Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

“What about your mom?” And here, without warning,
she’d come directly to a second test. This was one she usually
saved for much further down the road if she could.
“My mom . . .” Is? Was? She was still indecisive about
tense when it came to this. “My mom . . . was from
Alabama. She died.” Bridget had spent four years saying
her mother “passed away,” but then the term started to
really annoy her. It didn’t fit with what had happened.
He turned his head and looked at her straight on. “I’m
so sad for you.”
She felt the sweat dry up on her skin. It was a disarmingly
honest thing to say. She looked away. At least he
hadn’t said, “I’m sorry.” She suddenly felt exposed in her
running bra.
With most guys she managed to forestall this issue
indefinitely. She’d gone out with guys for months at a
time and not had this conversation. It was strange that
with Eric it had come up in the first two minutes.
Carmen would take that as a sign of something, but then
Carmen was always looking for signs. Bridget never did.
“You go to Columbia now?” she asked, leaving her
discomfort on the path behind them.
“Yeah.”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s a strange school for an athlete,” he said. “Sports
aren’t exactly a big emphasis there.”
“Right.”
“But it’s got a great soccer program, and the academics
are obviously good. That was a big deal to my mom.”
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