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I didn’t plan on telling my mother about her right away. Old habits die hard. But honesty felt easier than secrecy, so I asked my mother to meet me for dinner at one of her favorite restaurants. The kind of place where conversations are hushed and napkins are folded with precision.
She arrived wearing navy blue, her color of authority, and ordered wine before I sat down.
“Well?” she said, studying me. “Is this important news, or are we wasting time?”
“I’m seeing someone,” I told her.
Her interest sharpened instantly. “Tell me about her.”
