“A good man is hard to find.”
“This is Anna,” I said, getting up to welcome them. “And this is Aaron.”
My mother rose, extended her hand, and gave Anna a smile completely devoid of warmth.
“You must be exhausted, Anna.”
“I am,” Anna answered with a quiet laugh. “It’s been one of those days.”
My mother asked Aaron just one question. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”
When he answered art class, she rolled her eyes and then paid no attention to him for the rest of the visit. When the check arrived, she covered only her own portion.
When the check came, she paid for herself.
In the car afterward, Anna glanced over at me.
“She doesn’t like me, Jon.”
She wasn’t upset, only truthful.
“She doesn’t know you, love.”
“Maybe, but it’s clear that she doesn’t want to.”
***
Two years later, I met my mother at the old piano showroom uptown.
When I was young, she used to bring me there on weekends, explaining that the acoustics were “clean enough to hear your mistakes.” She called it her favorite place to “imagine legacy,” as though owning the right piano could guarantee greatness.
Two years later, I met my mother at the old piano showroom uptown.
The room carried the scent of varnish and memories. The pianos stood in neat rows like prized horses, each one more immaculate than the previous.
“So, Jonathan,” she said, brushing her fingers across the lid of a grand piano, “is this going somewhere, or are we just wasting time?”
I answered without hesitation. “I asked Anna to marry me.”
My mother’s hand stopped in the air before slowly dropping to her side. “I see.”
“She said yes, of course.”
My mother straightened her salmon-colored blazer, smoothing out wrinkles that weren’t really there. She avoided looking directly at me.
“Is this going somewhere, or are we just wasting time?”
“Well,” she said cautiously, “then let me be very clear about something. If you marry her, don’t ever ask me for anything again. You’re choosing that life, Jonathan.”
I waited for something more—a breath, a tremor, anything that might reveal uncertainty. But her expression stayed impossible to read. She didn’t flinch or argue.
She simply released me. And I walked away.
***
Anna and I married a few months later in the backyard of a friend’s home. There were string lights, folding chairs, and the kind of laughter shared by people who knew how to live without pretending.
We settled into a small rental with stubborn drawers and a lemon tree in the backyard. Aaron painted his bedroom green and left his handprints on the wall.
We moved into a small rental with sticky drawers.
