She doesn’t answer, wiping the small tear in the corner of her eye with the neckline of her blouse, and smiles at him, her lips tight, holding in her emotions. I watch as she gives her son her hand, and he moves her the few steps to the middle of the kitchen floor and pulls her in for a dance. I almost feel like I’m intruding, but I’m so grateful to bear witness to this moment. Mason is giving his mother a gift, for nothing in return, just because he wants to. I pull my phone out when they aren’t looking and snap a photo, then message it to him instantly—Mason will finally have a memory attached to one of those images of him with his mom.

We listen to a few more songs while Barb brews a pot of coffee, but Max’s patience starts to wear. He’s no longer staying in his seat very long, instead pacing around the room on his toes while playing his game on the iPad. We usually go to the store in the afternoons on Mondays, and I know Max will want to make sure we have everything we need for his lunch bag next week.

Maybe I’m inventing a reason to leave, or maybe Max is about to have a meltdown. Either way, the longer I hesitate, the more my body fills with anxiety, until I can’t handle it anymore.

“We have to go,” I blurt out, stopping Barb and Mason mid-conversation. I can tell Mason’s taken off guard, and I can actually see his mind working on ways to convince me to stay. “I need to get some things for Max, and he has school tomorrow. I didn’t get much done yesterday, and I need to take advantage of Claire filling in for me tonight.”

“Right,” Mason says, his face down at his feet.

“Well here, take this home for your dad,” Barb says, tying the top of a plastic bag tight around a few containers of food and handing it to me.

“I’ll walk you out,” Mason says, his hand resting on my back, and his fingers barely grazing my skin, like he’s unsure if his hand belongs there. We get to the car, and Max is quick to settle in, shutting his door and buckling up. I can see the iPad light up his face in the back seat, and I know Mason and I will have a few minutes out here alone before Max will insist I get in the car.

“So, you leave tomorrow?” I ask, setting my small bag of food on the rooftop of the car and turning to face Mason, pulling my arms tightly around my body to warm myself from the breeze.

“I do. Early,” he says, his lips partially open, like more words are just hanging on his tongue, waiting to be said. He reaches his hand up, running the back of it down the side of my face, watching his fingers caress my cheek slowly, tracing every centimeter of my profile. He sweeps a few loose strands of hair behind my ear and holds his hand there, just staring at me.

“I should go,” I say, taking in a deep breath, and holding it like it’s my last.

“I’ll be back,” he says, his eyes giving away the uncertainty I know he really feels.

“I hope so,” I say, my teeth tugging at my lip while I hedge on saying the rest. “But I understand if you can’t. Max isn’t expecting you, and I’ll be okay.”

I won’t be okay, and as I stand here and pretend I’m strong, I know I’m crumbling inside. But Mason has this life—he has this gift—and it just doesn’t match with anything in my world. And I know that forcing it won’t make it so.

I stretch on the tips of my toes, reach my hand around Mason’s neck, and press my lips to his lightly, and I whisper, “Good luck,” but what I’m really saying is…goodbye. I grab the pasta from the roof of my car and open my door to get in, my body almost anticipating him to protest— to grab me, and pull me back to him, to refuse to let me go. But I shut the door, and the sounds of outside go completely silent.

It’s Max and me, just like it always is—and Mason is on the outside, looking in. He holds up his hand and stretches his fingers, and I can hear him say, “Goodbye,” through the window. I hold my fingers to my lips, and then press them flat to the window; he touches the other side, his touch sliding along the glass as I slowly drive away.

I cry silently for the short drive home, and I force my breath to regulate by the time I pull into our driveway so I can get Max upstairs, help him with his bath, and put him to bed. I don’t have the strength for groceries tonight, so I’ll make do with what we have. But the distraction of my routine is welcomed, and the next hour goes by rote as I work my way through the nightly checklist. I’m usually at work for this part, so I look forward to reading the planet book with Max. I offer to read extra tonight, mostly because I don’t want to go back to the thoughts in my head, but Max tells me he’s done. I put the book away, and I pull his heavy blanket over his body. My body itches to hug him, and so I ask him if I can hug him goodnight since I don’t get to do this part often. He lets me, but his body is rigid when I do, and I can tell he doesn’t want me to touch him for long.