Since Charles left not even around 4:30, I was able to get homework done by 5:30. Started dinner around 6. Mom should be home in a few minutes. Hopefully Mom will be able to relax after a busy day at work. Potato wedges are done, and nice and crispy too. I keep telling Mom if she wants them crispy like this, she has to boil the potatoes first. Taking them out of the oven, while they are hot, I'll dust them with the parmesan and parsley.

The door opens, Mom is home. She's carrying a grocery bag while slipping off her flats. She fixes her brown, wavy hair out of her face before smiling, "I bring a rotisserie chicken."

"I made those potato wedges you like," I tell her.

"You're such a little helper," she tells me, walking over to the counter, placing the little plastic container onto it, "Let me get into home clothes." she says. Heading down the hallway.

"How was work?" I have to raise my voice a little.

"Oh, you know," Mom has to shout from the bathroom, "the usual."

Turning around to grab plates, to put the potato wedges on.

"They treat me like I don't have a single brain cell. What about you sweetie?" she returns pretty quickly in sweatpants and a pink t-shirt, "How was school?"

"I made an almost friend," I tell her with a laugh, handing her a plate to serve herself some chicken.

"An almost friend, what turned them away? How boring and normal we are?" she ask, while finding a knife.

"No, I'm sure it was Bob," I tell her.

"Oh, that silly thing," Mom scoffs.

"I probably should have warned him that I asked for the family pet to be kept, so he can be with us forever,"

"Maybe," Mom tells me, walking over to the living room, turning on the TV, "What do you want to watch sweetheart?"

"It's your night to choose," I remind her.

"You're right," she says, while waiting for me to grab some chicken, "How did you meet this friend?"

I grab a smile slice, in order to join her on the couch to not keep her waiting.

"He's bullied a lot at school, and I attempted to help," I tell her.

"Just like your Father," Mom states, though I don't really care for the comparison as much these days. I already share the same face as his, it's a constant reminder of who he was. His straight hair, with her brown hair color. Father’s narrow nose bridge, her wide nostrils, his eye color, with her half monolid almond eyes. I am many halves of both of them.

"I just feel like people shouldn't stand around waiting for someone to help, if you want to help, you should do so,"

"You're so right," she says this while turning up the volume in order to drown out our neighbors beside us, they always fight during this exact time. The crashing sounds of furniture, heavy feet. The vitriol of an angry man, spewing to his supposed wife that she is a bitch and a whore. The constant reminder that we are hypocrites. Waiting for someone to help. Though Mom would like to remind us we have called the police in the past. That Shit Part of Town just makes these things normal. It's so normalized that heroes don't save people who aren't worthy to be saved.

Mom's chosen to watch one of her drama serial shows. We're only on Season 2 right now. It's one of those "idealistic" worlds, where drama is set up in this way that feels eerily familiar to a monarchy set dressed in the modern world. Where problems are resolved through some social elite, and all they really worry about is how someone presents them in a social conversation. I think a world like that is something people wish they could escape to. Where the Poor don't really exist, instead everyone is part of a social elite. And every problem is settled through some sort of house dispute.

"So," Mom speaks over the TV.

"Mmm, what?" I ask her.

"I was asked on a date," she tells me.

"Fun,"

"I declined,"

"Why?"

"My heart is still married to your father," she tells me, "I know that was seven years ago, but he never left me."

"Well," I look at the bookcase. Mom also looks behind her, she laughs.

"I guess you have a point," she tells me.

"You should do whatever makes you feel happy when you're ready to,"

"How did you end up so smart?" she asks me, she frowns slightly, "I'm sorry. If I ever made you feel like you had to be an adult before you were ready."

I shake my head no, it really wasn't that. Dad died and it wouldn't be fair to watch Mom take on all that responsibility by herself. It would be stressful, I knew a kid in middle school where something like that happened and their parental figure ended up resenting them just a little. Because they had to do all of that work on their own. All of that care. I just think it's expectant to pick up roles that weren't your own, that are missing. If it means cooking dinner, doing the dishes, and picking up more work at home, then so be it.

"I chose this," I tell her.

She leans her head into mine, the way a cat may bunt you, "It's okay to be a kid from time to time too." she tells me softly.

I know this.