Sweat drips down my back outside in the Arizona summer as I balance the heavy box on my knee. My mom fiddles with the lock on the front door for what feels like an eternity until she finally gets it. We both sigh dramatically when the first gush of air conditioning hits our faces, and then giggle as we shuffle inside.
“Set that by the couch and put something good on tv. I’ll grab us some lemonade and be right back,” Mom says.
“Okay,” I mumble.
I let the box slide out of my hands, but don’t immediately look for the remote. The couch is calling my name, and I just want to sit for a few minutes. My butt barely hits the overstuffed cushions before mom is breezing back in the room the way she always does. Her excitement is infectious as always, but I’m still tired from all the errands we ran
