Page 71 of Necessary Time

Three matching sandwiches.

Three pickle spears.

Three piles of chips.

Just like it had always been, the three of us.

Together and the same.

Always.

“How are things with Amanda?” she asked after I’d spent too much time staring down at my sandwich.

“Who?”

“Amanda. You know, Mary Flagg’s daughter. The two of you left so quickly on your birthday.”

“Oh.” I took a breath. “Amanda. Yeah. Things didn’t work out.”

“No?” My mom looked at me like that was impossible to believe. “Did you do something wrong?”

“What? Me? Why would you think I was the one to do something wrong?” I asked, immediately offended at the implication.

“Just asking, dear.” She bit into her sandwich. My dad continued working on his crossword.

“The only thing Amanda and I have in common is meddling parents.”

“Colin.” Now it was her turn to look as affronted as I felt.

“It’s true. We have no shared interests. I’m sure she’s lovely, but not for me.” The truth that followed the rest of that statement tangled into a knot in the back of my throat.

She’s not for me because I like men.

She’s not for me because I like a particular man.

She’s not for me because I’m falling in love with him.

“Respectfully, dear—”

I cut her off with a scoff. She gave me a warning look and picked up right where she’d left off.

“Colin, you’re getting old.”

“Thank you.”

“We want to be active in our grandkids’ lives,” she went on.

“Who said anything about grandkids?” I asked, but I knew it had always been her plan. It had always beenmyplan too. The reason I’d kept the truth from her for so long. My parents were waiting for me to get married and make grandkids for them to love and dote on. Another generation to put standards and expectations on and, in that moment, I knew I had to put a stop to the fantasy.

“It’s always been our plan, Colin.”

“It’s always beenyourplan,” I corrected.

“Careful, son,” my dad warned.

I fisted my hands together on my lap, biting my tongue to stop from saying something regrettable and instead settling on, “You know I’m nearly forty, right?”

“When I said you were getting old, that’s not how I meant it,” my mom said.