opening lines from a new work in progress

It was exactly the same. It was worse than before.

"Tara, Honey. We'll be late."

Honey. It was her mother's all-purpose, love-is-a-democracy word. The one-size-fits-all-er that slipstreamed in through every conversation, near and small. "Honey," Tara's mother would say to the steakhouse waitress. "I like my A-1 spicy." "Honeys," she'd say to the neighborhood twins. "Keep your sweet pup leashed." Honey was everybody's name, even Davie's whenever Davie...