At fifty three years old my mother Loretta finally decided to start dating again and I was thrilled to see her prioritizing her own happiness after decades of sacrificing everything to raise me alone. On the evening she invited her new boyfriend over for a home cooked dinner she was incredibly nervous and changed her earrings three different times before he even arrived. I tried to calm her nerves while setting the table and teased her gently about her outfit changes because she was usually the calmest person I knew. When the doorbell finally rang I walked to the foyer and pulled open the heavy wooden door only to freeze in absolute shock. Standing on our front porch with a bottle of wine was a man named Benedict who I instantly recognized as my former managing supervisor from a bookstore eleven years earlier. His hair was grayer and he had deeper lines around his eyes but we both realized the massive coincidence immediately as my mother watched our surprising reunion in total confusion.
Throughout the evening meal Benedict was exceptionally attentive to my mother and carefully anticipated her needs without making a spectacle of his actions. As they joked about a struggling garden project I sat quietly and remembered exactly who he was and the heavy emotional baggage he carried from our time working together. Back then he had taught me how to stand up for my own opinions when I was dating a very controlling young man named Jeffrey who constantly criticized my choices. Benedict would persistently ask me for my preferences on simple things like book displays and coffee orders until I finally learned how to voice what I actually wanted. But I also remembered his absolute devotion to his wife who used to leave cartoon drawings in his lunch bags. When she became terribly ill eleven years ago Benedict abruptly left his job at the bookstore to care for her full time until she passed away and I worried deeply that my mother was stepping into a complicated shadow.
After Benedict finished his dinner and drove away into the night I immediately warned my mother that she needed to know the truth about his past before she let her heart get completely involved. I explained all about his deep bond with his late wife and confessed my fear that my mother would spend the rest of her life competing with a memory of a woman who was no longer there. After a lifetime of putting work and bills and my needs above her own desires I desperately wanted her to be first in someone else’s life. Instead of arguing with my concerns my mother calmly put on her heavy winter coat and instructed me to get my shoes on immediately. She drove us through the quiet city streets for fifteen minutes without offering a single explanation until we arrived at a community garden tucked behind a recreation center. Under the soft glow of warm yellow string lights I saw Benedict kneeling in the dirt beside a crooked tomato plant.