I felt slightly guilty having my mother to consult with for any and every problem, concern, idea, or situation I got myself into, knowing Blake had no one but me. I hoped since he and his old friend Jackson were reunited, he could possibly talk to him about his concerns and ideas concerning life.

“When you met dad, had you already had a boyfriend, or was he your first?” I asked.

“Why would you ask such a thing?” she said.

I shrugged my shoulders and pulled a container of pasta salad out of the refrigerator. “How old’s the pasta?”

“I made it yesterday,” she responded.

“Okay,” I said.

I grabbed two bowls, two forks, and walked to the table. “Just wondering, I guess,” I said as I pulled the chair from the table.

“I had a boyfriend before your father,” she said as I sat down.

I carefully flipped some of the pasta salad out of the container and into a bowl. “Did you think you were in love with the other guy?”

“I suppose so,” she responded.

I slid the bowl across the table. “Here.”

“And when you met dad, then what did you think? About the first guy?” I asked.

She poked her fork into the bowl of pasta salad, raised it to her mouth, and paused. “What’s this about?”

I scooped the remaining pasta salad into my bowl.

“I used to think I loved Stephen. And now that I’ve met Blake, I’m mad that I ever thought I loved him. I know I didn’t,” I said.

“It’s pretty common. Probably more so than you’d think,” she said.

“I want to take it back. Like go tell him ‘hey, asshole, I never loved you. I was mistaken, sorry’ or something. It makes me mad,” I said.

She chuckled and poked the fork of pasta into her mouth. “There’s very few people who find their true love the first time. But when we do find that person, I think we finally realize what love is. Your father was mine.”

“Blake’s mine,” I said.

She nodded her head and smiled. “I like him. He calls me ma’am. It’s cute.”

I wagged my fork in her direction. “And he bought me a helmet. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” she said.

“I want to make a proposal,” she said.

“Huh?”

She drug the fork past her pursed lips and stared down at the tines. “A proposal. Or whatever you want to call it. I want something from you two, and I’m getting older by the minute, so don’t think about it too long.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I want to start a tradition. I want you two to come here on Sunday nights and have dinner,” she said. “I’ve always wanted that.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Is that it?”

She nodded her head as she stared down into her bowl. “Did you put all the shrimp in your half?”

“No,” I said as I poked a piece of pasta, and then a piece of shrimp.

She raised her eyebrows and glared at me. “Hmm.”

“So,” she said. “What do you think about my request.”

“I like it,” I said. “I’ll ask him.”

“I thought maybe you could cook one week, maybe me the next, or we could do it together,” she said.

“Blake likes to grill,” I said.

“I think that’s a man thing. Your father grilled the best chicken I’ve ever eaten,” she said.

“Well, I’ll talk to him and see what he thinks. I bet he’ll say okay. I can’t imagine what it’s like for him to have no family,” I said as I poked another piece of shrimp.

“I wonder if he ever had kids in the foster home who stole food from him” she said as she reached for my bowl.

“Hey,” I said as she pulled the bowl across the table.

She pushed her bowl to my side, glanced into her new bowl, and grinned.

“You’re a little shit,” she said.

I shrugged my shoulders and grinned.

Having Sunday dinner at my mother’s house was something I would have loved to adopt as tradition. I hoped Blake would agree, seeing some value in having a peaceful meal with a family of sorts. I realized nothing would be able to change his past, and no one could or would ever replace his parents, but my mother and I could sure provide him with as much love and good food as anyone would ever be able to accept.

“I want you to love Blake,” I said.

She gazed beyond the shrimp filled fork she was lifting to her mouth. “I already do.” 

“Did you ever love Stephen?” I asked.

She poked the fork into her mouth, pulled the empty tines past her lips, and chewed the pasta. After a moment she took a drink of water, swallowed, and cleared her throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to choke on my food. No, honey, I hated Stephen. That’s why I never asked you to have him over. He disgusted me with the way he treated you. I’m so relieved you finally left him,” she said.

I widened my eyes. “Hated him? Like hated him?”

“More than a spider,” she said as she poked her fork into her bowl.

“I love you,” I said with a laugh.

“And I love the two of you. Now make this thing happen,” she said.

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“That’s all you can do,” she said. “I sure hope he agrees.”

I sat, staring at my mother, realizing just how much she truly loved me. Children deserved to get unconditional love from their parents, and to be treated with care and respect at all times.

And, as much as I took her love of me for granted when I was young, I now appreciated it with all of my being.

And I loved her back.

Equally.