Page 100 of Yes No Maybe

Once they drive off, the neighbors offer a few soft words before leaving me with Mom. My tears surface when Sara’s out of sight. Mom wraps me up and whispers assurances—things I know are true.I’m not losing her.

But I’m already heartbroken, and perhaps being a secondary wound makes this cut feel deeper.

Alone in my bedroom, I find Sara’s gift.I’m not mad.But it’s a gut-kick when I’m already down, however beautiful it is.

It’s an abstract painting of Jack and me in the blue room at the museum. The soft sheets of the mobile appear to be moving, the way she’s painted them. We are black silhouettes, arguing based on his hand reaching toward me and mine set in a stopping gesture.

But between our silhouettes, ghost images of us—me in my boho dress and him in his dark pants and lighter polo—float toward each other. Hands mingled, chests pressed, foreheads touching. Small patches of color from my dress speckle him as if I’m flowing into him, and his grays and darks merge into me, too.

Her painting inspires an unexpected longing to be the ghost couple, merged together and sharing pieces of ourselves. But fear mixes into it, too. The ghost couple could be an illusion.

I haven’t seen Jack since the night he came to my door, and he’s been quiet. No loud music. No late-night parties. No texts or awkward encounters around the mailbox.

But house hunters have streamed through his place since the sign went up. Jane reports three offers so far and predicts a bidding war once our Monday deadline expires.

She’s shown the little house once, but to clients who called it too small before heading next door. So, it sits unloved and in limbo, just like the house in the story.

In the war over our houses, Jack will win. I feel pressured to do something—he can’t lose his beloved house and neighborhood because of me. But I’m conflicted, too—he can’t trap me here, either.

Mom does her best to distract me over the weekend. We go shopping and splurge on out-to-eat meals. We spend time at Mira’s, playing with the kids. Finally, on Sunday, she makes dinner for us at the little house.

And she invites a guest.

When I first see Reggie Tucker, I thinkboy toy,but immediately compose a more accurate label—lovable nerd meets tired traveler. He reminds me of Idris Elba with his salt-and-pepper beard, probing eyes, and easy smile. Like Mom, he’s toned and in his fifties, but he’s a head taller and hunches slightly, as if to be closer to her. He’s a doctor from Boston specializing in childhood cancers, and is endearingly nervous.

He shakes my hand without glancing at my scars—Mom’s prepped him, and he’s invested enough to adhere to her rules. He calls me and my home lovely and admires my eclectic mix of art on the walls, gifts from students over the years, claiming he has a similar gallery of his patients’ drawings. He graciously listens to me gush about Sara and her art.

Reggie helps Mom serve steaming lasagna, garlic bread, a Caesar salad, and wine, and I love watching them move together. It’s a symbiotic dance, with them shifting positions to serve or pour while finding gentle ways to touch each other. Hand to waist. Hand over hand. Hand to arm. They overflow with smiles whenever they make eye contact and carry lingering smirks when not.

I love seeing her like this.

Mira, Jane, and the kids arrive, squeezing around the kitchen banquet.

Mom and Reggie have a moment amid the chaos. With their hands dangling at their sides together, he gives her a look that says,“See? Everything’s fine.”And she smiles with relief that these pieces of her life are finally fitting together. I envy their silent love language.

“How did you two meet?” I ask when we’re settled.

With a loving glance at each other, Reggie tells the story. A busy Italian café, one empty table, and two singles deciding to take a chance and share it.

“It was love at first sight,” Reggie says, “at least for me.”

“For me, too, though I never believed that could happen,” Mom says.

“When? How long have you two been together?” Surely, not long, considering their new relationship energy, and this is the first time I’m learning about him.

They share an awkward glance before Mom says, “Since last summer, actually.”

I gape in dumb surprise.Before I started dating Dean?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s been forever since I’ve considered dating. I didn’t want to bring it up until I was sure it would last—”

“I went through a rigorous vetting process,” Reggie jokes, “and background checks.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Mom argues lightly. “Then, when Dad got sick… the point is that first, I wanted to be sure, and once I was, I… never found the right time.”

“I never wanted…” My voice trails off as Jack’s words about taking on burdens we were never meant to carry recycle in my head. “Never mind. I’m thrilled for you, Mom. It’s perfect telling me this way. Checking Reggie out in person is way better than on FaceTime.”

The tension visibly lessens on her shoulders as her smile grows.

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