“What do you want for dinner?” I say to Tucker as we walk back to our condo. We’re still giddy and hyped up from fooling around on the bridge. I swear Tucker would have bent me over right there if it weren’t for the family who came through as he had his hand up my shirt. “Can’t we just have more donuts?” It’s not a bad idea. I can still taste the apple fritter from both of our mouths on my tongue. “Aren’t you going to wish me a Happy Mother’s Day?” That perfect day I just mentioned? Well now there is a stain, a big black one, that we’ll never be able to wipe off. My mother leans against her silver BMW that is parked on the street in front of our stoop. I feel Tucker’s entire body stiffen at her presence, and just like that, I can feel all his hackles going back up. We’re rooted to the street a couple of feet away from her.
