By late afternoon I am climbing the walls of my bedroom. I go downstairs and let Mom know that I am going for a run.
“Is anything wrong, Ethan?” Mom is cutting an apple at the sink and snacking on it. I visualize taking that knife and throwing it through a wall. Or better yet, watching Mia do it. Aarghh!
“No, I’m fine. Just a bit restless, for some reason.”
“Does this have anything to do with a girl?” Don’t start Mom. Please. I don’t answer, just give her a look that says discussion over. She laughs and turns back to the sink. “Dinner is at 7.”