“Mom?”
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.”
That made me laugh through the tears.
“I know.”
He approached.
“Do you want pressure?”
It was a question we had taught him years earlier for moments when he wanted comfort but wasn’t sure whether someone wanted to be touched.
“Yes.”
He hugged me.
Hard.
Exactly the pressure I needed.
I buried my face against my son’s shoulder.
He was taller than me.
When had that happened?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Mason stiffened.
“For what?”
“For making everything a lesson.”
He thought about that.
“You did not make everything a lesson.”
“Too many things.”
“Yes.”
I laughed again.
“Thank you for your honesty.”
“You say honesty is important.”
“I regret teaching you that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No.”
I held him tighter.
“No, I don’t.”
I thought the evening had reached its emotional limit.
I was wrong.
