Wash 25

Outside the boutique, Drew leaned against its glass wall,

absentmindedly spooning vanilla ice cream from a paper cup.

Behind him, his mother was deep in a fashion war,

flanked by two clerks scrambling to hold the blouses

like flags of panic and surrender.

The glass barely muffled the sound of their bickerings.

Something about the fabric being "too loud" and the neckline being "too slutty"

A small voice broke through the hum of the street.

"Waiting for your girlfriend?"

Drew blinked down to find a kid—ten, maybe eleven—suddenly

standing beside him like a glitch in reality.

Slightly oversized hoodie, scraped-up sneakers,

the kind of kid who looked like he belonged anywhere but here.

there’s an air of roughness on that kid

He mentally felt his wallet from his left pocket just to make sure it’s still there.

He said nothing.

The boy leaned in closer, dramatically whispering like

they were co-conspirators.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were a loser.

These days, you gotta act fast.

Chase the girl you want.

Don’t hesitate, marry if you like her.

And if you hate her down the road,

it’s called divorce,

If you don’t act now, well…given what I’m seeing right now—

nobody’s gonna lock you in.”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what?”

“They won’t lock you in,” the boy repeated,

like Drew was a slow fourth grader.

“You don’t have a car or you won’t be standing here like a hooker. Girls like cars.

Or cash. Or looks.

You gotta offer something- but not this look, not this something”

Drew scoffed. “Why do I feel like I’m being insulted by a hobbit

with zero credentials? And seriously, back off.

People might think I’m a creep talking to you.

Go stand over there—like, across the street.”

The boy made a face.

“See? Name-calling. Snobbishness. That’s how I figured—you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I do have a girlfriend.

She’s into cupcakes, spoiler alert.”

“Prove it,” the kid challenged. “Is she in the boutique?”

Right on cue, Drew’s mom looked up from inside

and gave him an enthusiastic wave.

The boy pointed, deadpan.

“Okay. First of all, she’s like… seventy.

Are you that desperate? Can’t you find somebody who won’t

play bingo on cue as you pop her suppository?

That’s not a girlfriend. That’s someone you hide from your mom.”

Drew chuckled. “Hate to break it to you kid,

but I can’t hide my mom from herself.”

The kid nodded slowly, his eyes shifting to Drew’s ice cream.

Drew followed his gaze, then narrowed to the kid’s eyes.

“Nope, that won’t work, you can’t ice cream guilt-trip me.

Go inside and ask your dad for ice cream money. I’m not your guy.”

The boy’s face stiffened. He looked away.

“I don’t have a dad.”

Drew rolled with it, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“What, he ran off with his boyfriend?”

The kid didn’t flinch.

“You could say that. It’s one theory.

But I think… he was just confused.

Got my mom pregnant—their first time dating.

He was still in college.

He has this thing going on with another guy, a roommate.

Wanted to be a good son to his mom, perhaps.

By staying at school with zero hookups.

But I guess... when push came to shove,

I popped out, he ran.

I haven’t seen him in ten years.”

Drew blinked.

Something inside him stilled.

The ice cream suddenly tasted like cardboard.

“Wait. You haven’t seen him? At all?”

The boy shook his head. “Not once.”

Drew lowered the spoon.

His voice softened. “I didn’t know. Sorry. I was being a jerk.”

The boy shrugged, a small, tight smile forming.

“No biggie. But... you can do something for me, that will make me

feel….better.”

Drew sighed, already sensing the shift.

“Okay. I’m officially sucked into this soap opera. How much do you want?”

He reached into his pocket,

fingers fumbling for a few crumpled bills.

The kid leaned in, whispering something only Drew could hear.

Drew froze.

His eyes went wide.

A tear starts to form on Drew’s eyes.

He thought of his pregnant girlfriend, Clarisse.

And that evening at his apartment with Teddy.

Two worlds are colliding.

Two worlds that ARE NOT MEANT to exist- together.

————————————————————————————————

Just a block away from the boutique where Drew stood with his ice cream,

Teddy was dragging his feet beneath the weight of overloaded laundry bags.

His body slumped forward, his breath shallow and uneven.

The heat of the city clung to his skin, and every step felt like a negotiation

between consciousness and collapse.

TEDDY WAS TIRED. VERY TIRED.

His eyelids fluttered with exhaustion,

his vision slightly blurred as the streetlights haloed around him like ghosts.

It had been a long night.

A long week. Maybe a long life.

TOO LONG. TOO FUCKING TIRING LONG YEARS.

The straps of the laundry bags dug into his shoulders,

and he could feel the dirty socks and damp bed sheets

soiled clothes from people he doesn’t even know.

the laundry is pressing against his spine like reminders

of every burden he couldn't name.

His shirt clung to him with sweat, and all he could think about

was sleep—just twenty seconds of sleep on the curb would be heaven.

Then suddenly—

“Where were you? We’ve been calling you all day!”

Teddy staggered to a stop, startled, blinking hard to focus—and there they were.

Betsy and Letty stood in front of him like a glamorous roadblock,

arms crossed, lips tight. His heart leapt into his throat.

Only one reason they’d be looking for him.

He covered his mouth with laundry tired hands to hide the shock.

“Oh God. My mom’s dead.”

The words never left his mouth, but they were all over his face.

Letty saw it. Her expression softened instantly.

“No, no, no—it’s not that. Don’t go there, Teddy.

She’s fine… probably. I mean, she didn’t really talk to us. Her girlfriend did.”

Teddy blinked, swaying slightly under the weight of laundry and grief.

“Wait—you met my mom’s girlfriend?”

Letty nodded gently.

“And… what did she say? Is my mom okay? Did she asked about me?

Is she coming back? Does she need money? How can I send her?”

Letty exchanged a quick look with Betsy, then gave him a slow, measured answer.

“I think that will be wishful thinking if Sylvia starts worrying about you. Obviously

she will always need money, but….

Well… this isn’t really about your mom. It’s more about——-you”

Teddy squinted.

“About me? Oh God—are you inviting me to another sleepover?

Ohhhh…..guys, what can I say, I am not only honored but very touched.

You guys wants me to your besties!!! However though….right now

I can’t, I have laundry to do and no sleep and

possibly a rash forming on my back. Plus I still have this Drew and Cliff unresolved issues”

He adjusted the strap painfully.

“Rain check?”

Betsy, who had been aggressively typing something on her phone,

finally stopped. Without a word, without even glancing at him,

she extended the phone forward.

And handed Teddy his fate.

A crumpled slip of paper slid into Teddy’s sweaty palm.

It was stained with what looked like salsa. The ink was smudged.

Betsy walked away without saying a word.

She did not explained anything.

Nothing was said.

She just walked away.

Letty stayed behind, looking a little guilty.

“Sorry. She’s just… she’s having a hard time.

Our boyfriends are, like… dating each other now or something.

It’s a weird week. Anyway—” she motioned to the note in Teddy’s hand,

“That’s Monica’s number. She’s… your real mom.”

Teddy let out a laugh.

Sharp. Reflexive.

“Okay. Right. Prank wars, season four. Good one.”

Letty didn’t laugh. She didn’t blink.

Neither did Betsy, who was already halfway down the street,

she closed her eyes.

There was guilt.

There was pain and probably an inch of concern.

Teddy’s shoulders tense like someone holding in more than just betrayal.

“Do we look like the type of girls who prank people for free?” Letty said softly.

“Sylvia’s girlfriend gave it to us. Said she couldn’t give it to you herself.

Didn’t want to mess with your mom’s past.

But… she thought you deserved to know. She wants to do the right thing,

something that your mom, Sylvia

should have DONE.

Monica was your mom’s best friend who ditched you. she just… vanished.”

The words came like a blade, slow and deliberate.

Teddy stared down at the number.

The salsa stain was starting to blur the last digits. His fingers tightened around it like it might blow away.

Letty stares at Teddy, “Sorry, how are you feeling right now?

Are you shocked?”

“I’m not shocked,” he said quietly, voice trembling,

“I just… don’t know what to say.”

Letty tilted her head, gave him the faintest, kindest smile.

“When you don’t know what to say…”

She stepped backwards, still holding his gaze,
…the best thing to say is NOTHING.”

Then she turned and ran after Betsy, disappearing into the hum of the city.

Teddy stood there, alone beneath the flickering streetlamp.

The laundry weighed heavy on his back. But it was nothing compared

to what was pressing against his chest now.

He looked down again.

THE NUMBER.

Smeared.

Salsa-stained.

Monica.

A single tear slipped down his cheek—slow, warm,

and uninvited—as he stood frozen in the moment,

staring at the note like it had the power to rewrite his past.

“Sylvia….was a lie.”

Two tears starts to drop on Teddy’s face.

Followed by another two.

——————————————————————————————-

Teddy dropped the laundry sacks on the sidewalk

like they were sacks of cement finally breaking his back.

They landed with a dull thud, one rolling slightly to the curb.

His arms hung limp. His breath, shaky.

From his hoodie pocket, he pulled out his flip phone—the kind with a scratched-up screen,

chipped edges, and a faded sticker of a dancing pineapple

on the back that had lost most of its glitter.

He stared at the salsa-stained piece of paper crumpled in his other hand.

The numbers blurred.

Not from the smudge, but because he can barely read those numbers,

he’s not even sure if he’s reading it right.

He blinked, tried to steady himself.

He tried to memorize the number,

He focused on one digit at a time.

He’s not stupid.

How hard can it be to figure out the numbers.

He compared each digit with the number on his phone.

Until he feels like he finally figured it out.

His thumb hovered on his phone screen.

Shaky.

His chest felt tight.

Should he call Drew?

No, that will be stupid.

He’s not even sure who this Monica is, and if Letty and Betsy can really be trusted.

How about Cliff?

He’s too busy with work. It’s weird to bother him on something so personal like this.

He didn't even realize he’d moved—now standing by the wide glass wall of the boutique,

the white light inside spilling out onto the sidewalk like warm milk.

Just a few feet away, Drew was still chatting with the ten-year-old boy.

They’re headed somewhere.

Teddy did not noticed Drew. And so did Drew.

Teddy looked at the number again.

Then, finally, he dialed.

One ring.

Two.

Inside the boutique, a woman paused mid-conversation with a clerk.

Her leather handbag buzzed faintly, and she casually reached in.

Pulled out her phone. Her nails were painted on bright glossy cherry red.

She glanced at the caller ID- unknown number.

Teddy turned around towards the boutique.

He’s now facing Drew’s mom, holding on to her phone

from the other side of the glass.

Her mouth parted, just barely. Just a slight breath.

Teddy felt it before he knew it—a tear slides down his cheek,

warm

and strange like it didn’t belong to him.

The phone was still against his ear.

As her voice tremble on the other end.

“Hello?” Monica’s voice quivered

like a ghost trying to remember how to speak.

Teddy stared at Drew’s mom

separated by the boutique glass.

Reality found home in Teddy’s heart.

—————————————————————————————————-

Meanwhile, at the ice cream shop...

Drew pushed the door open, the little boy clinging to his back like a koala.

The bell above the entrance jingled as they stepped into the sugary chill of the shop.

The boy’s arms were looped tight around Drew’s neck,

his legs wrapped snug around his waist.

The girl behind the counter—a perky clerk with blue streaks in

her ponytail and a sprinkle tattoo on her wrist—grinned. “Cute kid you’ve got there.”

Drew chuckled, pretending to adjust the invisible dad cap on his head.

“Yeah, I feed him, clothe him, let him bully me. Full-time job, really.”

The boy peered over Drew’s shoulder, deadpan.

“Don’t you think I look like my dad?”

The clerk tilted her head.

“You know what? You kinda do. Same attitude, too.”

She winked at Drew.

Drew smirked and cleared his throat.

“Alright, son,” he said, voice theatrical. “What flavor do you want?”

The boy scrunched up his nose like this was the toughest decision of his life.

“Well, I’m kinda allergic to chocolate... lemon’s too sour... not into berry, like, at all. Maybe... vanilla?”

Drew raised a brow. “Vanilla? That’s your final answer?”

“Yeah,” the boy nodded solemnly.

“Because it’s bland. Just like you.”

Drew let out a laugh. “Two medium cups of ‘bland’ coming up.”

As the clerk scooped their orders,

the boy casually asked, “So... do you have a boyfriend?”

Drew choked on absolutely nothing. His eyes widened.

The clerk blinked, then laughed. “Not yet.”

The boy, cool as ever, leaned forward. “What’s your number?”

Drew turned to him, utterly scandalized. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“You snooze, you lose,” the boy said, grinning.

The clerk slid the cups across the counter.

“You’re just like your old man. A total lady’s man.”

Drew paid, shaking his head in disbelief, while the clerk winked again—

this time at the boy. “Tell you what, come see me again in ten years.

We’ll grab some ice cream together.”

The boy beamed. “It’s a date.”

They walked out laughing, their vanilla cups in hand.

Drew looked down at the kid, and weirdly, something inside him softened.

This whole make-believe thing—playing dad, joking like they’ve known

each other for years—he wasn’t just playing along anymore.

Maybe... being a dad wouldn’t be so bad after all.

————————————————————————————————————————

Monica stepped into the boutique’s changing room,

a pair of sleek dresses slung over her arm.

She sighed, eyeing herself in the mirror—none of them felt right.

Maybe the neckline was too bold. Maybe the color was wrong.

Maybe she just didn’t feel like herself anymore.

She unbuttoned her blouse halfway.

That’s when she saw Teddy’s reflection on the dressing wall mirror.

She screamed.

Weird. She can’t hear her voice.

No, she’s not screaming.

She’s in shock.

She’s staring directly at Teddy.

Teddy was sitting quietly on the make shift bench in the corner,

tucked behind the curtain like a ghost who had been waiting for her to undress her lies.

“Why?” he asked softly.

Monica clutched her chest. “Excuse me—I must be in the wrong cubicle.”

“No,” Teddy said, his voice steady and small.

“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

She froze.

Her shoulders sagged. “What do you want?”

Teddy stood up, his eyes unreadable. “So you know…you knew me”

Monica raised an eyebrow, masking the tremor in her hands.

“I knew this night would come. I just didn’t expect it to come….tonight”

Teddy let out a shaky breath.

“There were moments I had doubts. I’d push them away.

Because Sylvia... she’s just like that.

She’s not the kind of mom who packs lunch boxes

or drives her son to school. She doesn’t ask if you’re hungry or if you’ve eaten

or tell you she’s proud when you scored big at school.

She hugs me, but there’s always a price.

Only when she’s happy. Only when she got what she asked for.

She’s not the mom who nurses you when you’re sick.

Wiped away your tears when you get hurt.

That’s not her.

That will never be her.

She doesn’t know what I need—only what she wants.

Rent, bills, hair appointments….jackets. There’s always something

she needs.”

He blinked hard, his voice faltering.

“I didn’t go to school. Couldn’t.

Had to work.

Schools are luxury.

It’s only for those who can’t afford.

Not for everyone.

Not for me.

Not for someone like me.

Who really has….nothing.

Reading?

Who needs that when rent’s due?

And Sylvia, she always had to have the best dress, the most modern jacket—just to outshine Betsy and Letty.”

He looked up at Monica now, vulnerable, stripped of everything.

“She’s not a perfect mother. But it’s okay. I don’t expect her to be.

All I want is for her to be with me.

To stay with me.

Because…without a mother, will I continue to exist?

and even…..breathe?

Sylvia is a mother because she stayed.”

Monica turned away, a tear escaping down her cheek.

She wiped it off quickly.

“What do you want me to say?” she whispered.

“That I’m sorry? That I’m a selfish mother?

Do you want me to beg for forgiveness, Teddy?

Do you want some tragic explanation for why I left you?

For why I don’t—” She stopped herself.

Her voice cracked. “I sent money. Every single month. I never missed.

So don’t you dare tell me I didn’t stay. I was always there. You just didn’t see it.”

Teddy stepped forward, the question already forming

before his mouth could shape it.

“Then why? Don’t you think I deserve to know why a mother will abandon her son,

what kind of a mother is that???”

Monica stared at him. Her hands were shaking now.

“You want the real answer? Fine.” she said.

He nodded.

“Because I couldn’t have you in my life.” Her words came like glass.

“Because if I did, I wouldn’t be right here tonight, standing in front of you. I’d be Sylvia. I’d be stuck.

Bitter. Broken. And maybe I couldn’t survive that.

So yeah—call me selfish. Just don’t call me your mom.

I don’t want you to. I am not your mother.”

Tears fell on Monica’s eyes.

Teddy’s throat tightened. He forced the words out.

“Did you ever… love me? Even…for a cheap second?”

There was a pause.

A long, brutal silence.

Monica looked at him.

And then—softly, like she was lying to herself more than him—she whispered, “No.”

Teddy’s lips parted. “You don’t? You haven’t? Is that why you left me….because you don’t love…me?”

His chest heaved like something had collapsed inside.

“Why?” he breathed. “All mothers love their sons. There must be some love, a tiny love, hidden on that heart,

‘can’t you just say you love me, just so I can hear it, even if you have to fake it right now,

it’s important to me, it’s important to me to hear…that….you love me. Because,

If you can’t love me… then who will?”

Monica steps out of the dressing room.

Teddy followed.

The clerks can’t hide the shock on their eyes.

Gossipers. They’ve been listening all along.

That’s when the boutique door opened.

Drew.

He stepped inside, still holding a half-melted cup of vanilla ice cream,

smiling—until his eyes landed on Monica.

Then on Teddy. Teddy’s face was streaked with silent tears.

“Mom?” Drew said, confused.

Teddy backed away, eyes wild with panic. He pushed past the curtain, nearly tripping.

“Teddy?” Drew called out, following him.

“What’s going on? Did my mom say something?”

Drew turned to his mom, “Mom what did you tell Teddy????”

Teddy kept walking.

“Teddy, wait—I know I haven’t called these past few days, but I’ve just been thinking—”

Teddy stopped suddenly and turned around. His voice was calm, too calm.

“Drew… we can talk later. I have to go. I have laundry to wash.”

“Teddy, what’s wrong?” Drew asked, his voice breaking as he reached for him. “Talk to me—please.”

Teddy flinched out of his arms. “I really have to go now. Please, Drew. Please let me go.”

He ran outside the boutique, back toward the sidewalk,

grabbing the two heavy laundry sacks he had dropped earlier.

He didn’t even notice the salsa stain had spread across one.

Drew stood frozen, arms limp at his sides, watching Teddy disappear down the block.

Behind him, Monica stepped out of the boutique.

She reached into her bag, pulled out a cigarette, and offered it to Drew.

He looked at her, stunned. “I don’t smoke.”

Monica’s lip trembled. She shrugged, placing the cigarette between her lips.

“Trust me, Drew,” she said, lighting it. “You’ll want to tonight.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek and vanished into the smoke.