“I met someone, Mom,” I say to her across the table. “What else is new,” she laughs. “If I remember correctly, you meet a new woman every week.” “No I don’t,” I chuckle. “It’s every day.” She shakes her head, “I can’t believe you’re my son. You’re more incorrigible now than you were at sixteen.” “Yup,” I laugh. We’re having brunch at the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego. We sit at an umbrella covered table on the Sheerwater Restaurant patio. Just past the green grass and the brick path, the waves of the Pacific roll up onto the golden sand of the beach which runs along the west side of the hotel. “Your father was never a wildcat like you.” Her smile fades to sadness. “I miss your father.” She stares at me with wet eyes. “Me too.” I choke out the words. We both stare at the ocean for a long time. “This was your father’s favorite place to take me.” Her words are thin and whispery. “I know. He always told me if I was ever going to propose to someone, I should do it here.”
