CHAPTER 1
“DidI chip away at an egg on my birthday?” The sweet, angelic voice of my preteen daughter wraps around me like a warm shawl on a cold, snowy winter day.
All of that warmth comes to a screeching halt, however, when I realize what she just asked. Not that I hadn’t prepared myself for this day, but I didn’t think about how that conversation would begin.
Perhaps with,Mom, where do babies come from?Or even,What does kissing lead to?
Not,Did I chip away at an egg on my birthday?
If we bring in the technical side of things, I could absolutely tell her that yes, in a way, long ago on a planet far, far away, she did indeed swim until her little tadpole-like body slammed into said egg, and she chewed her way in there and then split herself over and over again until she became the beautiful little creature I grew.
Breathe.
Like I said, there really is no preparing for this day. It’s just unfortunate that it happens to occur as we are driving north toward a new beginning and my baby brother. Therefore, I couldn’t possibly be more distracted than I am right at thismoment, as snowflakes splatter into chubby little pancakes on my windshield.
Lark clears her throat, making sure I know I can’t run from this question. I wouldn’t, not really, except it’s me, and I live by the hot mess mom code.
“Lark, my sweet little crotch goblin, are you trying to ask me if you hatched from an egg? Like a dragon?” I squint at the road ahead, watching for black ice. The farther north we go, the more treacherous it becomes, and I am not a fan.
I love snow just as much as the next person—when I’m not driving. Not to mention, it’s November and it only snows in January…or so I thought.
“Yes, Mom, like a dinosaur.” Dumfounded, I glance over at her for all of one-point-five seconds, just long enough to take my eyes off the road and make sure she knows I’m focused on this conversation. What I see are her curious big brown eyes with more intelligence in them than any twelve-year-old should have.
“You know dinosaurs only exist in Iceland, right?” Sue me, I love a tall tale.
Her sigh, accompanied by an eye roll I feel more than see, releases all the frustration she’s holding in. She carries on as though my word vomit doesn’t faze her. And why should it? She’s been dealing with me for a solid twelve years.
“Chickens, Mom. Chickens are descendants of dinosaurs and they lay eggs.” Her exasperated voice holds the same slight twinge of amusement as mine, and I place a little notch next to my name in my head.
Mom one. Lark zero.
She’s my clone.
“That explains everything,” I reply.
“No, all chickens are vile little creatures, Mom.”
I snort. “Lark, we’ve lived in a city for the last decade. When did you come across a single chicken?” I shake my head, and with it, the steering wheel.
Focus, Wren, focus. Dangerous roads deserve your full attention.
I’m only going twenty miles an hour, and I have the feeling I’ll have to find a Bates Motel sooner rather than later. Best-case scenario, a little bed-and-breakfast where the coffee is hot and the pastries are warm.
“I have. There was a field trip last year to the farm show, and I saw many chickens and they were laying eggs. Not to mention the farmers who were in there with them. They didn’t get pecked once.” Her huff of annoyance tells me I need to focus a little harder on this conversation.
“Was that the field trip where the cows gave birth?” I shudder. That’s a scene I can never unsee, and believe me, I want to unsee that.
“Yes, you would have seen the chicks if it weren’t for your addiction to caffeine.”
“When the coffee god calls, you answer.”
“If by answer you mean run to the nearest café and thank the disturbed barista while kneeling on the ground, then yes.” Why does she always sound like she’s about to turn forty? Not only that, but it was one time, and it was an emergency. My coffee pot died.
“Tomayto—”
“Mom, this is not a tomayto, tomahto moment.”
“It’s always a potayto, potahto moment.” I smile at myself. “Fries.”
