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“I’d like to hear more about your mom,” Conner said once we were alone again. “But not if it upsets you.” “I’m happy to tell you about her. She was an amazing mother—always showering us with love and attention. We made gingerbread houses at Christmas and dyed our own eggs at Easter. She was the type who encouraged us to read and loved to try new craft ideas she picked up on the internet. She took us to farmers’ markets and movies and Broadway plays, and was happy to do it. I never felt like a burden to her. With a Mom as involved and loving as she was, I hardly noticed my father’s absence; although I think as a boy, Sante felt it more.” The sapphire light in Conner’s eyes warmed as I spoke. “I think our mothers would have gotten along well. And while my father isn’t the asshole yours is,
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