My name is Diane. My 19-year-old son, Tyler, had come home from his first year of college, and for weeks he’d been telling me about someone special in his life. He was finally ready for me to meet his new boyfriend, Noah.
I wanted the evening to be perfect. I cleaned the house, made a pot roast, and brought out the good dishes I usually saved for holidays. Tyler had dated before, but I’d never seen him this excited about anyone.
He’d told me little things about Noah—how he hated mushrooms, played guitar badly but confidently, and once walked across campus in the rain because Tyler had forgotten his laptop.
By Sunday afternoon, I was genuinely looking forward to meeting him.
When the doorbell rang, Tyler practically ran to answer it. A few moments later, he walked into the kitchen with a tall, thin young man beside him.
