So We Can Glow - Stories - Leesa Cross-Smith Page 0,35

been inside Owen’s place and now you’re there, like leveling up in a video game. Owen has a friendly yellow dog that is tap-clicking around the kitchen floor like you are the greatest friend he’s ever known.

“Mom, I was bragging to my friend from work about how good your chicken tortilla soup is and I figured it would be extraordinarily rude not to invite her over for a bowl, y’know…after all that bragging,” Owen says. He tells her your name and there it is, sparkler-written across the air for a split second before it disappears.

“Absolutely! Nice to meet you. I’m Owen’s mom,” she says, offering her hand for you to shake. “And Malcolm’s mom,” she says as Owen’s big brother bounds up the stairs from the basement.

Malcolm raises his hand in a wave and Owen tells you he’ll be right back. The boys disappear down the hallway together. You are alone in the kitchen with Owen’s mom who got one bowl down from the cabinet and is filling it with the soup on the stove.

“This is awkward, but thanks for feeding me. I feel like a stray dog. It’s been a weird day,” you say. You are not an orphaned child. You have two parents at home, a little sister, plenty of food. But being at Owen’s feels like a kindness you didn’t even know you needed.

“Pshh, it’s not awkward. We’re glad to have you. Do you have classes together too?” his mom asks, referring to the community college Owen goes to. You both graduated high school earlier that summer, but you aren’t going to college. You are waiting. You don’t know what you are waiting for.

“No, I’m sitting the fall semester out. I’m planning on going in the spring though,” you say, not entirely sure if you’re lying or not. You have thought about going in the spring, but you’ve done nothing more than think about it.

Owen’s mom hands you your bowl of soup and a spoon, instructs you to sit at the kitchen table. Owen’s dad’s lawn mower in the backyard is far away from the house now, providing a distant buzzy hum. You can smell the grass and the smell of it makes you want to live forever in a place where summer never ends. You sit at the table and dig into your soup as if it’s your kitchen, your mom at the coffeepot refilling before she sits across from you.

“So, a weird day?” his mom says.

“Yeah. Owen told me you were a therapist, so you’re used to hearing pretty much everything, right?” you ask, swallow more soup. “This is the best chicken tortilla soup I’ve ever had, by the way. Thank you,” you add. You especially like the lime because somehow, lime tastes like good luck.

“Pretty much heard it all, yes. And extra cocoa powder in the soup. That’s my secret. I like your face, so I’ll tell you,” his mom says. You smile.

“Thank you. I like your face too,” you say. Owen’s mom belongs in a laundry detergent ad in her flowery, fitted button-down and slim jeans. Her hair is pulled up in a stylish topknot and she is wearing a pair of reading glasses on a sparkly chain around her neck. She’s really pretty and you wonder what Owen’s dad looks like up close. You want to see which one Owen looks more like, because right now his mom is winning. Same nose and eyes. Same smile too.

“O said you were taking him on a mystery ride?”

You laugh a little and eat more soup, drink some of the water from the glass Owen’s mom put on the table for you. You hear Owen and his brother down the hallway, talking excitedly about something and wonder if Owen will fill you in later or if it’s a private thing, considering they are back there and not in the kitchen with you.

“I had a bad boyfriend and Owen made me feel better about it,” you say.

“How did he make you feel better?”

“Just by being there, really,” you say.

“Is everything okay now?” Owen’s mom asks, leans forward with her hands holding her mug.

“Honestly, I don’t know. But Owen made me feel better about it,” you say again. You don’t want to sound needy, but you don’t mind letting Owen’s mom know she’s raised a good one. A gem.

“He’s good at that,” his mom says and drinks her coffee.

“And that guy’s not my boyfriend anymore…so,” you say.

“Good. Owen talks about you. How well you two get along.