But I did get sentimental.
It was the first real step towards his own life.
After a few weeks, a name began to sneak into all the conversations.
Richard.
“It’s different, Mom,” Tyler said one afternoon. He really listens to me. As if what I'm saying really matters.
“How good,” I replied cautiously. How old is he?
“Fifty, I think. But it doesn't seem like it. He treats me like an equal.
I smiled, though something shrank inside me.
At first, I felt grateful.
A young man needed someone to look up to.
And my son had missed that all his life.
But soon Richard was everywhere.
Every weekend, Tyler had plans, and they were never with me.
“Do you want to have dinner on Saturday?” I asked one night.
“On Sunday, then?”
“He has tickets to the game,” Tyler said, already with half a body outside the door. For a while I told myself that my son was simply filling the void his father had left behind.
