What's My Worth?

Friends, what am I worth?

I had the kids over for dinner last night. It was an impromtu gathering. Shy, DaNae’s new room mate, loves pie, so I donned Nik’s apron, pretended to be Mom, and baked a blueberry pie.

The house smelled like warm pie and refried beans. Jenny brought over a bottle of wine, which everyone but me had a taste of. In the middle of dinner, Ryan called and asked if he could drop by.

When he stepped in the door, I demanded, take off your shirt. I want to see your tattoo. His girlfriend, tall, slender, blond, a perfect match for Ryan, smiled. He asked for some of Nik’s ashes, so that when he has the tattoo retouched, he can blend some of the ash into his flesh. DaNae grabbed Nik’s box and we scooped out a couple tablespoons of his gray ash.

DaNae and Ryan talked about old times, camping in the back yard and jumping through bon fires. I covered my ears. Her gang left laden with leftovers—beans, taco meat and the rest of the pie.


I gave Ryan the necklace I bought him over a year ago, saying, “You know, I got pissed at you and almost gave this away. But I decided to wait for you.” We both cried. When they left, he kept turning to give me one more hug. “You’re my other mother,” he said.

And that makes me feel worth plenty.