Installment Twenty-Five

Deborah decided, as her brother Brian is in town for his final farewells, that it would be nice for a family dinner and the perfect occasion to introduce us to her new love, Sean.

I've only been hearing about him so I would finally get a good look at him.

Brian and I arrived first at the restaurant, almost walking in at the exact same moment, five minutes early. He takes after me that way. He doesn't know how to be late either.

I couldn't handle an argument with him about his moving to Beijing to teach, so I was relieved when Deborah and Sean waltzed through the door, hand in hand, at the anointed hour.

I didn't have to see Sean's face to know he was not just my daughter's new boyfriend. He simply had to be the son, legitimate or otherwise, of my own Irish love Gabe. It was the way he moved, his height, his hand resting on my daughter's back as he maneuvered her to our table. I had seen and felt this all before.

But how could that be?

O'Sullivan, while an Irish name, was not the surname I had held close to my heart for well over forty years.

As Deborah made the formal introductions, I couldn't take my eyes off him. Really mature, I know.

"Mom," both of my children spoke at once at me. "You look as though you have seen a ghost."

Simply. Not. Possible.

"Sorry kids. Hello, Sean. I apologize for staring. You look so much like another Irish man I knew once a long time ago. I know that's as bad as what we Canadians always gripe about, that we must somehow all be related to or know one another in this vast country...of course, we usually do!"

Save me from myself.

"Mom, you're babbling," Deborah finally said.

"Hello, Mrs. Schuster." Even his voice took me back decades. How can this be?

"Call me Joelly, Sean. Everyone does."

"Okay Joelly," said my 'adult children'—an expression that has to be the world's greatest oxymoron—in unison.

"I'm still Mom to you guys." I couldn't help myself. "Sean, I apologize again for my rudeness. I went to school a thousand years ago, and I really mean that, with a young Irish boy whose father was a diplomat like mine. We must have done elementary grades together it's that long ago, in Buenos Aires when both our fathers were posted there. You look just like him."

"More babbling, Mom." This time Deborah was whispering.

"My grandfather was a diplomat posted to Argentina, Mrs. Schuster, I mean Joelly. My father attended an international school there. Unfortunately, we've been estranged a long time so I can't ask him if he remembers you."

At that thought, half of my wine glass went down my throat in a single gulp. I almost choked.

"Are you all right, Mom?" said my kids, again in unison.

"I'm fine. Deborah mentioned something about your family situation, Sean, but let's put aside that subject for tonight, shall we?" I just wasn't mentally prepared to go there. "Tell me about you! How do you like Ottawa?"

To see that face again, albeit a younger version of it, vanquished my appetite for food. The drink, mind you, could definitely stay and be replenished.

Have I discovered a new way to lose weight? The Shock Diet?