肥肥(Zhangster)
4:56 pm
I heard your dumbass got called into the office today
Lee
4:56 pm
You heard correctly glad to see those ears are working
肥肥(Zhangster)
4:56 pm
Serves your stupid ass right did you get in trouble
Lee
4:56 pm
No but fuck this school
肥肥(Zhangster)
4:56 pm
Ew no this campus can be dirty sometimes
Lee
4:56 pm
STFU you know what I meant where TF is Villanova why isn't she responding
肥肥(Zhangster)
4:57 pm
IDK probs too busy getting dicked down
T Nova
4:57 pm
Hey how did you know
Lee is typing...
肥肥(Zhangster) is typing...
Read 4:58 pm
T Nova
I was joking
Lee
Sure
Suddenly, the door slams behind me, and my mom walks in, plastic bag in hand. Slowly, she makes her way to the kitchen island, sets down whatever she's carrying, and slips off her trench coat. As she turns to hang up her jacket, I spot bits of white stuck in her hair. Upon closer inspection, I realize they're eggshells. Pushing up from my spot on the couch, I scramble onto my feet, trudging to her general area in our kitchen. Reaching toward her, I pick out a bit of the shell stuck between the thin slightly graying strands, cracking it under my thumb. The curved side is still wet from the egg whites.
"Who did this to you?" I ask, voice barely a whisper.
Waving her hand dismissively, she smiles, taking a plastic container of hot and sour soup out of her bag and dumping it in a pot. Then, she lights the stove and puts the lid on top.
"Accident at work. Someone spill. Don't worry," she answers curtly, stirring the soup with a spoon.
"Spilled on top of your head?" I challenge, brow raised. "Last time I checked, the nail salon you work at doesn't have any eggs."
When she senses my unease, she purses her lips, averts eye contact, and continues to stir around the pot. Clumps of tofu and bamboo shoots float in the muddied crimson broth, swirling around like river rafts. Hot and sour soup is the ultimate comfort food. Regardless of how inauthentic or greasy, mom always insists that the broth reminds her so much of her home in China. Though I've never visited, I felt a visceral, intangible warmth whenever I ate it that I knew couldn't simply be explained by the temperature of the soup.
"Fall from counter," she insists curly, through gritted teeth.
Unconvinced, I took a moment to examine her. Streaks of yolk have stuck some of the strands together. There's no way something spilled on her. Since she's been fired from Lucky House, she's been taking extra smaller shifts at the nail salon. It isn't much, but it's better than nothing. Still, even if by some weird coincidence there were eggs at her workplace, if I recall correctly, she's taller than all the shelves there.
YOU ARE READING
your best american girl ✓
Teen FictionLeighanna Chua has always struggled to fit in. Left feeling disconnected between her suburban community and her own identity, she's determined to prove that she belongs. But when Hunter D'Medici, a boy who embodies the very essence of privilege, off...
