“Mom,” I called her when she’s busy preparing dinner. I told her I would help her but she hates it when I try to meddle with her business in the kitchen. “Can you make more dinner?”
She turned to me with confused eyes.
I bit my lower lip and smiled awkwardly. “Uh…Fierce…kind of…” I couldn’t utter the whole sentence straight because a part of me wants to just tell Fierce that everything is a joke and I will just meet him in a restaurant.
Mom raised her brow. “He’s coming over?” she asked, making it easier for me.
I shyly nodded. “He will stop by later,” I said before sighing hard.
She gave me a meaningful smile. “Sure. There’s no problem, Toni. I’ll make another dish later. What time is he arriving?”
Talking to my parents about Fierce was rather simple. Maybe because they have
