I realized in that moment that I still loved him. Not in a way that would threaten my marriage, just that I wanted the world for him. That he'd left a deep imprint on my life. That I'm a better person for having known him.
"He said that you went to school together," my mother says over the phone, long distance. "And his name is Dave," she announces victoriously, as if that is all the identification he will ever need, like "Cher."