“You’re not getting younger, Amara,” my mother, Fiona, would say in typical mom-speak.
Naturally, I would roll my eyes and laugh at her in response, but I agreed with every word.
“I’m not saying get married,”
she would continue well into her rehearsed speech. “I just want to know that you’re not lonely when you get home. I mean, Jasper can only do so much.” When I met Trevor, our connection was immediate — he was the person I had always hoped to find. His sense of humor rivaled mine and would send me into fits of laughter. And Jasper loved him.
“It’s the way they make you laugh, that speaks volumes of who they are,” my mom would say. Again, she wasn’t wrong. But then, a few weeks into our relationship, Trevor caught me off guard. “I really want to meet your mom,” he said, his eyes earnest. I hesitated. Even though I liked where things were going with Trevor, it felt too soon. I wasn’t at that stage to take him home and introduce him to my mother — let alone my brother. “Aren’t we moving a bit too fast?” I countered, trying to mask my concern with a laugh. I couldn’t understand why I was nervous about the whole thing.
Trevor was polite, charming, and always treated me with the utmost care — but something was unnerving about taking him to my childhood home. “No, not at all,” he replied, brushing off my concern with a smile. “I just want to know you better, and your family too.” I watched him, playing with Jasper, who soaked up all the attention. It made sense. Trevor seemed to be in for the long haul. Moving too quickly or not, there was only one way to find out if he was the right one for me. I had to let him meet my mother.
I called my mom and told her that Trevor wanted to meet her. To my surprise, she was delighted by the idea and immediately wanted to invite him home for dinner. “It will be perfect,” she promised. That Saturday, I took my time getting dressed before Trevor and I were set to leave for my mom’s house. He asked me a hundred questions about her, trying to form an image of a woman he wanted to impress.
“Do you think she’d like me?” he asked nervously, holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet as we got out of the car. Now that it was the moment I had been waiting for, I was excited. My mom knew me better than anyone else — if Trevor was a good match for me, she would know immediately. If not, she would probably whisper it to me when we were doing dishes after dinner. We stood at the door, waiting for Mom to let us in. I was expecting polite introductions and a smirk from her when she saw how hard Trevor had tried. Instead, there was an electric charge of recognition and disbelief. “Trevor, is that really you?” my mom gasped, her voice high. Trevor, on the other hand, looked shocked. His eyes were wide, and his jaw had fallen.
“Mrs. Thompson?” he said, the words barely escaping his lips. “It’s really you!” I stood there, a spectator on my own porch, watching their reunion unfold. “Mom, you know Trevor?” I asked. “Oh, Amara,” Mom replied, her voice heavy with emotion. “Of course, I do.” The story unfolded with Mom pouring a glass of wine for each of us.
“Years ago, just before you were born, I was a volunteer at a children’s home. It was part of my community service when I was building up my hours as a counselor. Trevor was one of the kids at the first home I was placed at. We formed a special bond because he was much older than the other children.” “I helped you hand out the plates for dinner, didn’t I?” Trevor reminisced. “Yes, you did!” Mom exclaimed, taken by the fact that Trevor remembered. “But then, I got placed in a long-term job and had to move away with my sister. That’s when Trevor and I lost touch.
Over the years, I always I always thought of you playing in the yellow bouncy house that one Christmas.” Trevor smiled. “I always wondered why you didn’t come back,” he said. “You were a lot younger than most of the people who volunteered, but you had such a maternal instinct about you — I would have jumped at the opportunity to come with you!” My mom asked Trevor about his life between then and now while I set the table. “I was adopted soon after,” he said. “Great parents. They did send me to boarding school, but it was a good experience.
It gave me many opportunities.” My mother clung to Trevor’s words, and I knew it brought her genuine joy to see him so well-established in his career as a software developer. Mom’s dinner was a hit, and Trevor enjoyed the homecooked meal — he even opted to do the dishes afterward. Later, as we drove back to my place, Trevor spoke about my mom as though he had gone his entire life waiting to see her again. “But it was just the bonus, Amara,” he said. “That Fiona Thompson ended up being your mom.
I just really wanted to know more about you and about the people who are important to you.” The evening was a reminder of how unpredictable life is — and how connected we all are. Mom adores Trevor and is already hoping that our children have his eyes. But Trevor and I have decided to take it slow and see where things go. We found something rare — a shared past, of sorts, and a newfound family that Trevor slipped into with ease.
