Page 29 of Decoding Morse

“Say no more. I raised a son and remember the pre-teen stage. It was brutal.”

“You raised a son?” She slid closer. “And you survived? Please teach me your ways.”

“The secret is maintaining a sense of humor, drinking plenty of wine, and keeping a solid support team you can commiserate with.”

“Wine, laughter, and friends might not be strong enough for my situation. You know what I caught him doing this morning?” She leaned closer and dropped her voice before continuing. “Returning my kitchen scissors to their drawer.”

The look of absolute horror on her face indicated this wouldn’t be a happy story, but I was far too curious and invested to bail now. Leaning in, I gestured for her to continue.

“I asked why he had them, and he said to cut his hair. I immediately freaked out, lecturing him about combining food and hair as I scanned that mess on his head. He’s been trying to grow it long like Wasp’s, so I was confused, but there were no missing chunks or bald spots.”

“What hair did he cut?”

“I asked the same thing, and he pointed to his shorts.”

The answer hit me, and I had to fight back my laughter. This poor woman looked rightfully traumatized. I couldn’t laugh at her. “Well, he did just inform the entire mess hall that he has hair on his balls.”

She grimaced. “Not anymore because that little shit manscaped with my kitchen scissors.”

Unable to hold it together any longer, I lost it, laughing so hard I snorted.

“And he was putting them back!” she continued, making me laugh harder. “If I hadn’t caught him….”

A full-body shudder ripped through her that I felt in my soul. Despite the laughter I couldn’t seem to bottle, my belly curdled in sympathy. Boys could be so gross.

“Kitchen scissors are sacred,” she said, her expression distant and mournful. “They should touch nothing but food products and dish soap.”

“And bleach,” I added when I could speak. “Lots and lots of bleach.”

“Not this time.” She shook her head. “I threw those babies away. Some things not even bleach can fix.”

“Smart woman. Also, I have several follow-up questions, but I’m not sure I want the answers.”

“Me either,” she said. “Some truths are best left unknown. If I’ve been opening salads and packages of meat with pube scissors, I don’t want to know.”

We both gagged a little at that.

“Or why he thinks he needs to manscape at twelve,” I added. “Who does he expect to see it?”

She blanched. “Oh, God, I’m not ready to deal with any of this.”

“We’re never ready, but I’m changing my recommendations. Therapy is the best answer here. Preferably a hypnotist who can scrub the whole interaction from your brain.”

She perked up. “That’s actually an excellent idea. Thank you.”

“Motherhood,” I said in solidarity. “May we forget that which we cannot handle.”

She laughed and offered her hand. “I just realized I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m now the mom who traumatizes people with my child’s antics before even giving them my name. Carly. Wasp’s ol’ lady. Please excuse my over-sharing. I grew up in a small town and can’t seem to help myself. It’s in my DNA.”

I shook her proffered hand. “Don’t worry about it. Amelia. I’m?—”

“Morse’s friend. I know who you are. I’m sure it’s spread all over the club by now. These guys are nosey as hell and live to get up in each other’s business.”

“Good to know.”

“I better go find my guys.” She started to turn away but paused. “You know, a bunch of ol’ ladies get together every Friday at six and talk. You’re welcome to join us.”

Before I could commit to taking her up on the offer, Morse returned and waved at me from the door. My breath hitched as the rest of the cafeteria faded into obscurity.

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