He said, “I want things to be the same as they were before. When we were happy. Please.”

But I wasn’t really the same as I’d been before. Whether he knew it or not.

Aaron was waiting for me to answer. “Well I already have a passport,” I said. “So at least that part’s easy. The rest might take a little work.”

“Don’t wait too long,” he said. And that’s how we left it, with neither of us satisfied.

I hadn’t told Aaron, or anyone, about my mother and Oscar because, for one thing, it was embarrassing, and for another, I wouldn’t have known what to say. Here was my practical and no-nonsense mother, wearing one of her usual dolled-up outfits, this one red and white and featuring a sweetheart neckline, holding Oscar’s hand and giggling. No, they were swinging their joined hands back and forth. It was so simpleminded, like something out of a nursery rhyme. As for Oscar, I’d admit that cutting his hair had helped him look less like somebody you might stare at on the street, at least until he started reciting poems.

They tried to be halfway discreet. Oscar didn’t spend the night at my mom’s, at least for now. I gave them plenty of space, I stayed away as much as I could. But I wasn’t going to move back in with Aaron just because my mom was acting like a thirteen-year-old, and anyway, with or without me, Aaron was headed to Vancouver.

They’d gotten to know each other back when Viridian had first been in the hospital. Oscar had sought my mom out and wooed her with his virile charms; I really didn’t care to imagine that part. Then there had been an extensive courtship carried on through letters. I’d never known my mom to write a real letter in her life, only cards, and even those were short and unremarkable. Have a great birthday! That kind of thing.

I tried talking to her. “Oscar’s not exactly reliable. Not a safe bet. I mean, I like the guy, but I’m not sure he’s stable. You know, I’m pretty sure he isn’t.”

“Nobody’s ever written a poem about me before. An actual poem.”

“That’s the kind of thing he does all the time. Mom! He has more old lovers than he has socks. You don’t know him the way I do.”

“You don’t know him the same way I do,” said my brazen mother. I covered my ears and begged her to stop. “Besides, everybody has baggage once you get to a certain age.”

I tried again. “I don’t think you have that much in common.”

“And that’s a good thing. He needs somebody with sense to take care of him. I know he can be outlandish, but underneath all the carrying-on, he’s just a little boy.”

“I’m gagging here.”

“All of a sudden I’m not allowed to have my own life? You think I haven’t been lonesome? You think you know everything?”