“I met a guy last night and he…” There were limits to what I wanted to share so I tried to think of some euphemisms to describe what he’d done, what we’d done together.

“You were making out with some stranger in the hallway of Gatsby’s?” Mom offered with a choking laugh.

I pounded my head on the table. “Teresa Bush right? I thought she was too bombed to remember anything. She tried to pull down her dress and show me her tattoo, for crying out loud.”

Mom nodded with a smile. “Yes, Teresa wasn’t too drunk to remember seeing you being led away by a man god—I think that was the phrase that Teresa used—and then she watched as you…” Mom paused and tapped her chin, clearly searching for the most embarrassing way to put it. “Oh yes, acted out the first scenes in a porno.”

“Mom,” I moaned. “Really? I’m trying to eat. Don’t you have people to sue?”

“The great thing about the courts moving to electronic filing is that I can sue people twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. That means I can take time out to eat breakfast with my eldest daughter,” she said cheerfully and then took another sip of her coffee.

“Oh my god, Mom.”

“So I wondered why you weren’t at your shrine with your man god but rather in my kitchen. Was it just a one-night stand? Or hook up, as you kids are calling it these days.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to go outside and commit Seppuku.”

“You girls embarrass so easily.” Mom smirked at me and took a big sip of her coffee.

“Do you really think it is a shrine? My condo,” I clarified. Within the walls pieces of Will were present. His old assault pack rested against my sofa and his combat boots were up against the wall. In my closet hung his combat and service uniforms. His mother and I had taken all of Will’s things to the dry cleaners and they hung there, shrouded in plastic, beside the clothes that I used to wear—the flirty dresses and skirts, my skinny jeans, a whole floor full of sandals, sneakers and the occasional heels left over from school dances.

On the wall, covering an expanse of white-painted brick, was a large green felt where my nearly finished knitted American flag afghan hung. I’d finished all the white and red stripes but the blue blocked area where the stars should be had me stumped. I could either try to figure out how to do the intarsia stitch where I’d knit two different colors of yarn at the same time or I’d have to crochet the stars. Neither option enthused me. Tucked amongst all of Will’s Army paraphernalia, was yarn. Lots of it. In a basket near the kitchen, under the sofa, and more upstairs. It was as if I’d tried to fill my life with yarn instead of people. My condo was filled with unfinished knitting projects, balls of yarn, and the relics of my dead husband. So yeah, Mom was right. No wonder Gray had freaked out.

Setting down her cup of coffee Mom studied me for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts for an important argument. “I think that there is a lot of Will in your condo and that might make it uncomfortable for a new man.” She pointed to my left hand. “Along with your ring.”

I twisted the ring uncomfortably, hiding the shiny diamond in my palm again so only the plain band showed “I just…don’t know what to do with Will’s stuff.”

“And you can’t give it to Carolyn?”

“I tried, early on, but she started crying and said Will would’ve wanted me to have it. I just wanted her to stop crying so I didn’t push it.”

Mom pressed her lips together, suppressing her real feelings about Carolyn. “Just because you were once married to Will doesn’t mean you’re endlessly responsible for Carolyn’s mental wellbeing.”

Her use of the past tense when referring to my marriage with Will made me tear up. The two bowls of cereal I’d eaten started to clog my throat.

“I don’t know why I’m tearful all of a sudden,” I admitted. “You’d have thought that I’d cried enough during that first year to last me for a lifetime.”

“You’re starting to feel again. You were asleep for a long time. When you wake up sometimes it is painful.”

Was that it? Was I just waking up and this Gray guy just happened to push the restart button on my libido? The fact was that I’d been thinking about the lack of physical intimacy more and more as of late. I’d like to think it would pass—an illicit thought of seeing him naked in my bedroom sent a minor shiver down my spine, a shiver that didn’t escape the watchful eyes of my mom.

“Who names their kid Gray?” I asked.

Mom smirked. “Is that the hottie’s name? Gray?”

“Hottie, Mom?”

“I’m down with your lingo. I have clients your age.”

“Juvenile delinquents?”

“No, you’re an adult. Full felonies for you.” She nudged me with her shoulder. “Grayson is actually Old English meaning son of a bailiff.”

“You’re saying my name should be a color.”

“I thought of naming you Blue but your dad wouldn't allow it.”

“So I have a boy’s name instead?”

“It’s gender neutral. Just think of the advantages.” She leaned toward me. “Will I get to meet the man god?” Mom got a lascivious look in her eye.

“Mom!” I said with outrage. “What would Dad say?”

“I’m married, not dead.” Mom finished her coffee and picked up Bitsy’s empty bowl and the coffee cup and headed toward the sink. “There’s no harm in looking.”

I harrumphed and then realized I sounded exactly like the old woman Bitsy had accused me of being. The discussion of Gray had brought to mind his broad shoulders, tapered waist and big hands. I swore I could still feel his tongue running down my neck and the pressure of his erection between my legs. I bit my lip and squeezed my legs to get myself under control. Thank God Mom’s back was to me.

“Speaking of kids of lawyers, what are you doing, Sam? Not that I mind you bartending but is that really your life’s ambition? I know you signed up for classes at Central because your dad got the tuition waiver but what is it that you’re going back to school for?”

“I don’t know.” I stirred the milk left in my bowl a few times and watched the Cheerios swirl around the tiny current I was creating. Talking about the future was one way to kill any sexy thoughts. “It seemed like the thing to do. I can’t even remember what it was that I wanted to study in the first place.” I scrubbed my face with both hands. “I’m just tired of being sad all the time. I had all these excuses why I couldn’t move to Alaska with Will and now I wish I didn’t live here where everyone who knew me recognizes me as one part of a unit that’s broken and missing a major piece. I’m Will’s widow here.”

“So move away. Start over,” Mom urged. “You’ve got to stop living your life based on what other people think you should do. I get that you have regrets and that you wish you moved to Alaska so that you could have spent those months with Will together instead of apart. But that doesn’t mean you have to spend the rest of your life trying to be the best widow possible because you weren’t the best girlfriend or because you weren’t the best wife or because you resented the hell out of the fact that Will decided to join the Army. You were both teenagers at the time. Just because you didn’t move when he went combat infantry and jumped out of planes all over the world doesn’t mean that you lack a spirit of adventure. Get out there and start living.”

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open a bit. “How long have you been waiting to bust out that lecture?”

“Probably a good year.” She sighed and pulled me against her.

“So long? Your restraint is remarkable.”

“You weren’t ready.”

“And now I am?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?”

“Because about two seconds ago you were shivering remembering the touch of a man’s hand. I think that means you’re ready to move on.”

The old “eyes in the back of the head” trick. I wondered if that rear vision was something that you developed when you started gestating. “I’m not very good at taking risks,” I said.