“Lady Cassul?” came his mother’s surprised tone when she heard of the noble Conan would be escorting. “Well, that’s not the second syllable I was expecting.”
“That’s not the what?”
“A mother knows, Conan,” Cassandra Deirgard had answered, chuckling. “I was waiting for you to say ‘I’ll be taking Lady Ka—’”
“Ma, can you not?” he interrupted in a wail, nape and ears burning with embarrassment. Conan looked out the window as if someone could have heard them speaking. Then he grasped his communicator with a sweaty palm, awaiting the reply of his best friend. Her eyes merely sparkled before she waved him off with a laugh, a kiss and a whisper:
My son, you have grown so much.
A few days later, mere minutes before his scheduled time to meet Seloria, Conan stood before his mother in his disguise of a grander man than he was. Cassandra’s eyes still sparkled but tonight, her tone carried an air of sternness and exasperation that she omitted when she first learned the news of his Friday evening plans.
“Just be sure not to ogle other ladies when you’re with Lady Cassul. She’s very kind to take you. You best return that politeness, got it? Give her your 100%.”
“I know, Ma. I know.” He was fifteen now, wasn’t he, she thought. At that age when one knew everything, the age with eyes bright and hands uncalloused, spirit prepared to take on the world.
“I want to hear nothing bad about tonight. No mischief, no funny business, got it?”
“Okay, okay. I promise.”
“You’ll be a gentleman, right?” Her hands adjusted his tie, brushed off the lint on his suit.
“Yeah, I will. It’s okay, Ma. Don’t worry,” he replied with a shrug, nonchalant despite his nerves; and she placed her hands on his shoulders to tell him not to worry. “I’ll be okay, Ma. I already asked Zach and them about what to do.”
Zach and them. The response hit her, not a reassurance of his promised good behavior, but a reminder that her husband was not around to give him this advice.
“And Conan?” she called to him after a moment of hesitation. He stopped, one hand still on the doorknob, one foot already through. Air thickening with silence, a draft blew in to wrap itself around mother and son in the night. A hand-knitted shawl draping her shoulders kept her from shivering, yet her voice shuddered when she continued. “I’m proud of you. You know that, right? Your father would’ve been so proud of you, too.”
“Yeah, Ma. I know,” he replied, glancing at his father’s watch, too loose around his wrist. Though the clock ticked, the squire doubled back to his mother, took off his mask so she could look at her son’s true face, and bent over slightly to kiss her on the top of the head. Then with a free hand snapping his mask back into place and the other hand waving “see you soon” with a bouquet, Conan strode out the door.