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speak.
    Justin stares cockeyed at the granola bar and my water bottle. “Is that all you have?”
    I swallow. “Yup.” Justin raises an eyebrow. “It’s all I need. Seriously, I’ll be fine.”
    Justin shakes his head and turns off the engine.
    “Um, are you listening? Let’s go. I’m fine.” It’s only been three minutes and already I want to strangle him. He never listens.
    Justin jumps out of the truck, bee-lining it for my front door.
    “What are you doing?” I jump out, following.
    “Getting you lunch.” He looks me up and down, shaking his head. “You won’t survive the day without it.” He pushes open my front door and walks right in. The nerve. I run in behind, reaching the entryway only a few seconds later. Justin isn’t waiting for me. I throw the kitchen door open and want to die.
    Justin’s shaking Mom’s hand. “Yes. Mrs. Zwindler. It’s great to finally meet you. My mom reads GardenLush.com every spring to prepare for the flowering season. She loves your blog.” Justin smiles at Mom and she flushes. Even my mom falls for his fake charm.
    It always surprises me when people say they are a fan of that blog. To me, the blog is just an extension of her gardening therapy, helping her recovery. It is a constant reminder of what my birth caused. Babies are supposed to bring their mothers joy. I just brought mine postpartum depression that turned into years of darkness.
    But Justin’s compliment makes Mom glow. “Oh, she’s a fan? Would you like to take her some samples of a promotional product?” She reaches into a sack, not giving Justin a chance to say no. She pulls out three palm-sized, moist bags. “These are tulip bulbs wrapped in a rich new fertilizer. They use cow and goat manure as well as catfish eggs.” She hands the three lumps to Justin. He looks down at his hands, now holding tulip bulbs and poop. He raises his eyebrows at me. Mom doesn’t notice; she’s oblivious as to how weird her gardening fascination is.
    “Tell your mom to plant them this fall. They will be the most beautiful tulips next year,” Mom explains. Justin flashes Mom a thankful smile. Fearing what he’ll say, I jump in.
    “Justin,” I almost growl at him. “Let’s go.”
    “Lucinda, be polite.” She takes a slow, therapy breath. “I apologize for her rudeness. She’s not normally so frank.” Justin nods, occasionally glancing down at the bags in his hand. He’s actually speechless. I grin and make a mental note: To make Justin shut up, add poop bags.
    Mom continues, “You see, this job is not exactly her choice … but her father and I believe it will do her well.” I cringe as Mom tells way too much information.
    “I understand, Mrs. Zwindler.” Justin recovers, now holding the bags of poop like hacky sacks. He casually starts to juggle them. “I promise I won’t judge her character off this first week alone.” He flashes his crooked smile.
    “Thank you.” Mom pats my back as if she’s done me a favor. I go stone cold, hating her touch on my shoulder. It takes all my strength to not shove it off. She turns back to Justin, her hand still resting on my shoulder. “So, what can I do for you?”
    “Lucinda needs a lunch.”
    Did Justin want me to hate him for eternity? Only my parents have the right to call me Lucinda. And even then, I hate it.
    “Heavens.” Mom opens the fridge, pulling out my lunch bag. “I tried to get her to take it, but she refused.” She hands the bag to Justin. “Thank you for thinking of this. Her father will know she is in good hands when I tell him.”
    “Mothers always know best,” Justin responds with another flashy smile. Mom smiles back, not understanding that he’s mocking us from our fight the other night. Justin looks at me. “Okay, Lucinda . Let’s roll.”
    “Sure.” I quickly grab Justin’s arm and try dragging him through the door. He finagles his way out of my grasp, returning to thank her for the tulip poop bags. I can’t listen