Free Burning for You by Michele Dunaway

making her weekly visit to her mother’s house. Unlike Taylor’s kitchen cupboards, which contained around two packets of ramen, three microwavable mashed-potato cups, and a half empty box of Pop-Tarts, her mom’s pantry was always full. She also stocked vanilla wafers and Oreos. Within seconds of putting down her book, Taylor had a handful of each.
    Good cookies always made the weekly Sunday afternoon visit more bearable. Earlier she’d also made herself a roast beef and provolone sandwich, which was basically breakfast and lunch combined.
    “You know, if you can’t afford food, you can always move home,” her mom suggested. She leaned a jean-clad hip against the center island, her short-sleeve kaftan rustling. “Live here and get three squares a day.”
    “I’m good,” Taylor mumbled through an overstuffed mouthful of chocolate and cream filling. She sighed as the delicious goodness rolled over her taste buds. Store brands certainly couldn’t compete with the real thing. She set her uneaten cookies on the countertop and reached into an overhead cabinet for a glass.
    Anticipating, her mother opened the refrigerator door and passed over a fresh half gallon of milk.
    “Thanks.” Taylor poured herself a large glass and drank most down in one gulp. Then she refilled.
    Her mom’s brow creased with worry. “If you’re hungry, I can lend you money for groceries, you know. I don’t like that you’re not eating.”
    “I eat. Last night I went to Dressel’s. I just don’t buy cookies. Bad for my figure. Good because it gives me a reason to come see you.” Hunger slightly abated, Taylor dunked an Oreo before taking a bite. She wiped her sticky fingers on her jean shorts. “I’m turning in the calendar shoot Tuesday and I’ll get paid then. It’ll tide me over for a while.”
    “I just wish you’d let me help. Move back home and save some money. Just for a little while. Maybe being here would help you focus on your project. How’s that going?”
    “Fine.”
    Her mom didn’t buy her fib. “Honey, I thought you’d have it done by now. I hate that you’re spending all this money on a master’s. Webster isn’t cheap.”
    “I’ve got it handled, Mom,” Taylor replied stubbornly, as the chocolaty cream temptation on her tongue seemed to say, “Move home and you can eat me every day.” She ignored the inner voice and ate a vanilla wafer. “Things are about to break wide open. I’ve got a new client.”
    “You need tons of new clients. Charlene knows a person who’s got a friend who works at
St. Louis Magazine
. I can find out if they’re hiring.”
    “They aren’t. I checked. And I’ve got this.”
    “I was only trying to help you network.” Her mom crossed her arms. Gave her the concerned look Taylor had been seeing for as long as she could remember. “Baby, I don’t like seeing you struggle.”
    “I’m okay, Mom. What’s that about it being ninety-nine percent persistence?”
    Her mom shook her head, disbelieving. “It’s ‘perspiration.’”
    “Same idea.”
    “You’ve always been so stubborn.”
    Taylor’s chin jutted forward. “Well, I get it from you. You know you should sell the house and get a condo. Move where there are more people.”
    Her mom shook her head again. “We’ve been through this. The house is not too big. And it’s paid for. It’s centrally located. I can get everywhere in ten minutes.”
    The one-story, three-bedroom Kirkwood ranch had been the only home Taylor had ever known. The kitchen doorframe had permanent inked lines that marked how tall she and her sister had been on each birthday. Perhaps the memories made her mother lonely, which was why she kept pestering Taylor to move home.
    “Yes, but now that Evelyn and I have moved out, it’s too much upkeep.” Taylor pressed. “You could travel and—”
    “The house is not the issue. You’ll be taking me out of here in a cardboard box.”
    “Okay, okay,” Taylor replied, backing down. She knew