Happy reading!

2

"What did he look like?" My mom asked later that night. She's in the kitchen of our small apartment making a cup of tea. It's a cool night, so she's wearing her well-worn plaid robe that she lovingly nicknamed Henrieta.

Living with my mom at twenty-five probably made people think I was sad and pathetic, that I needed to grow up and be an adult. They assumed that I was the one living with her, when in truth, she was living with me. She broke her back a few years ago that didn't heal right, resulting in chronic pain. After several tries, she'd finally gotten approved for disability, but it wasn't enough to live on her own with. I was happy to have her, being in a place financially to help her out and to take care of her made me happy. As a single mom, she'd given me so much, it made me feel good to be able to do the same for her.

I looked over at her from the couch. I'm curled under a blanket, eating a Cup of Noodles, watching as she moves around the kitchen. "Tall, handsome, green eyes." The most beautiful green eyes I've seen.

When I'd gotten home, I went straight to my easel, trying to capture the color on canvas, but was having difficulty. The way the green swirled together with the brown at his irises was unlike anything I'd ever seen.

She scoffs. "You're going to have to give me more than that, baby duck."

My mom's called me baby duck since I was little. When I was young, I'd follow her around everywhere, like a baby duck, and the nickname just stuck.

I slurp my noodles, wincing when I burn my tongue. "What more do you want?"

"Oh, I don't know," she comes over to the couch, sitting down next me, blowing on her tea. "Did he have a nice smile? Did seem nice? He must've been pretty special if he inspired that." She motions her head to the painting I started this afternoon.

The forest that was coming to life, with snow topped mountains beyond. It reminded me of the Pacific Northwest. While it wasn't exactly like what I'd seen in my mind at Starbucks, it was still one of the best things I'd done lately.

I sighed, looking at the painting. "He did have a nice smile. And he was very nice. And he may have called me… beautiful."

Mom gets a satisfied smile, "Now, that's more like it." She takes a sip of her tea. "He is also absolutely right, you are beautiful. Inside and out."

"You have to say that you're my mother."

"No, I have to say that because you're letting me live here."

"I could kick you out, you know." I threatened, nudging her with my foot. "Give you a nice cardboard box on a street corner."

"You could," she squeezes my foot, "but you love me too much to do that."

"Damn, I hate it when you're right."

She laughs, squeezing my foot again. "Well, I'm going to bed."

I looked at the clock. It was eleven, much later than I thought.

"How about you?" she asked, getting up from the couch, and I can see the wince that she tries to hide. I know she's in more pain than she tries to let on. I hate that there's nothing I can do to make it better for her.

I shake my head. "No, I have a commission I need to get some work done on."

Cullen & Volturi, LLC, a marketing firm downtown, coincidentally near the Starbucks I'd met my green-eyed muse, had commissioned an abstract piece for the lobby of their new office space. When Angela, my assistant, had told me the news, she'd been practically vibrating. This could spell big things for our company. If we did well, we could see more commissions like this coming in.

They didn't have anything specific in mind, giving me free reign to create whatever my mind came up with. Those types of commissions were always my favorite.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning then. Don't stay up too late."

I give her a look. My mom was good at respecting the fact that I was an adult, but her parental instincts still came out on occasion.

"Sorry," she says with a small smile. "Old habits die hard."

"Goodnight." I tell her as she heads to her bedroom.

After finishing my Cup of Noodles, I get started on the piece, trying not to get distracted by shades of green.

A/N: My mom has a plaid robe that she nicknamed Henrieta. She called it that one day to be silly, and we've been calling it that ever since.

Bella's mom in this story is very much inspired by my mom. I hope to do her justice.

See you next time.