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When Ed got home, his mom's Prius was parked in the driveway. Ed wondered if his dad's old BMW was in garage, or if his mom was at his house alone. She hadn't before used the spare set of keys Ed's dad gave her after the divorce. On his way to the front door, Ed peeked through the thin garage windows. Empty.

Great, Ed thought, What does she want?

"Ed? Is that you?" Ed's mom called from the living room, when she first heard the front door open.

"No, it's Kenneth Branagh," Ed kicked off his Vans, "Who else would it be?"

"I don't like the attitude, mister," Ed's mom appeared in the hallway. "I've been waiting for you. Why did you work yesterday? Couldn't you have come over and seen me, you know, after everything that happened?"

"I worked because I was called to work," Ed set his shoes in the coat closet.

"Didn't we have a conversation about workaholicism?" Ed's mom crossed her arms.

"I had to go in, there were too many customers for Piruz to handle," Ed leaned against the closet door, "and since I made the commitment to this job, I have to see it through."

"It's retail," Ed's mom argued. "You don't need to keep a commitment to something like that."

"A commitment's a commitment," Ed side-stepped his mom and started for the stairs, "I gotta go do my homework."

"Your principal called your father and me and we know all about your suspension," Ed's mom lowered her brows. "You don't have a class to go to tomorrow. You can spend some time with me."

Crap. She knows. Ed stopped dead on his feet.

"Well?" Ed's mom asked.

"I just meant," Ed faked a smile, "since I'm doing classwork by correspondence I should try to keep up with it, so it doesn't get overwhelming-"

"Bullshit," Ed's mom said, "Put your shoes back on. We're going to go to Wegmans and get ice cream and have fun."

***

Ed sat in the front passenger seat of his mom's Prius. He watched asphalt roll under the wheels and wished his mom would have let him take them in his Malibu. It wasn't that she was a bad driver, or that the Prius was uncomfortable. There were only so many Ani DiFranco songs a guy could listen to. After three minutes, Ed pulled out his iPhone and his earbuds and opened Spotify. Just as a new Eric Church tune came on, Ed's mom slapped her steering wheel.

"Goddamnit, Ed," Ed's mom reached out her free hand at Ed, "Take those out. We're going to catch up and you're going to disconnect."

"Can I please leave one in?" Ed took an earbud out of his left ear, "I haven't heard this song before-"

"What's wrong with Ani?"

"Nothing. She's just not my style-"

"What is your style, huh?" As the Prius slowed to a stop in front of a red light, Ed's mom reached across the transmission and grabbed Ed's iPhone. "Outlaw country? Really?"

She tossed the phone back into Ed's lap.

"I really like it," Ed mumbled.

"I didn't raise you to listen to rednecks singing about trucks and beer and how great their crappy part of America is-"

"That's completely unfair," Ed protested. "You've never even listened to any of it!"

"Exactly," Ed's mom grinned, "I'm not an average stupid. Where did you even get this crap from?"

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