Ring.

“Jello?”

“Pudding pops. Listen, am I crazy?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Mom!”

“Oh…you wanted me to wait for the story…”

“Listen…Cody texted me today and…”

“I was just getting ready to call you. Daddy said you called earlier and wanted my recipe for tuna casserole.”

“Yeah. I’ve been craving it all day.”

“Do you have a pen?”

“Mom! Look I don’t feel like writing it down right now. Can you email it to me?”

“Sure. Daddy and I were just sitting down to eat. I made that bean soup he likes. It’s really yucky here today and it just seemed right.”

“Oh. Yum. It’s crappy here today too. Listen, do you have a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Okay, like I said…Cody texted me today and I asked him how he was doing and he said contented. Is it me? I mean jeeze…when I asked him why he said he had spent time writing in his journal and then had a long talk with one of his friends and then he just felt content.”

“And?”

“Would it have killed him to mention that he just spent the weekend with his girlfriend and that’s why?”

“Yes. It is definitely you.”

“What?”

“Oh please kiddo! If Daddy expected every emotion I experienced to have some direct relationship to him I’d go crazy! Yes! It’s you. Cut the guy some slack. He has friends. Besides, who’s to say it’s not cumulative? You know…he spent the weekend with you. He wrote. He talked to his friend. Sounds pretty great to me.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Yeah but you’re looking for some huge compliment.”

“Okay. You’re right. It’s me.”

“Do not smother that guy. Any way, how’d the weekend go?”

“Okay. I guess.”

“What?”

“Well, he was kinda down and I kept trying to cheer him up.”

“Why?”

“You know me.”

“And?”

“He sat me down and said that he wasn’t always sure he was seeing the real me.”

“Hmmmm……”

“Please!”

“So?”

“So I burst out crying.”

“Ha ha ha! Snort!”

“It’s not funny!”

“Ha ha ha! Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Okay, maybe it is a little. Anyway…it seemed to help. Things went a little better after that.”

“Ha ha ha!”

“Mom! Ha ha ha!”

“So any hoo…bet it was good to get away from the roommate for a couple of days, huh?”

“Oh God yes. Although she’s been skulking around the place all day with that we’ve gotta talk look on her face. I hate that face.”

“So talk to her.”

“No! I am so PMSing right now! I’d kill her if she started in on me today.”

“So tell her. Say I can tell you want to talk but I’m the Queen of Pre- menstrual today and will totally over react to anything you say. Not to diminish the importance of what you want to say but it would be in your best interest to let the hormone cloud blow over before we address it.”

“Yeah Mom. That’s what I’ll say…”

“Hey, just be honest, right? You’re crazy when you PMS. You’re protecting her.”

“Thanks. Really.”

“I used to have terrible PMS when I was your age. That’s when I used to beat up floor lamps and stuff out on the driveway, remember?”

“You did like breaking stuff.”

“And…”

“What?”

“When you kids and Daddy were sound asleep I used to take my travel bag, the one I kept packed in my closet, and leave during the night.”

“What?”

“Yep. I’d get in the van. Go to the gas station, fill up, buy cigarettes, and drive north.”

“Where?”

“Oh just north. I’d turn up the radio, smoke, cry, and just drive. I usually made it to Blue Ridge before I stopped.”

“You smoked?”

“Yes, I smoked. And screamed. And cussed. And cried. And then when I got to Blue Ridge I’d stop at the Waffle House, you know the one, and eat a waffle and drink coffee.”

“And?”

“And then I’d decide if I wanted to turn around or not. I just really liked the idea that if I wanted to…I could just keep going. I never did. I’d get a to go cup. Get back in the van. Go home.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Really.”

“PMS sucks. I wish I never had to have it again.”

“You could always get spayed.”

“Mom! I’m only twenty seven. What if I decide to have kids?”

“You could adopt.”

“Are you forgetting what a pain in the ass I was?”

“Are?”

“Ha! Am?”

“I don’t know. It worked out pretty good for us, right?”

“Yeah. I guess so. Oh! I don’t know what to do about that office thing next week. It’s a plus one invite. Do you think it’s too soon?”

“So just invite him! Give him room to say no. Tell him you won’t take it personally. And if he says no… DO NOT take it personal. Maybe he’s like Daddy and hates crap like that? Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you, right?”

“Right.”

“You’ll have fun either way, right? Deep breaths. Deep breaths.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Well, kiddo. My soups getting cold…”

“Hey, Mom?’

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“You know. Turning around and coming home all those times.”

“Oh. You’re welcome. Listen, I’ll email that casserole recipe in the morning, okay?”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too kiddo.”