“I’m sorry,” she said, back with me. “Please come over tonight, and we can talk about it all. But it’s not a surprise to me, Pat.”
“It isn’t?”
“Do you think I live in some bygone bubble?” she said, with spirit. “I didn’t spring to life at mother-age. I’ve lived my own life, I know the world today, and I know my son. And when Nicky stayed local after university, and you and he were such friends, I…well, I did think you might become more than that.”
“You never said anything.”
“Neither did you!” she said smartly. “But I could see how you felt about him, and I assumed you’d tell me in your own good time.”
“Oh. Mum.” Funny how there’s never any substitute for a mother, whatever age, and however macho a man thinks he is. “I love him, Mum.”
She laughed softly. “I know, love. So why are you crying?”
Damn mothers who know the tone of their son’s voice so well. “He’s gone. He left me. He got tired of waiting for me to declare it officially.”