She trails off again, and I am not sure what to say. Probably not the time to mention that divorce isn’t hardwired into your body the same way. I just wait it out until she comes up with something.

“I guess if you’re like he is”—my god, she’s not any better at saying “gay” now than when I’m her son—“it’s just more reason for me to want it to be okay. And to stick to ‘judge not, lest ye be judged.’ ”

There’s something in her voice that I’m not used to hearing in my time: a yearning, a desire to make this all right, even a hopefulness. By the time she’s my mom, Chaz’s death will have sanded away the hope, replacing it with grim surety. It was easier for me to think of Chaz’s fate as a relic from another time because I couldn’t picture him, really—had never heard him tell a story over a meal. She could. From her senior year to mine, she carried this loss with her. Now, I get it. Even in her hesitation, I feel for her, and can’t help myself: I throw my arms around her.

Just as Gordo opens the door.

Hey, universe: What did I do in a past life that earned me this douche as a father and forced me to go to high school with him?

“What the hell?” He sputters.

Ma Elena doesn’t miss a beat. “Since my actual boyfriend didn’t show up to help with decorations, I’m auditioning replacements.”

Mom is sassy? This cannot be.

“I’m only ten minutes late! Cut me some slack!” Gordo’s words are angry, but his eyes are something else: scared. He thinks she might really give up on him. It’s so clear, so painfully clear that I’m almost sympathetic. (Lots of space between almost and am.)

“You!” he says, thrusting a thick finger at my face. “Get your own girlfriend!” (And that space just got a mile wide.)

“Who says he wants one?” Ma Elena lets her retort fly before she hears what she’s said and then shoots me a panicked look. It’s not even her words but the look that Gordo hops on.

“What’d you just say?”

She’s fast. “I said he doesn’t need to look for a girlfriend here because he has one in Connecticut.” Gordo isn’t entirely buying. His attention is squarely on me now.

“That so? You got a girl at home? You have her picture in your wallet? Is she pretty?”

“Well, she looks a lot like you, so no.”