“Good,” I say. And then my stupid emotions rush over me like a tsunami and my eyes tear up. I glance down and nod. “That’s good.” I blink a few times and look back up at him. I want to ask him to tell her that I’m thinking of her, that I miss her, that it’s okay, but I know it’s a step too far. The last thing I should do is put pressure on either of them.

I need to go before I full-on cry. So I touch his arm and say, “Thanks, Will,” and then I disappear into the crowd ahead of the second bell so I don’t make us late.

As November pushes forward in a cold, gray drizzle, I try to push forward, too. But Sam is never far from my thoughts. Jonah is scheduled to come home for a long weekend at Thanksgiving, and when my mother suggests inviting Sam and her mom for Thanksgiving dinner, I can no longer forestall talking to her about what happened.

So I ask my mom if we can schedule that spa and lunch day she promised for my birthday. A day for just the two of us seems like the best time to talk about things that matter. Like Sam. And the DNA test I submitted.

So the Saturday before Thanksgiving, my mom and I are at Papa Haydn’s for lunch. We’re seated at the windows, where we can watch the crush of shoppers scurrying about on NW Twenty-Third Street. It’s not a terrible day for it: despite a wet morning, the afternoon is free of rain, and the sun weaves in and out of the clouds.

Mom and I decide to share a salad and a fish entrée so there’s plenty of room for dessert, even though I know she won’t do much more than taste it. She’s so careful about her health, and I don’t know if she knows how much I appreciate that.

When our order is placed, I tell her, “Thank you for taking such good care of yourself.”

She tilts her head at me.

“You’ve fought so hard,” I say, trying to contain the emotion that begins to feel larger than I want in public. “Ever since the diagnosis. I just . . .” I shrug. “I’m so glad you’re okay, and so grateful that you’re always on top of it.”

She reaches across the table for my hand. “Oh, sweetheart.” She takes a breath. “I want to be here for a long time. For you and Dad and Jonah, and, I hope, for my grandchildren someday.”