But Denise was already pulling a crumpled flyer from her coat pocket. Momswap Support Group, Tuesdays, Park Slope Library. She’d drawn a little heart next to his name.
“I’m not trying to replace her,” Denise said quietly. “But while she’s gone, you’re stuck with me. So here’s the deal: you run, I chase. Every time.”
“Because you keep asking me about my feelings. My real mom just asks if I want more meatloaf.” momswap brooklyn chase
Chase barely had time to shove his hands in his pockets before his mother’s voice— her mother’s voice—cut through the October dusk.
“Ezekiel Chase, you stop right there.” But Denise was already pulling a crumpled flyer
“I’m not going to a support group,” he said.
Denise stepped in front of him. For a second, her face cracked—not with anger, but with that raw, panicked love of someone who’d been handed a teenager she didn’t earn but desperately wanted to keep. “I’m not trying to replace her,” Denise said quietly
“Fine.” She folded the flyer. “Then we walk. You tell me one thing about your real mom. I tell you one thing about my real kid. And when this mess ends, we both know how to miss someone better.”