“nabi, I thought I told you to get off of your computer and come down for dinner?! your food’s going to get cold.”

right on time, 6:30. my mom was good at that, always perfect with timing. she was never too late or early, and honestly, I’m not sure how she does it. I try hard to be as consistent as her, but it’s difficult. she makes it look so easy. 

“nabi!”

“I’m coming!”

even if she gets upset at me for eating dinner late, I could never tell. her tone was always sweet. sometimes I wish she’d yell at me so I could know the difference. 

“you made my favorite?” my voice showed obvious excitement, and in truth I really was jitty that she made creamy pasta, but it’s also my way of trying to push the fact that I was late to dinner again. 

“don’t try to change the subject. how many times do I need to call your name for you to come down and eat dinner?” 

her back was facing me, but she didn’t even need to turn around to know she was sulking. like come on mom, really? I’m here trying to find your long lost … whatever! I didn’t mean to be late. 

“I’m sorry,” I pouted, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist. I was her only child after all. “they’ve been giving us a lot of homework lately and I don’t want to be behind.” 

I’m lying again. I’m good at it in the best way possible. I’m smart enough to do my homework as early as possible so I could focus on my goal. 

“fine, whatever, just as long as you finish you eat your dinner.”

“of course