"Abbygail!" my mother calls from downstairs.
"What do you want mom?" I reply, I really only reply with that because it makes her a bit mad.
"Can you come help me cook the apple pie for my boss?" What is she making a pie for her boss for? I thought he was a married man.
"Mom, if you let me help you we won't have a house." It's very true. I tried to make french toast once, I burnt it. It was microwavable.
"Matthew can help me then. Call the boy, tell him I need help." Is she okay?
"Please, Matthew doesn't want to hang out with you. You're old." Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh.
"Abbygail Marie Redwood, i'm only thirty nine." Only?!
"Yeah, thirty nine going on forty. Before you know it you'll be fifty, and that's so young mom." My sarcasm was clearly evident.
"Oh, shut up call Matthew already Abbygail. I need his help." I pulled out my phone to text Matthew, I know she said call but I prefer to text.
*Abbs: mom said she needs your help making an apple pie. You down?
* Matt: Ew, she's old tho.
*Abbs: I already told her this, now hurry up.
* Matt: ooo, sassy.
* Abbs: I recall you being the sassy one, you big lug of love.
* Matt: There you go with the sass again. See you in twenty.
* Abbs: Puh-lease, your twenties are half an hour.
* Matt: Whatever bitch, see you then.
YOU ARE READING
Cigarette.
Romance"Why do we insist on slowly killing ourselves?" I asked out of curiosity. "Well princess, sometimes people have nothing better to do than slowly kill themselves. Almost the same reason why we smoke." He took an extremely long drag from his cigarette...
