“FillUpMyMom,” Lani muttered, reading her own childhood nickname for her mother’s habit. Every emotional tank empty? Mom would fill it. Whether you wanted her to or not.
The freight train below groaned. Lani balanced, arms out, her shadow long in the sodium lights.
Behind her, the phone buzzed one last time: Message from Mom: “Happy 20th, sweetie. I left a casserole on your porch.”