Mom jumps when I burst out the back door and find her spraying the tomatoes with an all-natural pesticide. Her wide brown eyes fix on me, then she shifts a little. “So your father opened his big mouth.” “What genre? What length? What format?” I blurt, then I gasp. “I can get you a signed copy from one of my favorite indies if you want to read paperback. She writes closed-door comedies.” “Closed…door?” Mom asks, like I’m giving her a word from a new language. I don’t know what possesses me, but I say, “No sex on the page. And generally an opinion of no sex until marriage.” I’m rambling. I can’t
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