He disappeared upstairs. I was left sitting on the couch, fanning myself with a pizza box.
"Now."
In that moment, the fantasy I didn't even know I'd been nursing—the "my friend's hot mom" daydream—evaporated. It was replaced by something realer, and better. She wasn't a crush. She was a person. A whole, complex person who worried about her son, who made killer iced coffee, who had dirt under her fingernails and laugh lines around her eyes.
A minute later, Mrs. Delgado came down. She was holding two tall glasses of iced coffee, condensation dripping down the sides. She’d changed into a loose, light linen shirt and simple shorts. Her hair was down, still slightly damp from her own attempt to cool off. My frnd hot mom
"Dude, your mom is so… chill," I said, dodging a plasma bolt.
Mrs. Delgado laughed, stood up, and ruffled Leo's wet hair. "Shower. Then take out the trash."
The summer I turned sixteen, my best friend, Leo, got air conditioning. That was the official reason I biked to his house every scorching afternoon. The unofficial reason was his mom, Mrs. Delgado. He disappeared upstairs
As she walked back upstairs, Leo rolled his eyes at me. "See? Total dictator."
"You're a good friend to him, you know," she said, looking at me directly. Not at my acne, not at my too-big t-shirt, but at me . "He's been happier this year. Quieter at home, but happier. That's because of you."
I laughed, nervous. "He's lying. I blue-shell him constantly." It was replaced by something realer, and better
I didn't know what to say. I just mumbled, "He's easy to be friends with."
That was the difference. To him, she was the woman who nagged him about sunscreen and made him re-do the dishes if he left a greasy pan. To me, she was a mystery wrapped in the smell of jasmine and coffee.
