Willa had her share of boyfriends,
sometimes several at a time, and they
were fun as far as romance went,
good for dinner and a movie or
a long walk on the beach.
She never kept any of them for
more than a few months, though.
She had more important concerns.
Her adoptive son Shannon
was what they called neurovariant
and one promptly fired therapist
had called "absolutely batshit."
To Willa, no romance was ever
going to take precedence, because
Shannon was her primary relationship.
She'd had him since he was two, and
raised him alone since her then-boyfriend
bailed on them when Shannon was four.
She adored watching him turn
from boy to teen and now,
slowly, toward manhood.
Shannon needed help
to find his place in the world,
as all teens did, and if he needed
a little more than the usual,
Willa was happy to give it.
She treasured the chance
to nurture his skills and interests,
from art and architecture to gardening,
his curiosity unfolding like a fiddlehead
toward some future career.
She wasn't going to miss that
over a walk down the aisle.