New neighbors Andi and Hayden don't get off to the best start - and neither do their dogs. When the hostility between their pets, Bart and Rosie, leads to noisy barking, Andi and Hayden must solve their pet's tension or risk eviction from their apar...
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It's my mother's birthday—the day I show appreciation to the woman who raised me and loved me unconditionally. She's the woman who cleaned my room when I forgot, cooked dinner every night, and tidied up after me.
And the woman that still insists on doing that to their fully-grown twenty-seven-year-old son, despite his insistence otherwise.
My mom's dark brown (and slightly greying, but I'd be dead if I point that out) hair sits in a long, tight ponytail as she rearranges the pillows on my living room couch. After she finishes the newest configuration, she stands and places her hands on her hips. The soft wrinkles on her thin face pull together as she judges the latest arrangement, and her signature dark red-stained lips draw into a thin line. She stares at the couch like she's solving a math problem, mentally configuring other ways to place the four green pillows, three yellow ones, two orange, and Rosie's singular pink one together.
A lightbulb goes off in her head, evident by the brightness crossing her face. In a flash, she removes her hands from her brown dress and reaches for the pillows.
"Mom." I turn from the kitchen table, resting my head in my hand. "All of it looks fine."
My mom sifts through the pillows like she's solving a puzzle. "Well, anything is better than how it was when I walked in here." Her voice is tight as she claps back at me, not even flicking her eyes in my direction as she creates a new pattern.
I cleaned my apartment before my mother arrived this morning. I don't have a death wish. However, the space still wasn't up to her standards. Two hours between when I finished cleaning and my mother's arrival, in this apartment, is also more than enough to unravel some of the work. I had shoved all Rosie's toys in her basket, but shortly after, she got into them again. I had arranged the pillows neatly on the couch, but Rosie hopped up there and ruffled them. I also swept the floors, but Rosie's afternoon biscuit produced crumbs.
My mom took care of it all. Two seconds after she arrived, she was already parked by the cleaning cabinet reaching for supplies. An hour later, she's swept the floors, tidied all of Rosie's shit, washed my windows, scrubbed my counters, and now, she's rearranging my pillows.
Rearranging them for the third time.
My mother creates a new configuration. It has two green pillows on each side, then the orange and yellow ones in the front. She swings a white blanket over the back of the sofa, separating the sides, and throws Rosie's pink pillow into the dog bed, removing it from the pattern.
Finally satisfied, my mom nods. "There we go." She flashes me a warm smile, stepping toward the table where Rosie and I sit.
"You finally finished?" I rub behind Rosie's ears as she lays asleep in my lap. My sweet dog is curled into a little ball, and the soft whirs of her sleepy breath vibrate against my thigh.
"Finished." My mom pulls out the chair across from me.
I scan my apartment. My eyes dart from the tan countertops that gleam as the afternoon sun hits them to the vacuumed, completely clutter-free living room showcasing pillows placed to perfection.
