I gripped the black iron railing. “Okay.”

A heavy silence stretched across the line.

“Your father hasn’t said much about it,” she continued, her breathing unsteady. “But I… I cried, Caleb. I watched it five times in the kitchen.”

I offered her no absolution. I stared out at the shimmering pavement below.

“I didn’t know she was going to ask you that,” she stammered.

“Neither did I, Mom. That’s the thing about real love. It isn’t scripted.”