Chapter Six - The Talk Before the Taco

CHAPTER SIX

The Talk Before the Taco

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

“Max?”

Max froze.

His right hand hovered midair.
A taco inches from his mouth.
His left hand?
Tucked under a pillow. Safety first.

“Yeah, Mom?”

She opened the door.

He forgot she had perfect mom timing.
She always showed up right before something chaotic happened.

And she looked tired.
Worried.
Holding a towel and a mug of tea.
Not a taco. Yet.

“Sweetheart,” she said, stepping in carefully, “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He nodded.

There were forty-seven tacos in the room.
He had counted.

“I’m fine.”

She raised an eyebrow.
Stepped around a taco stack.
Sat on the corner of his bed, which thankfully hadn’t turned into tacos yet.

“Max… this is serious. We need to figure this out. You haven’t eaten. You haven’t left your room. And there’s salsa on the ceiling.”

Max looked up.
There was, in fact, salsa on the ceiling.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” he said.
“It’s just… everything I touch turns into tacos.”

She gave him a soft smile.
“I know. But we’re gonna figure it out. I’m proud of how careful you’ve been.”

He felt a little better.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Then she stood up.

And that’s when it happened.

She slipped.

On a rogue lettuce leaf.

Max lunged forward.

“Mom, I’ve got-”

fwsshhhhh

TACO.