“You have to meet my friend Jenny!” Ming told me after class one day, on one of his routine visits to my dorm room. “She’s so nice. She’s new in the clarinet studio this year, and she’s in German class with me.”
“When do I get to meet her?” I asked him, as I finished up my Italian homework.
“Well, can we study German in your room tomorrow night?”
Ming often made himself right at home in my room. After knocking and letting himself in, the first thing he would do was open my refrigerator, helping himself to whatever was inside. The second thing he would do, after pouring some chips and salsa into bowls, would be to take over the CD player, and no matter what I had playing at the time, he would replace it with one of his many CDs. Sometimes, he felt Brahms would create the perfect atmosphere for our late-night eating sessions, and for others, it would be Renaissance choral music or Argentinian music. Some might have been offended by the way Ming so casually took over someone’s living quarters, but I liked it. It felt like having family come home after a day of work. And since Ming and I were inseparable while we weren’t in class, the fact that he treated my room like his seemed natural.
“Yeah, sure, bring her over. Just make sure it’s after seven, though, because I have an opera scene rehearsal until then.”
* * *
The hot summer weather had not let up yet, even though we were nearing the end of September. I was sweating like a pig, and my hair was in desperate need of a wash. It hung long and lank, and as I perspired on my way home from a relentless day of classes and rehearsals, it was plastered against my neck, making me feel itchy and unclean.
“Shit, I don’t have time for a shower before Ming comes over,” I thought, as Mark and I walked home from the music building. “Oh well, it’s just Ming, anyway.”
Mark began to walk even faster as he pulled me towards the familiar gate to HGS. His tail began to wag, and his whole demeanor told me he was just as happy to be home from a long day as I was.
Five minutes after I had gotten Mark some water and had him back on his bed chain, I heard Ming’s muffled voice at my door. “Now you’re about to meet my other half,” followed by a knock.
“Hey, Laur!” Ming said. “This is Jenny.”
“Hi there, so nice to meet you,” I said.
“You, too,” said a shy voice.
“Ming’s told me all about you.”
“Yeah, he’s told me a lot about you too,” Jenny said.
Mark began to bark, wrenching against his chain to say “hello” to Ming.
“No, Mark, quiet,” I said firmly. “Sorry, Jenny, he won’t hurt you; he’s very friendly. He’s my guide dog.”
“He’s so cute,” Jenny said. “He looks like a puppet.”
Ming put Anne Sofie Von Otter singing Brahms Lieder on my CD player before he and Jenny began practicing their German.
Jenny and I did not say much to each other that night. When she and Ming were not practicing German, they were talking about goings on in the clarinet studio. Even though what I needed was a break from work, I settled myself down on my bed and began to tackle my next Italian assignment.
* * *
“You’ll never guess what I just found out!” Ming said excitedly as we walked arm-in-arm to Leigh Hall. Autumn had set in, and mid-October had an unprecedented chill in the air, foreshadowing a freezing winter.
“What?” I asked eagerly, awaiting a juicy piece of gossip or interesting news.
“Jenny’s gay!”
“She is?” I hadn’t seen Jenny in several weeks, the last time being the night of the study session in my room. The news excited me. The Yale School of Music seemed almost entirely devoid of gay students after coming from the gay mecca that Oberlin was. I wasn’t sure which felt worse, weirding people out once again as the only blind person in the School of Music or as the only lesbian.
“That’s so neat!” I told Ming. “She’s one of us! How come it took so long to find out?”
“The silly girl thought you and I were a couple,” Ming said. “She’s been so afraid to come out because she thought she’d be the only one. I asked her how she could have possibly thought I was straight.”
“Well, you did introduce me to her as your other half,” I laughed. “Anyway, how did it come up?”
“There’s this new pianist named Ryo here, and he’s gay too. He’s been asking everyone he’s becoming friends with if they’re gay. The other night, when you were in Boston visiting Olivia, we were having drinks with Jenny, and it was her turn. When Ryo asked, she said yes, just like that, no hesitation. She has a girlfriend, too.”
“Did you tell her about me?”
“I did, and she was super excited. She was starting to feel like the only lesbian here.”
“Tell her that I’m going to buy her a drink some time! Tell her we can be the only lesbians here together.”
* * *
Ming wanted to celebrate his birthday at Bar. Most college towns have their quirks, and Bar was one of Yale’s. They sold addictive pizza and hosted gay night on Tuesdays. Lucky enough for Ming, his birthday fell on a Tuesday this year.
Ming watched me primp in my closet and I held out a red tank top with safety pins lining the sleeves and gold chains hanging down the front. “Do you think I should wear this shirt?”
“Ooo, hot Momma,” he laughed. “You gonna wear that short, leather skirt, too?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just got the outfit in London when I was on vacation there last summer. Been wanting an excuse to wear it.”
“Well hurry up, let’s go! I want to get there before the pizza runs out.”
I was definitely underdressed. October had grown brutally windy, and I shivered under my shearling winter coat, which I had reluctantly pulled out earlier than I would have liked. Bar felt warm and inviting, and Ming and I claimed a large table near the back. Gay night and the ’80s dance mixes had not kicked in yet, and macho country rock was still playing.
Minutes later, Jenny and an entourage of Ming’s friends sat down around the big table. I was thrilled that Jenny had taken the seat right next to me.
“Hey Laurie, we met in your room about a month ago,” Jenny said, her voice sounding much more friendly and less shy than the last time.
“Say no more, I know who you are,” I said. “Welcome to our little family, the black sheep of the Yale Music School,” I said, reaching out to pat her shoulder.
Jenny laughed, “So Ming told you, huh?”
“And he told you about me.”
“So, how did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That you were gay.”
“Oh,” I said, thinking back. “It was when my first girlfriend took my hand. I mean, I had suspected since high school that something was different, and somehow I just knew that I needed to try being with a girl. When she took my hand, I don’t even know how to describe what it felt like. It was as if everything in my life up to that point, even my own childhood, the feelings I had suppressed, just surfaced and made sense.”
“I think I knew for sure when I held my first girlfriend’s hand, too. It’s probably something straight couples feel, but for some reason, I never felt that with a guy before. Do you have a girlfriend now?”
“Yes,” I responded, referring to Olivia.
“How long have you two been together?”
“Four and a half years. Can you believe it? How about you?”
“About two and a half years,” Jenny said. “Long distance relationships are hard, but it sounds like you two are doing just fine.”
As we talked, I realized that having our gayness in common made us speed past the normal small talk into a potential fast friendship. Sharing the most intimate details of our sexuality was a therapy we both desperately needed, especially after a month of being around straight grad students with boyfriends, some even with husbands and kids. Though the group around us was in animated conversation, Jenny and I continued to talk to each other, as if we were the only two at the table.
* * *
Jenny soon began joining the spontaneous and frequent gatherings in my room. Ming’s music provided the soundtrack to our eating, drinking, and animated conversations. There was a true magic to the bond of this group of people who managed to find time for each other almost every night, whether for pizza at two in the morning, movie nights in someone’s room, or Gay Night at Bar. Mark made his rounds, getting petted by all who adored him. Nothing could have been more perfect, or so I thought.
Jenny had taken to sitting next to me on my bed, and we engaged in conversations about everything. I began to notice something about the quality of her voice that one might find in someone’s eyes. I could hear her winking at me through her laughter, and there was a silliness about her that reminded me of myself. We could be childlike together in a way that everyone else seemed to have outgrown. She brought me back to a place of self-abandonment I had not been to for many years.
* * *
The Marriage of Figaro was announced as our main stage opera for the year, and one evening in the middle of November, the cast list was emailed to us with our schedule. I had hoped for the role of Cherubino, a mezzo pants role portrayal of a young boy who is infatuated with the countess in a tangle of comical love stories. I had learned Cherubino’s arias early on in my voice training, and the role seemed perfect for my voice. Just as I had done the year before, I began to move my cursor up and down the cast list, but the casting announcement read by my computer’s monotonous, synthesized voice showed me that I, once again, was not in the opera.
By Cherubino’s name, two names had been written, both of whom had played lead roles the year before. My heart plummeted. I sat in my desk chair, absently petting Mark, wondering how they could have rationalized doing this to me. This was the second year of my Master’s, my very last chance at a role at Yale. Yet, they had found a way for me to be totally overlooked, the only singer in the whole program in this position. This was not the education I had bargained for, not the résumé builder I had planned. If professionals were going to give a blind opera singer a chance, they would need proof that I had experience. They would need to know that someone had taken the chance before them. As I sat there, hearing the November wind pound angrily against my window, my computer announced that all the reasons I had gone to Yale were for naught and that my two year plan had backfired.
The depression weighing heavily on my chest had turned to cold, hard anger when I woke up the next morning. Though I prided myself on never acting the role of the bitter diva, I was not going to simply let this roll off my back. They owed me the consideration of hearing me out, and I deserved to walk away from this situation feeling strong, not just settling on being the meek girl who would let them get away with what they perhaps expected me to be.
I arrived at studio class to the usual animated chatter that directly preceded an opera casting announcement. As usual, nobody acknowledged my presence or asked me to sit next to them, making me feel as invisible as I was on the cast list. Studio class was a place for us all to workshop our arias for each other, for Patricia, and for most of the Yale Opera faculty.
“Okay, let’s begin everyone,” Patricia said loudly.
“The long awaited casting announcement has been made, as you all know. Everyone on this faculty has entrusted each of you with a very important responsibility. It is absolutely imperative that you learn your role thoroughly before the sing-through, and that you utilize your coaching sessions so that your diction and understanding of your character is the best it can be by the time of staging. I know you all can handle this, and it is certainly the kind of practice you’ll need for the expectations professional opera companies will have. Does anyone have any questions? Yes, Laurie.”
“Patricia, I believe I noticed a mistake on the cast list last night,” I said, keeping my voice airy and calm. I let the awkward moment of silence resonate before continuing.
“I noticed that I did not appear on the cast list. That must have been an oversight, right?” Silence again. “I mean, I know this program is meant to give everyone opera experience, and I knew that you wouldn’t have chosen not to cast me two years in a row. That would be against everything this program stands for.”
“Laurie,” Patricia said, clearing her throat. “This must be very disappointing for you, but unfortunately, there has been no mistake. What you saw on the cast list is final.”
I sat there in silence, awaiting Patricia’s explanation. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the small recital hall on me. I knew that forcing everyone to confront this uncomfortable situation was causing resentment, but I didn’t care. My name being the only one left off of the cast list was not going to be the elephant in the room that everyone refused to acknowledge.
“As you know, your situation poses some, um, difficult, how should I say it, limitations. It would be very dangerous up there on that stage for you, and it would be very hard for you to get around.”
“Patricia, I travel this entire campus by myself every day,” I said. “First, I used a cane, and now I use a dog. Around my dorm, the bathrooms, and around all the classrooms, I use no mobility aid at all. Do you mean to tell me that you don’t think I can learn my way around a stage?”
“We are all amazed by how you get around, and everything you do. You have a room full of admirers here.”
“I’m not asking for your compliments or your admiration,” I said. “I’m just asking for the one thing I came to this program to get, and that is opera experience. I think you’re not giving the stage directors you hired enough credit. If they are the imaginative, creative people that directors should be, we can figure out together how to make me being on stage in a full scale opera work.”
“Laurie, our director has been involved in the decision-making process, and he feels that he doesn’t have the time or resources to work with you.”
“Why did you accept me? What made you feel that I was right for this program?”
“Because you have a beautiful voice,” Patricia said. “And we felt that we could help you grow. Even if you are not in the opera, we did put you in opera scenes, and you got stage experience that way. Look how much you’ve improved. We’re so proud of you. But we also must get on with studio class. It’s not fair to keep everyone from singing their arias. Audition season is coming up.”
Though I had kept my anger in check during my interrogation, it bubbled and boiled inside of me, and as each singer in that room got up to perform their aria, I felt that the value and emphasis on everyone else’s career was perceived to be much more important than mine.
“We’re all sorry that you didn’t get a role,” said Liza as we left the room after class. “But you always have to blame everything on your blindness.”
“Yeah, and you wonder why none of us feel like hanging out with you,” said Isabel. “Just suck it up already.”
“I’m asking for special treatment? Is that what you think? Is being the only person left out of the opera and needing an explanation special treatment? Why don’t you try to imagine how that feels, both of you!” I yelled.
Leave it to the wonderful loyalty of an intuitive dog to do exactly the right thing in a stressful situation. At that very moment, Mark, without waiting for a single command, took off at super speed, making a beeline for the door. Mark always seemed to know when I was late for class or when we had the time to stop and smell the roses. In this case, he knew that I needed to get out of that hall and leave my critics in the dust, to make the dramatic exit I would never have the chance to make in an opera at Yale.
* * *
“Laur, I just heard about the opera. They’re so stupid!” Ming said.
I had entrusted the task of getting home entirely to Mark, as I was too upset to think about where I was headed. Instead of heading to HGS, he had taken me to Leigh Hall, as if knowing that what I really needed were friends, not an empty room. Miraculously, Ming had been in the lobby.
“What happened?” asked Jenny, who seemed to emerge from a practice room at that moment.
“Those asses at Yale Opera did it again,” Ming said angrily. “They didn’t put Laurie in the opera.”
“Oh my gosh, are you serious?” Jenny said, her tone like a salve on a throbbing wound. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not,” I said, trying to keep myself from shaking. “But I will be.”
Jenny put her hand on my shoulder, rubbing it shyly. Somehow, through my anger and hurt, I was able to feel comfort from her touch, and something inexplicably more than comfort, as if in that moment, she had become an even closer friend.
“Come on, Laur, let’s get out of here,” Ming said. “Let’s go have dinner. Wanna go to Thai Taste?”
I recounted my conversation with Patricia. I told them about Liza and Isabel accusing me of demanding special treatment. Ming’s getting worked up and Jenny’s anger peeking out from her laid-back personality were making me smile again, and my heart felt lighter. Having them on my side was just what I needed.
“I’m going to beat them up for you. Which one is Liza? Isn’t she the one that looks like Ms. Piggy?” Jenny said, making me laugh deeply.
“I never thought about that, but she kind of does,” Ming joined in.
“And which one is Isabel?” Jenny asked.
“She’s the tall one that everyone thinks is beautiful. I wouldn’t try beating her up. She’s bigger than you,” I said.
“Oh, I can take her,” Jenny said. “She probably spends a lot more time making sure not to break a nail than working out at the gym.”
“You guys are the best. Did I ever tell you that?” I said, my stomach aching from the fits of laughter.
“What time is it?” Ming gasped suddenly. “I’m tutoring a student at 7:30.” With that, he handed us a twenty and left.
“Hey, thanks for letting me vent,” I said to Jenny. “I’m sorry I’m in such a crappy mood.”
“Don’t worry,” she said warmly. “I’d be pissed off if it were me, too. And by the way, I think you have an amazing voice.”
My heart did a little involuntary flip. “Really?”
“Yeah, I thought you were great in the opera scenes.”
“Thanks, that really means a lot.”
“So, what are you up to the rest of the night?” Jenny asked.
“Not much. I don’t feel like doing any work.”
“Me either.”
“Wanna come hang out at HGS for a while? I’m sure Ming will come by as soon as he’s done tutoring.”
“Sure,” Jenny said.
I took Jenny’s arm and let Mark walk casually on my left side as I gently held his leash. It occurred to me that there was nothing too interesting or entertaining in my room, and I worried that two hours of hanging out without Ming would bore Jenny.
“I like your CDs,” Jenny said, peering at the collection on my shelf.
“Oh cool, let me play you one of my favorite folk CDs. It’s called Voices on the Verge, where these four awesome up-and-coming singers jam on each other’s songs.”
I felt myself moving rhythmically about the room and humming as Erin McKeown crooned “Four and Twenty Blackbirds” into my speakers. The music and Jenny sitting on my bed made me forget the events that had taken place over the previous twenty-four hours.
“If you like this kind of jazzy, folky stuff, you would like this CD by the group Hem, have you heard of them?” Jenny fumbled in her bag. “I actually have my CD wallet with me.”
The two hours went by like minutes as Jenny and I shared our favorite musical moments, and I felt a happiness that reminded me of something I had felt at Tanglewood, where we all seemed to adore music for music’s sake with a pure teenaged enthusiasm that gets lost when one’s mind gets hung up on career and competition. It was that enthusiasm that made me want to be a singer in the first place, and being with Jenny made me realize how much of that I had been tucking away somewhere, like an old beloved stuffed animal. Music was something that should be enjoyed at that pure, visceral level, and I was happy that Jenny and I were on the same wavelength, enjoying it there together.
* * *
The next few weeks turned into a series of final projects, tests, and wrapping up of the first semester. I did not see Jenny much, but I found myself thinking about her and wondering what she was up to. I knew I could have emailed or called, but something I couldn’t pinpoint kept me from it.
“She’s probably way too busy,” I told myself.
Winter break came and went, and a few weeks later I managed to have some one-on-one time with her again.
“Jenny, Tina and I discovered a delicious dessert at Cosi the other night. It’s their mud pie, and they serve it warm. Can I tempt you?”
“Yeah, that would be fun,” she said, and a rush of excitement swept through me.
“Mmmm,” we intoned together as we dug into the rich, warm, fudgy dessert.
“You’re so right. This is as delicious as you said it was.”
We ate the mud pie in silence, savoring each bite. The warmth of the ambrosia seemed to be loosening me up, making me feel tipsy as though I had just had a glass of wine. I was feeling adventurous and bold, with an urge in that moment to be honest with myself and Jenny. I was not prepared for the boldness that took over just after we had paid the check.
“You know something,” I said, feeling lighthearted. “I would have such a huge crush on you if I weren’t in a relationship.”
I expected Jenny to laugh the comment off as any good friend might, but her response surprised me as much as my own sudden desire to be forward.
“Me too!” she said, her voice sounding surprised.
“You’re just kidding, right?”
“Are you?” she asked.
“No, I’m not.”
“Me neither.”
I felt her eyes on me, and we both laughed as the coincidence of a reciprocated feeling dawned on us.
“It’s a nice night. Do you want to go for a walk?” she asked.
The truth was that it was twenty degrees, but somehow, we found ourselves walking for blocks, past the music school, enjoying the weather as though it were a balmy summer evening with a light breeze. Neither of us shivered or felt any desire to return to the warmth of the school. I knew we were both in relationships, and that nothing more could develop than a close friendship, but it was exhilarating to know that Jenny and I felt the same way about each other. That was enough for me.
* * *
Jenny and I found ourselves spending more time together than ever. We went to see movies, where she would tell me in a low voice what was happening on the screen, her lips gently brushing my ear. We went to our friends’ recitals together, taking each other’s hands when the music reached those moments we both loved. And we wrote emails to each other, which became something to look forward to every morning. What thoughts would appear in my inbox from her first thing in the morning before I took Mark out on his walk? Would we be seeing each other later that day?
Gradually, the emails became more and more personal, and Jenny revealed to me that things with her girlfriend had been strained for a while, and that she didn’t know what to do. She became tortured by it until one day, I didn’t get a message from her, and that day turned into two, three, and four days. The silence was creating a void that made me feel uneasy. Had I said anything to upset her?
Finally, on the fifth day, Ming and I decided to grab pizza at a place near HGS. No sooner had we ordered than Ryo and Jenny came in.
“Hey Jenny!” I said happily. “How’s it going?”
“Not so good,” she said, her voice trembling a bit.
“Oh no,” I said, putting an arm around her as she sat beside me. “What is it?”
“Lisa broke up with me a few days ago.”
My heart sank as Jenny’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry.” I felt my eyes burning with tears. “Why did she break up with you?”
“I was honest with her. I told her that I had feelings for someone else, and we were crying on the phone until four in the morning. I’ve really hurt her, and I wasn’t ready to let her go.”
Our pizza came, and my appetite disappeared as my stomach and heart seemed to tangle up in each other. This had all been my fault. I had opened my big mouth and had opened Pandora’s box.
“Do you want to talk about this some more?” I asked. “You can come to my room after this.”
“Okay,” she said weakly.
She sat next to me on the bed, lost and silent.
“Jenny, you can’t compromise your relationship because of me,” I said. “This isn’t fair to you. We just have an intense friendship, that’s all. We can work through this.”
“It’s not just you,” she said. “I think my feelings for you were just the last straw. Besides, I wouldn’t expect you to leave Olivia for me.”
Olivia, my wonderful Olivia, the girl who had been there during the times I was sick, the one who had never judged me for not understanding Virginia Woolf the way she did, and the one who always had an encouraging word for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Yet I had begun to have a shorter fuse with her since I left Oberlin, getting frustrated with her when we did not see eye to eye. Our lives seemed to be growing more separate, and yet, I knew she would never have thought to leave me.
* * *
The emails from Jenny resumed the following morning, beginning with one thanking me for being there for her and reiterating that she did not expect me to leave Olivia for her, and that this unfortunate breakup had probably been coming for some time now.
I could not get Jenny out of my mind. Every time I was with her, it was as if I could see an entire future with her. I felt as though there was a part of myself in her, still left undiscovered. My singing had gotten better around her because she had inspired a rebirth of the rich enthusiasm for music I had forgotten. Olivia was getting her Master’s at Tufts University, and I made the decision to go to Boston to spend the weekend with her in late February. I needed a reminder of how things were between us to help me decide what I needed to do.
Holding Olivia felt as wonderful as it did the first time we embraced, and yet I realized in that moment that it wasn’t enough. She and I cried harder than we had ever cried that weekend, knowing that my decision was at the end of it. We had loved each other, shared so much together, had created so many memories over those last four and a half years, and yet I knew, perhaps from the beginning, that something basic had been missing between us, some common ground that the relationship truly needed.
* * *
I did not call or email Jenny for the next several days. My heart was riddled with guilt for the two relationships that had gotten destroyed.
And then, a week later, an email with the subject line, “Warm mud pie” showed up in my inbox.
“Hi Laurie. It’s really cold today, isn’t it? I couldn’t help thinking that what we both need is some of that Cosi mud pie tonight. What do you think? Should we go after my studio class tonight?”
Her words were just the thing I needed. Though I knew I deserved all the guilt that was eating me up inside, I also realized that life had felt like a heavy load of emotions to carry, and my heart needed some relief.
I couldn’t help but feel as if Jenny had asked me formally on a first date. I put on makeup, something I rarely did, my jeans with the see-through lace on the sides of my legs, and a tight black sweater I had fallen in love with in London.
“You look nice,” Jenny said, her voice taking on a breathless quality that became her.
The mud pie was exactly what we needed. It warmed our insides and opened us up to the conversations that were so easy between us, about our favorite TV shows from the ’80s, or about the music we needed to play together in the future.
“I know it’s late, but do you want to come back to my room?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said in that enthusiastic, breathless whisper that had shot tingles through my entire body earlier that evening.
“I really missed you,” I said, as we sat down on my bed.
“Me, too.” She put her arm around me, and I pulled her into an embrace. In that moment, I could feel the magical snow that had recently sparkled over Yale causing a beautiful storm inside me, and at that same time, a current of electricity seemed to course through us, forcing us closer and closer together. I had never known tingles like this. Her body felt slight and delicate, but her arms were strong, firm, and tender. We began stroking each other gently, and suddenly, our lips met. From the moment I knew I was attracted to Jenny, I knew our kiss would feel just like this, like the best music, like an orchestra full of players who were in sync, creating a powerful force that could send shivers up and down anybody’s spine. Our bodies fit together as if we had found the missing half of each other’s soul, feeling something one can only experience once the soul’s two halves have been reunited.
* * *
The rest of my time at Yale was an exploration of a new kind of love. It was a series of long days of classes and preparations for the recital requirement to finish my degree and sleepless nights of endless conversations and loving each other in a way that epitomized everything poets write about.
Being with Jenny confirmed something I had been trying to explain to people for a long time when they would ask me how I can feel an attraction without being able to see.
“Attraction isn’t about vision,” I would say. “It’s about an unmistakable vibe between two people. It’s about your heart stopping for a second when that person touches you, when something completely ordinary can make you giggle, when the very presence of that person makes you speechless. Not even your eyes can do all of that for you.”
The moment Jenny and I held each other for the first time, I knew that my instincts had been right on about her, and that neither of us had known these feelings for each other based on sight.
* * *
Jenny had one more year to go at Yale after I graduated. We promised each other that we would visit each other often, and that if we were still together after a difficult one-year long distance relationship, we would move to New York together. These decisions perhaps seemed rash after a few months being together, but love does that to a person sometimes. Diving headfirst into a relationship with Jenny felt like the right thing to do. We knew that it would hurt too much to do the sensible thing, live in our own places, and take things slowly.
When I was sixteen, I had asked Mom the big question: “How do you know when you’re in love?”
“Oh Laurie, that’s something I just can’t describe. There’s no one magical answer. All I can say is that you just know,” Mom had said.
Mom had been right. You just know, and it is unmistakable.