A few weeks later, I brought them to meet her anyway. We met at a small coffee shop near my apartment. Anna was ten minutes late, and I could see that as every minute passed, my mother grew more annoyed.
I brought them to meet her anyway.
Her hair was in a loose bun, she wore jeans and a pale blouse, and one side of her collar was slightly curled. Aaron clung to her hand, eyes scanning the pastry counter as they walked in.
“This is Anna,” I said, standing to greet them. “And this is Aaron.”
My mother stood, offered her hand, and gave Anna a smile that didn’t have any warmth.
Aaron’s sitter had canceled, and she’d had to bring him along.
“You must be exhausted, Anna.”
“I am,” Anna replied with a soft laugh. “It’s been one of those days.”
We sat. My mother asked Aaron a single question.
“What’s your favorite subject in school?”
When he said art class, she rolled her eyes and then ignored him for the rest of the visit.
My mother asked Aaron a single question.
When the check came, she paid for herself.
In the car afterward, Anna looked over at me.
“She doesn’t like me, Jon.”
She wasn’t angry, just honest.
When the check came, she paid for herself.
“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.
She used to take me there on weekends when I was little, saying the acoustics were “clean enough to hear your mistakes.” She called it her favorite place to “imagine legacy,” as if the right piano could guarantee greatness.
She used to take me there on weekends when I was little.
The pianos were lined up like prize horses, each one more polished than the last.
“So, Jonathan,” she said, running her fingers along the lid of a grand piano, “is this going somewhere, or are we just wasting time?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I asked Anna to marry me.”
“Is this going somewhere, or are we just wasting time?”
My mother’s hand froze in midair before falling to her side.
“I see.”
“She said yes, of course.”
“Well, 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 see.”
