“You know, you’re exactly how I pictured you,” Andrea tells me. Zac lets out a mournful groan. “Here we go.” I nudge him quiet. “Really? How did he describe me?” “‘She looks like the sun, Mom,’” Andrea says, voice dropping in apparent imitation. Zac stiffens at my side. “‘Mixed with a little bit of rain.’ I’ll never forget it. The sweetest words coming from a fourteen-year-old boy.”
