Medora
“Are you free to have lunch with me?” my mom asked, snapping me out of my scrolling trance.
I glanced up from my phone, blinking. “Yeah, sure,” I said, sliding off the kitchen stool. Any excuse to leave this house was a welcome one.
I grabbed my jacket off the counter. It was warm outside—summer was just settling in—but I didn’t feel like showing my arms.
As we drove, I couldn’t help but wonder why my mom, of all people, wanted to have lunch with me. She was the only one who’d seemed remotely suspicious of me lately, and now she wanted some one-on-one time? Definitely fishy.
The silence between us made it worse. My mom was a natural chatterbox, so her quiet mood felt unnatural.
“Am I about to meet someone?” I finally asked, my tone sharper than intended.
Her lips twisted slig
