"Come here," Zed's mom flung her arms around both of us as we reached the bottom stair.

I clung to his hand awkwardly, not sure what to do. My mother had only hugged me maybe one time that I remembered; she was usually either drunk, high, or just plain mean.

A lot like my dad.

It had never occurred to me just how similar they were until that moment. I guess because while she'd only attacked with words, he'd done so much more.

A shudder rolled down my spine at the thoughts and memories, and ...