I sighed.
“Stop sighing,” My mom glared at me, her lips pursed. She’s dressed ready to go, too. She’s wearing blue jeans, and a blue and white blouse. Her shoes are right near the door, just a few feet away from us as I linger in the kitchen watching my mom checking on the sweet potato casserole she made for Emerson. She moved the honey-baked ham that was defrosting on the side. She placed the green bean casserole she made earlier in the refrigerator, waiting our arrival back from the airport. All of this for Emerson’s homecoming. She even made a little hand-written sign to welcome him home. The cake she ordered from Publix sat in the fridge decorated with a yellow ribbon. Buttercream icing on top of chocolate cake.
I opened the soda she handed me after dusting off the tab. “Shouldn’t Br
