My first love was not the girl in chemistry class. It was not the prom queen or the barista who remembered my order. My first love was Maria. She is my best friend, Jake’s, mother.

Psychologists call this an "imprinting of emotional safety." The friend’s mom represents a triangulation of ideals: she is nurturing like a mother, yet romantically unattainable like a movie star. She smells like vanilla and laundry detergent. She laughs with her whole chest. She asks questions that show she actually listens —a stark contrast to the self-absorbed chatter of teenage peers.