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Summary
“You know I don’t…I don’t think I’ve dreamed about my mom since she died,” TK announces after a while. “I just realized that.”
“Hey.” Carlos spins him around halfway. “It’s okay.”
“No, I know.” He sets his free hand on Carlos’ shoulder. “It’s just…the whole thing makes me feel a little…broken.”
He drops his gaze to the pot, scraping the spoon along the bottom to keep the smaller pieces of turkey from sticking. It’s easier than looking at Carlos directly. He’ll fall apart if he does.
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Upon discovering he hasn't had any dreams about his mom since she died, TK searches for answers.
