“Where’d you get that?” mother asked, gesturing at my iPhone 6, as she seasoned the pork in the kitchen, creases folding on her forehead.
“My friend’s aunt gave this to me. She works at Apple, Inc.,” I replied nonchalantly, opening the camera app. “Smile!”
My mother curved her lips up in an awkward manner, making her look like a constipated person. The camera flashed which made her blink. She looked like she was sleeping in the picture.
“Let me see the pic,” she said and I happily obliged, giving her the phone. She frowned.
“I blinked!” she complained but there was a smile on her face. I chuckled.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I volunteered to get it and as I twisted the knob, I saw Marcel’s appearance standing on the threshold of our house.
“M-Marcel?” I stuttered, my eye
