“He asked if I’d like to get coffee sometime.”
“So you said yes.”
“I absolutely said yes.”
I reached across the island and squeezed her hand.
“I’m happy for you.”
She smiled.
“I know it’s only been one subway ride, but it already feels different.”
I remembered being nineteen, and believing the right conversation could change your life.
Sometimes it could.
“So,” I asked, “does this dream guy have a name?”
“Jordan.”
“Do you at least have a picture?”
Her eyes lit up.
“Oh.”
She pulled out her phone immediately.
“We took some before I got off.”
She scrolled through her camera roll until she found it.
“There.”
She held the phone toward me, and the smile disappeared from my face before I even realized it had.
A young man stood beside Stormy on the subway platform, one arm casually slung over his backpack strap.
Dark curls.
Hazel eyes.
That crooked smile.
For one impossible second, I forgot how to breathe.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Twenty two years had passed.
People found look-alikes every day. Boston wasn’t exactly a small town.
“Mom?”
Stormy’s voice sounded strangely far away.
“You okay?”
I forced myself to blink.
“Sorry.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“He reminds me of someone I knew.”
She tilted the phone toward herself. “You think so?”
Before I could answer, she swiped to the next picture. This one had caught Jordan walking away toward the train doors.
His backpack rested over one shoulder.
And hanging from the zipper was a tiny blue felt teddy bear.
One button eye was blue, the other green. The left ear leaned slightly lower than the right.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Hundreds of people owned little teddy bear keychains.
Thousands of women knew how to sew.
Boston wasn’t so small that two strangers couldn’t end up with something that looked almost identical.
I forced myself to look away.
I refused to believe an old keychain could drag 22 years back into my kitchen.
I walked into the kitchen, gripped the sink, and tried to steady myself. Because 22 years earlier, I’d sewn one exactly like it for the only man I’d ever planned to marry.
His name was Richard.
I couldn’t afford the birthday gift he wanted, so I sewed him a tiny blue teddy bear from scraps of felt. One button came from an old cardigan, the other from my grandmother’s sewing tin.
He clipped it onto his backpack that same day and carried it everywhere, joking it was his good-luck charm.
I hadn’t seen that little bear since the day we said goodbye.
“Dad?”
Stormy’s voice pulled me back.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, studying me.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Mom…”
She stepped closer.
“Did something happen?”
I forced a smile.
“No.”
“You recognized him.”
“I recognized someone he reminded me of.”
She folded her arms.
“An old boyfriend?”
I laughed quietly.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’ve had exactly one expression for the last five minutes.”
“What expression?”
“The one where you’re somewhere else.”
I sighed.
“When I was your age…”
She immediately smiled.
“Oh, this is going to be one of those stories.”
“When I was your age, I dated someone who looked very much like Jordan.”
“Seriously?”
“Very.”
She tilted her head.
“Did it end badly?”
The question landed harder than she realized. I looked down at the kitchen towel still in my hands.
“No.”
“It just…” I searched for the right word. “…ended.”
She waited.
I could tell she wanted more.
Instead, I asked, “Have you learned anything else about him?”
“A little.”
“What does he study?”
“Architecture.”
That made me blink.
Richard had wanted to be an architect before changing to engineering because, as he’d put it, “Buildings don’t care about student loans.”
“What else?”
“He’s 20.”
“So he’s a year older than you.”
She nodded.
“He grew up outside Worcester.”
Not Boston.
For some reason, that detail settled one question and created three more.
“His mom teaches elementary school.”
“And his dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask?”
She laughed.
“We’ve known each other for one afternoon.”
Fair enough.
She tucked her phone into her pocket.
“Actually…” Her smile returned. “I kind of already invited him over.”
“You what?”
“For dinner.”
“When?”
“This Friday.”
I looked at the calendar hanging beside the refrigerator.
Friday was three days away.
“I hope that’s okay.”
She looked almost nervous now.
“I just thought…” She shrugged. “…I’d like you to meet him.”
I smiled because that’s what mothers do.
“I’d love to.”
The words came easily.
Believing them was harder.
The next three days dragged.
Every time I convinced myself I was being ridiculous, Richard crept back into my thoughts.
The Green Line. Cheap harbor lunches. The way he used to steal fries from my plate because he claimed stolen calories didn’t count.
I hadn’t allowed myself to think about him in years.
Not because I’d stopped loving him. Because I’d never understood why he’d disappeared.
We’d planned an apartment.
We talked about rings, argued over whether we’d eventually move to the suburbs or stay in Boston forever.
Then one morning he called.
His voice sounded wrong.
Not angry or distant.
Terrified.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I can’t do this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have to leave.”
“Leave where?”
“Away.”
I actually laughed because it sounded so absurd.
“Richard, stop joking.”
“I’m not joking.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t explain.”
“Then explain.”
Silence.
“I love you.”
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