Part 1

I assumed my daughter’s unexpected subway romance would become another sweet memory I’d repeat for years. Then she showed me a photograph, and I understood she was not simply introducing me to a boy she liked.

She was bringing the deepest heartbreak of my life back through my front door.

Stormy had never looked so delighted because of a boy.

She seemed to drift into the house, tossed her backpack onto the kitchen floor, and began talking before she had even removed her shoes.

I glanced up from the strawberries I was cutting, placed the knife aside, and rested against the counter.

“All right. Tell me.”

“It was on the subway.”

“Of course it was.”

“I got on at Harvard Station because I was meeting Mia downtown. The train was packed, and this guy was standing across from me reading ‘The Great Gatsby.’”

“You noticed the book first?”

“I noticed he wasn’t pretending to read it to look smart.”

I laughed at that.

“He kept smiling every time someone got on because this little kid across from him was trying to pronounce the station names. At one point the kid asked him if ‘Massachusetts’ was the longest word in the world.”

“He said, ‘Only if you’re six.’”

She laughed again as though the moment were happening in front of her.

I had not seen her so animated in a long time. Stormy was normally careful about letting anyone close, so her excitement immediately caught my attention.

“So you talked?” I asked.

“He asked what I was reading.”

“I told him I wasn’t reading anything because my phone died.”

I lifted one eyebrow.

“Smooth.”

“I know.”

She gave an exaggerated groan.

“I thought I’d completely embarrassed myself.”

“He laughed and said that was the most honest answer he’d heard all week.”

She pushed a loose strand behind her ear, still smiling at the memory.

“We talked all the way to South Station.”

“And then?”

“He asked if I’d like to get coffee sometime.”

“So you said yes.”

I reached across the counter and squeezed her hand.

“I’m happy for you.”

Her smile softened.

“I know it’s only been one subway ride, but it already feels different.”

I remembered being nineteen and believing one perfect conversation could redirect an entire life.

“So,” I asked, “does this dream guy have a name?”

“Jordan.”

“Do you at least have a picture?”

Her expression brightened instantly.

“Oh.”

“We took some before I got off.”

She searched her camera roll and stopped on one image.

“There.”

She turned the screen toward me.

My smile vanished before I understood why.

A young man stood beside Stormy on the subway platform, one hand loosely hooked around the strap of his backpack.

Hazel eyes.

A slightly crooked smile.

For one impossible moment, breathing became difficult.

No.

That could not be real.

People resembled one another all the time. Boston was hardly a tiny town.

“Mom?”

Stormy’s voice seemed to come from somewhere far away.

“You okay?”

“Sorry.”

I studied the picture again.

“He reminds me of someone I knew.”

She angled the phone back toward herself.

“You think so?”

Before I could respond, she moved to another photograph. In this one, Jordan had been captured walking toward the train doors.

A small blue felt teddy bear hung from the zipper of his backpack.

One button eye was blue.

The other was green.

Its left ear drooped a little lower than the right.

No.

It was impossible.

Plenty of people owned teddy-bear keychains.

Boston was not so small that two unrelated people could not possess nearly identical ones.

I made myself turn away.

I would not allow an old piece of felt to pull twenty-two years of buried memories into my kitchen.

I crossed to the sink, wrapped my hands around its edge, and tried to regain control.

Twenty-two years before, I had sewn a bear exactly like that for the only man I had ever intended to marry.

I had not been able to afford the birthday present he wanted, so I used leftover blue felt to make something myself. One button came from an old sweater, while the second had been taken from my grandmother’s sewing box.

He attached it to his backpack immediately and carried it everywhere, calling it his lucky charm.

I had not seen that bear since the day we parted.

“Dad?”

Stormy’s voice drew me out of the memory.

“You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.”

Her face made it clear she did not believe me.

“Mom…”

She stepped nearer.

I managed a smile.

“No.”

“You recognized him.”

“I recognized someone he reminded me of.”

She crossed her arms.

A soft laugh escaped me.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve had exactly one expression for the last five minutes.”

“What expression?”

“The one where you’re somewhere else.”

“When I was your age…”

She smiled immediately.

“Oh, this is going to be one of those stories.”

Continue reading