es'

ce. I step into the kitchen, where Mom is already sipping her coffee and Angela is at the table, breastfeeding the baby. I g

lips set in that tight, disapproving line. It's the look she's worn for as long as I can reme

ne in particular, setting m

how. She catches my eye for a fleeting moment, and I feel my breath hitch, my fingers

today?" Mom asks, pointin

o see I'm dressed to go out but she's still asking me. Angela looks up for a moment

ed. "Applications. Wi

laughable but it also makes my skin prickle. "Yeah, with these dreadlocks. What's the problem,

row, but she doesn't say anything, just looks. She doesn'

versation to escalate. Then, out of nowhere, Mom's voice cuts in, directed at

fingers curling, and something in that gentle movement tugs at me. I haven't even held hi

s, her voice low, trying to keep things civil. I can

ou're so damn stubborn, Angel. You think you can just keep putting it off and we'll

. I've ha

's ready, Ma. You don't need to put pressure on her. And don't you dare te

ze moves between me and Mom, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. Th

mers beneath the surface. "Take your time, Angel. You don't have

her, the way her shoulder

she says nothing. It's clear I've won this round but it won't

*

sh it down. Right now, I need to focus-those jo

ck in the day, before I left for Italy, and we lost touch. He's one of those people who always se

g back to Angela and that damn cute baby. They

oing grin. He's wearing a sharp suit, the kind that says he's got everythi

on the shoulder before sitting down. I man

ng me." I signal for the waitress

me. Then I take him in-still beardless, still the same face from back in the

t, just got back to the States. Looking for a fresh start, and w

ople, see what I can do. But you gotta clean up a bit

e than I'd like, and I

mething out on my own." I stand up, leavi