“There’s leftover spaghetti and meatballs in the fridge,” Linda called out by way of greeting when Wren unlocked and opened their front door.
He shut it behind him, trying on different ways of telling his mom the truth about his current employment status. It would be a big deal, because she really did depend on him. More than once she had told him, in a kindly way, that “When the time comes and you want your own place—and you will—just give me a little advance notice, huh? I’m all for pushing you out of the damn nest, but I’ll need time to find myself a cozy studio or one-bedroom.”
“Just nuke it for a couple of minutes and it’ll be good to go.”
“I remember how to heat up food, Ma.”
He made his way from the little entryway into the living room, where Linda was curled up on the couch wat
