He took his hands out of his pockets.
“I’m not going to a support group,” he said. momswap brooklyn chase
But Denise was already pulling a crumpled flyer from her coat pocket. Momswap Support Group, Tuesdays, Park Slope Library. She’d drawn a little heart next to his name. He took his hands out of his pockets
“Fine.” She folded the flyer. “Then we walk. You tell me one thing about your real mom. I tell you one thing about my real kid. And when this mess ends, we both know how to miss someone better.” Momswap Support Group, Tuesdays, Park Slope Library
He flinched. Ezekiel. She only used that when she meant business. Except… she wasn’t his mother. Not really. Three weeks ago, some cosmic hiccup swapped every mom in Brooklyn. Chase had come home to find a woman named Denise in his kitchen, stirring gumbo, wearing his real mom’s apron. And his real mom? Last he heard, she was on Staten Island, teaching some kid named Marcus how to fold fitted sheets.