After basket ball practice, I arrived home to find my mother at the kitchen table writing down a list of what we needed - which was practically everything from the looks of it.

'Hi,' she greeted. 'I think I have some ideas for meals. Is there anything you don't like?'

'I'm pretty open to trying anything... except for meatballs,' I told her with an advertent shiver. 'But you don't have to do anything crazy. Besides, I usually come home late because of basketball.'

'We'll pick out some easy things. How's that?' she offered, scanning her list again. 'That way you can throw something together for youself if you come home late or if I have to stay at work.'

The thought of preparing anything beyond a sandwich was intimidating. 'What?' she questioned anxiously, when she saw my scrunched face.

'Um, I'm not exactly adept in the kitchen,' I confessed sheepishly.

'You can't cook?' she clarified in shock. 

'Does oatmeal count?' I shrugged in embarrassment.

My mother laughed. 'Well... I guess we'll be shopping in the frozen-food section, too.'

We got into her car and drove to the grocery store in the next town over. She spent the ride reviewing the list and asking for my input. I'd never really had a say before, so I didn't contribute much. When I'd lived with Aunty and Uncle Lee, I would write the basics of what I needed on the grocery list - cereal, granola bars and the like - since I wasn't allowed to eat it unless I'd asked for it. But for the most part, I ate what was put in front of me, no questions asked - even when it made me violently ill. 

We ultimately decided to make up the list as we went along. Which was pretty much our approach to everything - including our relationship.

'You know I'm not exactly very good at this mother thing, right?' my mother said, picking through a pile of apples and putting a few that met her approval in a produce bag. 

I didn't know how to respond, It was the start of a conversation I'd never expected to