Lanie
“Is that you, Lanie?” Mom called as I closed the front door behind me.
“Yeah!” I hung my jean jacket up and made my way through the house, following the spicy-sweet scent in the air. As expected, my mom was in the kitchen. As I entered, she pulled a baking sheet of cookies from the oven and set them on the stove top.
“Those look good,” I commented, leaning against the kitchen island.
“They’re for the library bake sale tomorrow. I thought we could ice them.” She turned to me, and her eyes went wide. “That’s not what you’re wearing, is it?”
I looked down at my jeans, ankle boots, and sweater. “Uh, to the bake sale? Isn’t that tomorrow?”
Mom pursed her lips. The oven mitt hit the counter with a grand display of annoyance. “To your father’s event.”
“What?” Realization, come day
