Then he smiled again.
For the next two weeks, my son changed.
He bought a navy suit with money he’d saved from working weekends at the bookstore.
He asked me whether a blue tie looked too serious.
One evening, I came downstairs and found him watching a dance tutorial on his phone, moving stiffly across the living room when he thought nobody was looking.
When he saw me, he froze.
I tried very hard not to laugh.
“I’m leaving.”
“Mom.”
“I’m already gone.”
His ears turned red, and I walked upstairs smiling.
But beneath that happiness, something worried me.
I hated myself for thinking it.
Maybe it said something ugly about me too.
Still, I couldn’t stop wondering why Celeste Monroe, after almost four years of barely speaking to Tobin, had suddenly chosen him.
