“Mom is up and found your friend Olivia asleep outside on the porch swing,” Casey tells me, and my eyes open.

“She doesn’t sleep ever since …” I don’t tell him the rest because it’s not my story to tell, and if she wants to tell him, then that’s on her.

“What is it with you city folks and sleeping in beds?” he asks, and I just shrug. “Tell Mom I’ll be in for breakfast in twenty.”

“You are thirty, and your mother still cooks you breakfast?” I shake my head.

“One thing at a time.” He laughs. “It took me two years to actually move out to my own house.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” I say.

“Tonight after dinner, I’ll give you and Olivia the tour.” He winks at me, and I turn to walk back to the house. My sneakers are filled with dust now. I open the porch door and quietly enter the house.

The smell of bacon and coffee hits me right away. “Morning,” I say. Yawning, I walk over to the coffeepot and grab a white mug. I fill it to the brim and then take a sip. “So good.”

“Since when do you drink your coffee black?” my mother asks as she mixes eggs in a big bowl.

“Since I saw how much fat is in half and half,” I say, and she just shakes her head. “Where’s Olivia?”

“Well, she got up at around three this morning, and then I heard her go outside. When I woke up at five, she was sleeping outside on the porch swing. Then she got up and did some Namaste things on the lawn.”

“Yoga.” I try not to laugh at my mother. “I want to swing by the church if we can today.” Her eyes fly up at me.

“Of course.” She tries to hide her surprise that I want to leave the house.

“Good,” I say. Walking upstairs with my coffee, I go take another shower. When I get out, I slip on a white tank top and fumble around for a pair of jeans but none of them are what I’m looking for. I open my drawer where I used to keep my jeans and grab my overalls. I smile when I think about how crazy it is that this is now the style again. I slip into them, and I roll up the bottoms and then slip on my white Converse shoes. I grab the cup of coffee and head downstairs, hearing voices.

“You can’t go out wearing that.” I hear Casey, and I roll my eyes.

“Why not?” Olivia asks, and I walk in and see what she is wearing. She has her tight white jeans that mold her and make her ass look amazing with a white tank top cut low in the front, showing her cleavage.

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb,” he says, and she laughs.