They raised their glasses in silence. Nola pushed her hair, the slack blond curls, off her face. As they drank they looked into each other’s eyes and saw the strangers who now inhabited the bodies that had together made their son. I wonder who you are now, Nola said. It’s just me, said Peter, the same old me. No it’s not. We’ll never be the same. All right. Peter drank deeply. We’ll never be the same. That doesn’t mean we change, you know, how we are with each other. I still love you. His words hung out there in the stillness.
