She never said Anna’s name again that night.
Weeks later, I introduced them anyway.
We met at a small café near my place. Anna arrived late, apologizing, hair hastily tied back. Aaron stayed close, mesmerized by pastries behind the glass.
“This is Anna,” I said. “And this is Aaron.”
My mother stood, offered a polite handshake, a smile with no warmth. The babysitter had canceled, so Aaron came along. Anna explained. My mother acknowledged it without comment.
“You must be tired,” she said flatly.
“I am,” Anna admitted softly.
My mother asked Aaron one question.
“What subject do you like in school?”
“Art!” he said proudly.
She dismissed it with a look and never spoke to him again. When the bill arrived, she paid only for herself.
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