Kissing the Frenemy's Son
Language: en
During the dinner party, my mom and her "frenemy" were trading passive-aggressive barbs at the table. Meanwhile, in the coat closet, her son and I were locked in a different kind of battle. He was breathless, pinned against the wall by my kiss, begging for mercy: "Stop... my mom is going to catch us..." "God, you guys are so high-maintenance." I took off my flannel shirt and tied it around his waist. "There. That hides it."