My mom always said I needed to adult some day.

Mom got me an interview with someone I know very well. I don’t know his personality, so to speak. But I know his hands: his callouses so thick they could scrape off skin.

I never told her what he did. Didn’t want to break her illusion of him. And didn’t want to face her disbelief.

As I look into my mom’s bright, blue eyes, shining with hope at this new found opportunity for me, I force my lips into a smile. My eyes dart between her phone showing the text of her and the man discussing the interview. My stomach lurches.

“I think it would be a great opportunity for her.” from the man is the last text I see.

Maybe I ‘adulted’ too soon.