“Remember when I told you I had to stop taking them for a few weeks because they were making me nauseous?”

“Look, Meagan. This is jacked. My moms would kill me if she found out about this. What are you thinking about doing?”

“Doing? I don’t know. What do you want me to do, Dingus?”

What does he want you to do? Is the girl on drugs? He’s not even seventeen fucking years old. She’s eighteen. Ask your mama, girl—not my son—what the hell you should do.

“Look,” he says, “can you meet me at the mall after school? In front of Mrs. Field’s?”

“Yeah,” she says, and hangs up.

I do, too. But first I reach inside my desk drawer and look for one of my prescription bottles. They’re pain pills I got when I had my boobs done and dental surgery. I discovered that they also work well for tension headaches, which I’m definitely getting right now. I pop one, and gulp it down with a few sips of hot coffee. By the time Dingus knocks on my door, it’s working.

“Good morning, Ma,” he says, sluggishly, but walks over and gives me his regular kiss and taps me on the head.

“Good morning. Who was that on the phone?”

“Asokah. He forgot what the math assignment was, so I had to give it to him.”

“Oh.” He sure can lie fast.

“So, what’s on your agenda today, Mother Dear?”

“The usual.”

“Break it down to me, why don’tcha?”

“You better get out of my face.”

“What’s wrong with you this morning?”

“I had a nightmare last night.”

“Tell your loving son what’s bothering you.” I look up at this boy. All six foot three inches of him. Wasn’t he just in his bassinet last week? And didn’t I just take him to peewee Little League practice the other day? And now he’s shaving? Time is moving too fast. Mama was right. I should’ve had another one. But too late now.

“I dreamed that you had a blast from the past.”

“And?” he asks, futzing with my phone-pad pages that hold the twenty-three calls I have to make and return today in order to make sure the Louisville Barbecue scheduled for this weekend will go smoothly in my absence.

“Some little girl claimed she was pregnant by you.”

He looks down at me without the least bit of surprise in his eyes and flashes his metal teeth. “You worry too much over nothing, Ma. It was just a bad dream. Get over it.”

“Dingus?”

“Yes, Ma.” He’s at the door now. Obviously feeling the pressure.

“I hope you’re using a condom when you do your business.”

“Of course I do,” he says. “Is it okay if I stop by the mall for about a half-hour after school?”

“For what?”

“They’ve got some new Jordans coming in today at Footlocker, and me and my homies wanna check ’em out.”

“You don’t have any Jordan money.”

“We’re just window-shopping.”

“I don’t care. Just be home by five-thirty.”