Unexpected

"Hi, Mom," he casually said as he climbed into the car.
"Hi. Everything okay?" she asked.
"Yeah. I'm good."
"Alright. Good. Just wondering. You are a little later than usual. I just called your phone. Left you a message."
"I'm fine."
"You've got soccer practice. 5 'o clock."
"Ah. I wanted to go to Jared's house." He looked at her, hoping she'd allow it.
"Nope. You are going to practice. You made a commitment."
"What?! Can I go over there before practice? For a few hours?"
"Welllllll? OK."
"I need to call him. Make sure it's okay," he stated.
"Call now. While I am driving that way."
"I don't have my phone."
"Use mine," she said.
"I don't know his number. It's on my phone."
"Well, I am not going to drive home, wait for you to call, then drive all the way back."
"Are you kidding me?" he raised his voice.
"Seriously. I'm not."
"I don't get it!"
"I am not going to spend my time driving there, here, and everywhere. Forget it!" she, too, raised her voice.
"This sucks!"
"That's rude!"
"I will just ask Liz or Roberto to take me over."
"Good luck with that. They are both at work. I'm sure they are not going to tell their bosses they need to leave to take you to a friend's house."
Silence.
"I don't get it. What's the big deal?" he continued.
"Keep it up and I will not take you to soccer practice, either."
"I don't care."
She drives.
Silence.
The air could be cut with a knife.
She pulls into the driveway.
He jumps out.
Slams the car door.
Hard.
As he walks toward the front door he kicks the soccer net that sits on the pavement, waiting for some attention.
Attention it got.
A big thump!
Parts of the piping disconnect.
She gathers her things.
Pissed.
She opens her drivers-side door.
"You are so rude!!"
"Whatever!"
She shoves her house-key into the locked bolt.
He barrels his way into the front door.
She follows, slamming the door shut behind her.
Boom!
For a second she thought she broke the door off it's hinges.
"You are acting like a little brat," she yells.
"Who cares!"
"That's it. No soccer. In fact, no nothing all weekend!"
She is so frustrated.
She cusses.
Feels bad.
Yet, doesn't care.
"Whatever." the little stinker says.
"I see now. As long as I do what you want everything is awesome. Tell you no, the fangs come out!" she bellows loud enough that should someone be walking by they would hear her anger.
"Now I know you hate me!" he says, testing her reaction.
"And you must hate me!"
Silence.
She slammed some pans onto the stove.
She was determined to make the spaghetti she had planned for the evening.
She's almost certain no one will eat it.
But who cares.
She's following through on her goal.
He plops down on the couch.
"Don't you dare turn on your PlayStation. You cannot play any games," she states, matter-of-factly.
"Why?"
"I am going to sit there. Drink my tea."
Silence.
Dinner prepped.
Tea made.
She plops her butt down on an over-sized chair.
He leaves the room.
Goes to the kitchen to eat an Oreo or five.
He takes his cookies with him to his room.
She watches a recording of Grey's Anatomy.
She allows herself to breathe.
Deep.
It's 5 'o clock.
Soccer practice time.
"I'm taking a shower!" he yells from down the hallway.
She knows this is his way to call a truce.
To say something normal.
To apologize without apologizing.
She ignores him.
She thought she was going to have a nice late afternoon with her son, watch him practice - instead of walking, like she usually does. Develop some photos. And maybe rent a movie. A relaxing Friday evening. With her youngest kid.
Guess not.