“Can I tell you a secret?” Mom asked, and I nodded. “I’ve been with your father for almost forty years, but I still think about that boy. As we lay in bed that last morning, he invited me to see a movie. And I told him I’d love to, but our plane was leaving in the afternoon. Then stay with me, he said. And, Leah, of course I wouldn’t give up the life I chose, I’m happy how things turned out, I love your father, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d just stayed there at the height of summer when life and love were fully blooming.”

“You’re more poetic than I ever knew,” I said.

“Ha! How much money do you need to borrow?” She took a drag of her cigarette. “Well, truth is, I always wanted to be a poet.”

“Really?”

“I thought I’d write a great book. Might still.”

“Yeah, Mom, you should do that.”

The sun was setting and the Flatirons were framed in golden light. “It’s beautiful here,” Mom said. “You did good moving to Colorado, your job, Theo and the kids. But tell me, are you happy?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly.

“Honey,” Mom said. She leaned forward, letting her cigarette dangle over her knee. “I mean really happy. Are you making memories with Theo?”

“I think so,” I said, though truthfully I wasn’t sure. I loved the kids, loved Theo. We had good jobs, a nice home, we were happy. But there were also these long stretches of sameness. We planned trips and they’d finally arrive, but even our vacations were filled with to-do lists, packing and unpacking, the kids throwing tantrums—and we’d return home to bedtime schedules, lunches to pack, and dishes, dishes, dishes. Throughout all that, there were moments of grace. Like how sometimes, in bed after the kids were asleep, Theo and I would look at each other in the darkness as though we were new to one another. And, sure, there were moments of passion, but they seemed too few. I told Mom all this as well as I could, sharing things with her that until that moment I’d never expressed even to myself.

“Listen to me, Leah,” Mom said. “You have to live with adventure. Life is too precious to waste.”

“I’m trying,” I said, and suddenly I felt my grief give way and a sob broke from my throat, followed by another.

“Oh, Leah,” Mom said, holding out her arms. “Come here.” And though I couldn’t hold on to anything besides the back of her deck chair, I reached out, held on, and she put her arms around me. “You let everything out.”