laid back in my chair, a smile threatening to split my face—and how could I not? The most important people in my life sat around this table, and with a belly full of good food, how could it get any better? Yet even as I smiled at Liv while she told me about a book she had just started reading, something felt off.
Time came to a crawl, and a sound crept in—barely noticed by anyone but me. Almost ominous in the way it silenced the room seconds later. And I knew what would happen next—not because I had some power to see the future, but because I'd seen this play out hundreds of times before.
Something would happen. A tournament, a competition—and we'd barely have time to celebrate before Mom's phone rang and she had to leave. I knew it made her feel guilty. She always tried to make up for it. And all I could do was smile and try to ease that guilt when I hugged her goodbye.
She worked so hard to be there for us when it counted. One time, I was competing in a chess tournament, and she came walking in looking like she was running on nothing but hope and coffee. And still, she cheered me on from the sidelines.
That's why I love her. I think she saw my disappointment. "You and Liv can watch a movie," she said. Then I saw the moment her expression shifted—from guilt to a mischievous glint. A cold chill climbed up my back as she raised her voice. I tried to stop her, but I was too late.
I heard those bittersweet words escape her lips:
"It could be like a date."
My cheeks turned beet red. I heard a tiny squeak—almost like a mouse—and my brain instantly labeled it as Liv. Kusina's laugh sounded like the roar of some great beast. And I could only curse my vile villain of a mother as she made her great escape—like some mustache-twirling villain.