“Let’s just say your mom kicked the Crow out of your brother’s wedding.” I’m confused. “The who?” It dawns on him: me not remembering. “Your Grandmother Calloway.” I laugh. “The Crow…who came up with that?” “Yours truly.” He lifts a couple fingers. “I like it. It suits her.” I cross my legs on the seat, and my smile widens picturing my mom ousting the pearl-clutching old lady from the biggest social event of likely that year. “My mom is awesome.” “Best mom around.”
