Moriah headed down the row of bunks with suitcases in her arms and her daughter, Mila, behind her. Today kicked off another touring season and Moriah was ready for it.
"Mila, you're in this top bunk, above Jesi."
"I know, Mom,"the 13-year-old replied. "Sierra told me. I'm not 5. I don't need to be told the same thing over and over and over again."
"Attitude. Fix it,"Mo snapped.
"You have no problem with Eliza's attitude!"
"One, yes, I do. Two, don't be like her. Okay?"
"Whatever."
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
"For what? Grounding?"
"Cut the teen angst, sweetie. It's not like you."
The mom sighed as she entered the back room, closing the door with her elbow. She dropped her stuff on the floor.
"Oh, you're here!"she exclaimed, noticing the man sitting on the bed.
"Moriah,"he greeted.
"Brent."
She joined him on the bed, and he stroked her hair gently and pecked her forehead.
"How is it?"he asked.
"I'm stressed already,"Moriah admitted.
"I'm sorry." He pulled her into his lap. "Let me help you relax."
"Of course,"she whispered.
She smiled as Brent kissed her body.
"Perfect."
"Just like you."
"MOOOOOM!"
Moriah sat up, startled.
"Let me go deal with that."
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I'm sorry it's so short and crappy. It'll get better.