Selfie after selfie.
Goofy eyes.
Thumbs-up.
Tongue out.
Fake mustache drawn on his finger.
Whenever Julian traveled.
Whenever I ran an errand.
Whenever I texted: Everything okay?
I picked up his phone from the desk.
I had read those photos as proof that Toby was confident, happy, and independent.
“Why do you send me these?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Because they’re funny.”
“Only that?”
His fingers twisted the hem of his shirt.
Then he said, “You stop worrying when I look happy.”
I had read those photos as proof that Toby was confident, happy, and independent.
I forgot how to breathe for a second.
“What if you don’t look happy?”
“Then you ask what’s wrong.”
“And if something is wrong?”
Toby shrugged. “Then you worry more, Mom.”
He said it like he was explaining why you close the refrigerator after getting milk. Simple cause and effect.
“What if you don’t look happy?”
