“No. I’m not dating anyone.” I shake my head for emphasis. “Sorry, no. I’m interested in dating women. And men. I’d like to date. Anyone.”

A look of true concern passes over her face. The panic grips me tighter.

“You broke up with Paul to date women—or anyone,” she says quickly. “But now you’re not dating? Anyone?”

The leather booth squeaks as I sit back. “I...”

That image of Amy resurrects itself in my brain. I could never tell my mom I’m dating the owner of the restaurant I work at, but a film reel of dates with Amy plays on a loop nonetheless: Bruins games, hikes on our days off, making dinner at home and eating on the couch by candlelight. A thousand little moments, the wanting of them deep in my chest. All of them proof that Amy was right to keep me at arm’s length, to bow out, because once again my heart jumps in ahead of my brain. “I’m still figuring things out, Mom.”

The restaurant is busy but I’m in a silent, surreal vacuum where I talk to my mother about dating women.

She bites her lip as she hacks at another square of waffle. “Have you met anyone? Are you on that...that...” She points her fork, the waffle dangling loosely from the tines. “Grind? The dating app for...” She lowers her voice. “Gay folks.”

“Mom.” God. “No, I’m not on—”

“I’m just saying you broke up with Paul presumably to date a woman.”

“Not one specific woman.”

She squints at me. “Sometimes we need to go through an experimental phase before we can settle down. Are you sure it’s not a phase?”

The blood rushing in my ears is so loud I must have misheard her. “A phase? Mom, this isn’t middle school. I’m not a goth. I’m bisexual. I’m attracted to more than one gender and Paul wasn’t...great about it so we broke up.”

She puts her fork down and sighs, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Sophie-belle. I didn’t expect Paul to be a homophobe.”

I pull my hand out from under hers. “It’s...well, he’s not technically...it’s complicated.” This whole conversation is complicated.

Mom nods.

“Mom, are you okay...? I want to be clear here. You’re not upset at all about hearing that I’m bi?”

“Do you want me to be?” She laughs.

“No, not at all.”

The sharp sting of tears comes so suddenly I can’t stop them with a deep breath, or even look away. They spill onto my cheeks with alarming volume.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

Nothing is wrong except I’m not sure if I’m awake or dreaming. “Nothing,” I croak and take a large sip of coffee. “Nothing is wrong. I was worried, that’s all.”

“Your father and I don’t care who you love, dear.”

The relief is like the heat that warms my chest from a hot cup of tea.

“But, sweetheart, you need to start dating.”

“I... I do?”

“You have double the population in your dating pool, but you still haven’t found anyone to marry?”