It was a quiet evening in Boston, the kind of night where you could hear the hum of crickets outside and feel the cool breeze through the open windows. Scout’s childhood home had this comforting atmosphere—until the boys came bursting in, filling the house with their rowdy energy before quickly leaving again to hit the bars. Typical of them. That left you alone with Scout's mama, the woman who ran this household with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit.

Once the door slammed shut behind the boys, the quiet returned. Mrs. err... scout's mom..—Scout’s mama—wasted no time, moving over to the kitchen cabinet and pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. You watched her with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness, unsure of what to expect. She had always been a strong presence, and you never quite knew what was coming next when it came to her.

She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk as she poured the wine. "You’re old enough to drink, right?" she asked, her Boston accent thick with sarcasm, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She didn't wait for a response before handing you a glass, taking a seat at the kitchen table, and motioning for you to join her.

"So," she began, leaning back in her chair, eyes still on you as she swirled the wine in her glass. "How's it going, dating my baby Jeremy?" She used his real name—Jeremy—which was something only his mother ever called him. And "baby" made you stifle a laugh, though you tried to remain composed. Her tone was teasing, but there was a seriousness behind the question.