“I’m not rushing into anything,” I say.

She gives me a long look.

“Believe what you want. But I’ve thought about what’s best and have decided we’re just going to stay friends, Mother.”

“She calls meMotherin that tone of voice when she gets irritated,” says Mom, resting her hand on top of the headstone. “Usually when I’m treading a little too close to the truth. You might recall I used to do a similar thing with you. But I used your name. Inge.You don’t know what you’re talking about, Inge.Stay out of my business, Inge.See? The tone of voice is the same. This is how you can tell that she’s mine.”

I snort. Such a genteel noise.

“Inge always knew what was right. Always had something to say about everything.” Mom’s smile is bittersweet. “Then you were gone, and I would love to have you back so you could stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong just one more time. But such is life. So...it seems like ‘just friends’ covers a lot of situations these days.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “You ever like someone too much?”

“Our hearts can be rampaging idiots at times,” says my very wise mother.

“Our loins aren’t any better.”

Mom laughs. “Loins. You’re not a cut of meat. But no, they’re generally worse. Are you going to be able to keep your heart and loins safe from this man?”

“I doubt it.” I lie down on the green grass beside Grandma’s grave. Just stretch out and close my eyes. Call it a practice run. “How did you know Dad was the one? I know you met him at a dance and dumped the loser you were with. But why him?”

“You’re going to get grass in your hair. And the loser I was with went on to play for the 49ers.” Mom was and is a proud blonde bombshell. She has definitely made people weak in the knees. “But I could talk to your father. He was so creative and knew such interesting things. I’d never met anyone quite like him. We used to talk for hours and hours on the phone. It drove Inge wild that I was tying up the line all the time.”

I just lie there, play dead, and listen.

“You need to challenge each other. Make each other want to be better. But you have to feel safe with each other too,” she says. “Does your prince do that for you?”

“I don’t know. But we’re not in the process of falling in love and making a commitment, so it doesn’t necessarily matter.”

Mom cocks her head. “You two seem to be spending a lot of time together lately. Are you sure about that? Have you asked him how he feels?”

“You don’t just ask someone how they feel.”

“Why not?”

“To answer your initial question, somewhere between ‘Sort of’ and ‘Hell no.’ Let’s settle on ‘It’s complicated.’”

“Lilah.” She clicks her tongue in displeasure. “Talk to the man. Don’t be afraid.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Given my decision to be more daring, not asking him directly how he feels about me does come across as cowardly. But he only just admitted to wanting to be more than friends. For a bang or two. Doesn’t that basically cover things?

“And for my final piece of advice—always try before you buy,” she says. “If you don’t work in bed, then sooner or later, you won’t work outside of it either.”

“Such scandalous advice.”

“I’m a realist.”

“You’re a realist?” I laugh. “Mother, you’re here to commune with the dead.”

She shrugs and smiles serenely. “People are complicated, honey. What can I say?”

Me:How do you feel about me? If you don’t mind sharing. Please use precise words.

Alistair:I’m not texting about that. Let’s meet later.

Me:OK