?”
“Yes.”
“Like Stevie Nicks?”
“Yes, and Steven—her father. She was named after both.”
“Okay. How serious are you and Stevie?”
“Very serious.”
“And how long have you been seeing her?”
“Long enough to fall in love with her.”
My mom slowly nodded, then asked, “Is she in love with you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Do you happen to have a picture of Stevie?”
“I do.”
“May I see it?”
I reached for my cellphone in my pants pocket and then pulled up one of the selfies that Stevie and I had taken together on Sunday morning before we went to Brooke’s.
“Here you go,” I said, handing my phone to my mom.
I watched her look at the picture of Stevie and me, then enlarge it with her fingertips.
“She’s beautiful,” my mom said, glancing up at me. “And she has really kind eyes.”
“She is really kind and I know she’s beautiful.”
“This may be wrong for me to say, too, but you and Stevie go together with the way you look. You match. I never have thought you and Avery go together and I’m not just saying that because of how awful she is.”
“I know you’re not.”
“Your features and Stevie’s are so similar, and your coloring.”
I smiled. “We’ve talked about that. I think it all has to do with our ancestry. She’s of Scottish descent like we are. As a matter of fact, Stevie took a DNA test like you, Dad and I did throughancestry.com and coincidentally, her results are the exact same as mine, percentage-wise, on our Scottish heritage.”
“What’s her last name? Maiden name?”
“Sinclair, and she goes by it. She took it back when she divorced.”
“Yeah, she’s Scottish.”
“We’ve talked about comparing our family tree records to see if there’s an ancestral link between us somewhere down the line.”
“It’d be something if there is.”
“In the records that I have, I did find a Buchanan/Sinclair marriage back in the fifteen-hundreds.”
“During the Renaissance.”
“Yes. When Mary Queen of Scots sat on the throne.”
