After twelve years of marriage, my wife surprised me with a most unusual request: she wanted me to take another woman out for dinner and a film.
She said, I love you, darling, but I know theres another woman who adores you, and whod be thrilled to spend some time with you.
The other woman she meant, of course, was my mother. Shed been a widow for nineteen years.
Between work, three kids, and the general chaos of life, I scarcely managed to pop round to see her, except on the odd Sunday.
That evening, I rang her up to invite her for dinner and a movie.
Is everything alright, love? Something happened? she answered at once, the kind of mother who thinks every late night call is code for disaster.
No catastrophe, Mum, I assured her. I just thought we might have a nice night out together.
She paused, then said, Id absolutely love that.
On Friday evening, after work, I drove over to pick her up, feeling a bit jittery for some bizarre reason. As I pulled up, there she was, standing in the doorway, looking just as flustered as I felt. Shed slung her coat over her arm, curled her hair especially, and wore her favourite dressthe one she bought for her last birthday.
I told my friends my son is taking me out for dinner tonight, she said with a grin as she got in the car. They were all terribly impressed, you know.
We headed off to a little restaurant. It wasnt posh, but it was lovelycosy, welcoming, and not remotely fussy. My mother took my arm as we walked in, as if she were the Queen herself.
Once seated, I had to read the menu to her (large print or not, the lighting was hopeless). Halfway through, I looked up and caught her smiling, just a bit wistfully.
When you were little, she said, I used to read the menu to you.
Well, now its my turn to return the favour, I replied.
Our conversation flowed effortlessly over dinnernot deep revelations, just the usual tidings about life, family news, odd bits and bobs. Nothing world-changing, yet somehow, as the evening sped by, we ended up missing the start of our film.
On the way home, she said, Lets do this again. Next time, Ill treat you.
Deal, I said.
How was your night? my wife asked as I walked in the front door.
Brilliant. Far better than Id expected, I told her, with a smile.
A few days later, life threw one of its curveballs: my mother died suddenly, without warning, from a massive heart attack.
There was nothing I could have done.
A little while after the funeral, I received an envelope in the post. Inside was a receipt for that restaurant, and a note in my mums spidery handwriting: Ive paid for our second dinner in advance.
Just in case, she wrote, we didnt get to go. At least the meals on me. Take your wife. Im not sure I can join you, but I want you to know how much that dinner meant to me.
My son, I love you.
