Rick

Mom sits in her favorite white chair, slowly turning a magazine's pages. A grin teases her lips as she moves her head from left to right.

I pause for a moment, waiting for an acknowledgment.

"The next time, you're brother won't save you—"

I slam the door to get the reason I want.

Mom jumps.

The magazine falls from her lap.

I smirk.

"Well, Rick, you look stunning with the beard. You really should have done that years ago." Mom ...