Treading Lightly

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

CHAPTER 1

“Jesus, Mom! What the hell happened in here? It looks like a testing sight for curling devices.”

“Don’t say ‘Jesus,’ Craig.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re religious,” she said distractedly, while plucking at an errant wisp of hair, making it stand up straight.

“No we’re not.”

“Oh. Right. Well, it’s blasphemous.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, don’t say it anyhow. And before you ask your next question, it’s because I said so!”

“So, what the hell’s going on?” he persisted.

“Now that I cut my hair, I don’t know if I need the three-eighth-inch curling iron, the half-inch curling iron, or the five-eighth-inch curling iron to fit my curls. My old hot rollers won’t stay in. It’s too short. Oh, and don’t say ‘hell’ either.”

“How come? You say it all the time!”

“It’s not attractive coming from the mouth of a twelve-year-old.”

“I’m almost thirteen,” he claimed, throwing her a sideways glance that would have weakened a lesser opponent. “And it’s enchanting coming from your mouth?”

“Hell, yeah!”

Her attempt at irony didn’t escape him. “Okay, Mom, I get it. Let’s not overdramatize things.”

She burned her finger on the hot curling iron, grimaced and cursed. “Why stop now?”

“Yeah,” he said, snorting a laugh and stubbing his huge, adult-sized, boot-covered foot into the bathroom rug. “Good point. So what’s for dinner?”

She could handle his mood swings—they mirrored her own. Perimenopause and the teenage years were a lot alike. Well, except for the drooping, the sagging and the bloating. On the bright side, her pimples weren’t as bad as his. On the not-so-bright side, he applied his makeup far more artistically than she applied hers. But both only wore it for large-scale social occasions; another thing mother and son had in common. “Spaghetti.”

“Again?” he whined.

“Well, did you remember to take something out of the freezer?”

“I didn’t know it was my job.”

“It’s both our jobs,” she said, trying the five-eighth-incher out for size.

“Why don’t you just take it all out of the freezer so we’ve got it on hand?”

“Tried that once. It all went bad.”

“Oh,” he said, eyeing her newly made curls. “Those are too big. They look loopy. Yours are tighter. Like those springs you find in a pen.”