“Mom.” I stand in exasperation. “We broke up six months ago.”
“You were taking a break.”
“There’s no such thing as a break, Mom. That’s what you say to try and make it less painful. As soon as you hear the word break . . . it means it’s over. Everyone knows that.”
She exhales heavily and looks at me.
“What?”
“She said you’re seeing someone.”
“I am.” I lean my behind on my desk and fold my arms . . . here we go.
“Why haven’t you told me?”
“Because you’re still playing tea parties with Melina three times a week.” I sigh. “And I don’t need anyone’s approval, Mom . . . not this time.”
She watches me, and I know a million questions are on the tip of her tongue. “Who is she?”
I clench my jaw. I am not in the mood for this. “Her name is Claire.”
“And who is Claire.”
I smile. “Somebody . . . special.”
She watches me intently. “It’s serious, then?”
“Yes.”
“She’s divorced?”
“Widowed. Three boys. And yes, Mom, I’m in love with her,” I snap.
Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “How old is she?”
My eyes drop to the ground.
“How old is she, Tristan?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“So—” She cuts herself off.
“So what, Mom? What do you want to say?”
“Tristan.” She pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. “If you end up with this woman, you won’t have children of your own. She doesn’t have much time—that’s if she even wanted to.”
“Probably not.” I inhale sharply. I hate the cold hard facts.
“And you’re okay with this?”
“I have to be, Mom. It is what it is, and I can’t turn off my feelings for her. I tried that already. And perhaps she could, Mom. She’s only thirty-eight, and you never know. We may be blessed with a child.”
“Tris,” she whispers. “It will take years for her to be ready to start again with another man. By then it will be too late. Deep down you already know that.”
I screw up my face. The truth hurts. “Don’t.”
“How can I not worry, darling?”