A chair scraped against the kitchen floor.
I’m thirty-four and still share a house with my mother.
Years ago, I might have been ashamed to admit that.
Not anymore.
After my father died, we only had each other. Somewhere along the way, our relationship became more than simply a mother and daughter living beneath the same roof.
We became each other’s support system.
I pulled on my green work shirt, the one with HOLLIS MARKET embroidered above the pocket, and headed downstairs.
“Morning, Rae,” Mom greeted me.
She was sitting at the kitchen table with her coffee, the electricity bill spread in front of her, and a pencil tucked behind one ear.
That pencil was never a promising sign.
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