Page 73 of My Cosplay Escape
Holy fudge brownies. I grab my bag and prepare for awkwardness. I think my mom must have sprinted from the kitchen window and out the front door. “Hi, Mom. This is Adam.”
“Well, hello, Adam. Nice to meet you.” Mom is guarded, thank heavens.
Adam is not. “Nice to meet you.” He cocks his head and stoops at a wilted plant. “Are these heirloom tomatoes?”
Oh no. Not tomato talk. But the floodgate is open. Mom launches into her hybridized verses heirloom lecture. Adam listens, and when Mom turns to pick a tomato, he winks at me.
I could kill him.
“People don’t realize that our growing season goes nearly to Thanksgiving,” Mom finishes at last.
Adam nods. “What’s the best tomato for a burger?”
“They’re all good. Right, Mom? I think Adam has to be going.” I try and fail to steer Mom back inside.
“No,” Adam says simply. “I’m good.”
So not helpful.
Mom considers carefully. We stand in the damp night air, listening to the neighbor’s eucalyptus trees shake with the breeze. “It comes down to personal preference,” she says at last. “I’m partial to the lemon boys.”
“The yellow ones?” Adam asks.
Mom presses her lips together in a smile. “Great on a salmon burger. Pairs wonderfully with our lemonade. But if you’re wanting a red, I’d persuade you to try some of our cherries. If you put them in a grill basket just for a couple minutes, the sweetness really comes out. We throw them in with some summer squash and some basil and onions and top our burgers with the whole deal.”
“That sounds incredible,” Adam says.
“You should try it,” Mom replies.
Adam looks at me. “I’d like to.”
And before I can stop the train from derailing, Mom has invited Adam over for a Tuesday night barbecue.
“I know for a fact that Sarah will be here. She has class on Tuesday afternoon but, unlike Thursdays, no study groups.”
Adam smiles. “I’ll be there.”
I, on the other hand, will be dead of embarrassment and composting under Mom’s tomatoes.
Chapter Twenty
My phone pings. The text icon angrily glares on my locked screen.
Adam: Where the hell are you?
Sabine Kennedy: I’m fired, remember?
Adam: You will be if you don’t get here in the next ten minutes.
#KnewIt, and that is why my catsuit will forever and always be stuffed in the bottom of my gym bag.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Mom, where are all my hoodies?” I ask Tuesday before class.
“Oh, honey, you’ve been working so hard with school and with your job, I wanted to try and help. I washed them.”
I check the dryer. It’s empty. I check the washing machine. It is filled with wet hoodies, yoga pants, T-shirts, and jeans—all of which are starting to smell overripe. I give a little yelp of terror.
