In the midst of my pain, I realize I’ve trivialized my son’s, and forgotten that he is still more boy than adult. I believed he was sheltered at college, but he really is living at ground zero.

“Then jump,” I say. “And I’ll be there, too.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he says. “So, when are you headed up to the cottage? I’m assuming you want to get all the permits in hand and have all the renovations done before Memorial Day, so you can take advantage of high tourist season, right?”

My heart stops. Suddenly, it hits me that I’ve just quit my job and need to start a business and renovate the cottage in three months.

“You’re insane,” I think I’m saying to myself.

“You said it, Mom,” Evan laughs, “not me.” He hesitates. “A bunch of the guys were planning on driving to Florida for spring break next month, but now I think I should drive to Saugatuck and help you.”

“Evan, no,” I say. “You need a break from college and from all this stress we’ve put on you. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask, Mom,” he says. “I want to.”

I cover my cell again with a trembling hand. “Thank you,” I say. “It will be a lot of work, and...”

Suddenly, music blares so loudly that my eardrum aches. A song I know—REM’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)”—is playing.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“We have to start getting ready for our annual Around the World Party,” he says. “Every room in the fraternity house is decorated as a different city or country, and a theme drink is served.”

“Sounds fun,” I reply. “Like margaritas in Mexico, or wine in Paris?”

“Well, maybe the first,” he says. “Wine in Paris is a little fancy for fraternity guys. Josh and I are turning our dorm room into New York City and serving Long Island Iced Teas.”

“Be careful,” I say. “Those are strong.”

“I know, Mom,” he says. “That’s the point.”

“Well, I like the old-school music.”

Evan laughs. “It’s tradition,” he says. “I love tradition.”

My heart nearly explodes when Evan says this.

“The old-timers started the party in the ’80s,” he continues, “and that was the song that kicked it off. Can’t change it.”

“You know I’m an old-timer, right?” I ask. “I know that song. I danced to that song. Made out to that song while dancing...”

“La la la la la,” Evan sings loudly, as he always does when he doesn’t want to hear something I have to say.

“Well, I better let you go,” I say over his singing. “Have fun.”

“You, too, Mom,” he says. “You deserve it.”

“Remember to call me, okay?”

“Okay,” Evan says. “I’ll talk to you soon about coming up for spring break.”