POV’s Philip
Tate said nothing, and I was quietly grateful that she didn’t ask me to elaborate. Didn’t ask me to think about those days when my mother had struggled to put food on the table. The years before Kenny had finally come across some luck and started helping us out. We stayed quiet for a few minutes. Tate took her tea bag out, throwing it into the trash bin. I followed suit.
She looked over at the window, her shoulders straightening. “Hey, wanna go outside for a sec?”
What? I followed her gaze to the window that overlooked the small patio in our backyard. A small sliver of burning orange had appeared in the skyline. The sun was rising. “Sure.”
Tate picked up her mug, walking over to the glass door leading outside. She slid the door open, and I realized that she wasn’t even wea
