He wiped his feet like he had been taught even though their revolting brown carpeting didn’t show much. He kind of missed the crappiness of their apartment, although he didn’t know why because his new apartment in
was equally as crappy. Still, there was something about the smell of the pine trees in the courtyard and apartment pool chlorine that let Eugene know that he was home. Warren
His mother stood in their kitchen next to their yellow 1980s stove, peeling fake wood countertops, and a refrigerator that always looked too small next to Warren and his other super-tall family members. She held a box of uncooked spaghetti and didn’t respond to his presence right away. It looked like she’d been holding and squeezing the box for a while and most of the pasta inside was broken. Something was…off. It was like she had gotten old overnight. The wrinkle between her eyes was deeper and a few more strands of gray had found their way into her waist length black hair.
took the box of spaghetti out of her hands. Warren
“I was going to make you lunch,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
It was true. The two Red Bulls in
’s hung over and now worried stomach were not sitting well. Warren
“What’s wrong?” he asked.