Closing the door behind me, I carefully tiptoed behind Austin as we head outside the apartment. Our shoes rubbed against the thick, red carpet; smells of Clorox, lint balls, and cigarettes cloud my sense of direction as the brown walls didn't seem to care about my personal space.

Speaking of space, the inside hallways of the apartment are cramped; old doors were on either side of the walls with golden numbers sticking against the surface. Most entrances are clean, but some had dirty scuff marks, cracks, and unattractive blemishes.

Glued against the walls are lights you would normally see in a hotel: the bright lightbulbs are connected into a clear, glass bowl, which contains a white hue shimmering on the surface.

Taking my hand, Austin marched downstairs, where a red SUV is waiting for us. Leaning beside it is Kristy, giving me a big wave.

She has curly brown hair, matching brown eyes, and a face softer than a rose petal. Despite her forties, Kristy looks good in a low-cut black dress with pointy black heels and red lipstick.

As I nervously take a step forward, I inhaled the watermelon perfume, which was peeling off her dress, and smiled at her.

"Hi Kristy," I beamed. "You look really beautiful today."

Kristy blushed and said, "Thank you, Jack."

Then, with a sideways glance at Austin, Kristy adds teasingly, "See? At least someone cares about fashion."

Austin rolls his eyes. "I said you looked nice."

"I said you looked nice," Kristy mimicked Austin's voice. "Now really, is that any way to compliment your mother?"

"Ugh," Austin moaned.

Kristy turns her head to me then said, "My wife has a lot on her plate, so I am taking you to Ellie Jones' funeral."

My smile turned into a cheerful grin, while Austin gives her a deflated look.

"Mom, I already told Jack." he insisted. "Her dad is letting her tag along with us."

"Oh," Kristy blushed again, staring in my direction. "My apologies."

I shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"No worries," I say. "You were just making sure."

"Are you sure?" Kristy casts me a doubtful look. "I might be a pain the ass to Austin-"

"Which is half-true," Austin says as a matter of fact.

"-but, I just feel uncomfortable taking you on a trip behind your father's back." she finished in a careful tone.

I chewed my bottom lip and stared at the dark cement, agreeing what Kristy says.

It became clear to me that Kristy is afraid of him: whenever I come over to Austin's house, she would ask me five times if Joseph gave me permission to visit him.

I can't blame her, though. I mean, he did give Kristy a hard time telling her and her wife not to allowing their son to go near me.

Although they were unconvinced, Kristy and Olivia took Joseph's words to heart by buying Austin condoms and make him watch a ten-hour documentary about the birds and bees.

While his moms thought it was "educational", Austin thought it was childish and disturbing. According to him, the movie was at least thirty years old, has absolutely no color, and the guy discussing the Birds and the Bees looked like Hannibal on steroids.

Feeling his pain, I wanted to tell Kristy the truth, that Joseph doesn't want me to go to Ellie's funeral, but I fear that she'll have a pitch fit and blame everything on Austin.

"I have talked to Joseph," I lied. "He said it's cool hanging out with you guys."

"Really?" asked Kristy in surprised.

I nodded again, allowing the guilt to enter my thoughts. "Yeah, besides, he has a lot of shit to do at work."

Kristy looked at Austin, who nodded in confirmation.

"Okay, well come on in!" she exclaimed. "We have plenty of room!"

Austin and I opened each side of the car, stepped inside, and closed them behind us.

Putting on my black seatbelt, I inhaled the sweet smell of peppermint and chocolate. Black leather became soft pillows for my butt, as the cold air flew through the air conditioner and hovered close to my face.

Sitting down, Kristy straps herself in, starts the ignition, and drove away from the apartment complex.

"How are things going with you, Jack?" asked Kristy.

Other than the fact that I just disobeyed Joseph's orders, stole my mother's dress, and lied to Austin's awesome mother?

"Fine," I answered simply. "How are you doing, Mrs. Hale?"

But Kristy casually waved off my politeness.

"Just call me Kristy, " she kindly insisted.

I looked at her in disbelief.

Although I call adults by their first names, Austin's mom seems to be the only person who accepts my unruly behavior.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, " Kristy laughed. "just as long as you don't wear it out."

I smile, even though I didn't know what she meant by that.

"Austin told me so many great things about you," she went on, earning a groan from her humiliated son.

I looked at Austin in surprise.

"Really?" I asked.

Nodding cheerfully, Kristy continued, "oh yes, he says that you're beautiful, caring, strong-"

"Mom!" Austin wailed, burying his red face in his hands. "Please stop! You're embarrassing me!"

I laughed very loudly, whilst Kristy sadly shakes her head at her son's annoyed outbursts.

"You'll have to forgive Austin," she says in a modest tone. "He is very obnoxious when it comes to opening up his feelings."

"I like Jack as a friend, Mom." argued Austin in a frank tone. "She's cool in my opinion."

"And very beautiful, " Kristy added in a singsong voice.

Austin's cheeks turned bright red, feeling more embarrassed that I was sitting beside him.

He wanted to disapprove his mother's theories, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself.

So thankfully, Austin changed the subject.

"So, Jack and I are making the film," he begins to explain.

"Oh?" a surprised Kristy asked.

I rolled my eyes. "We're planning to make a film for a contest, but so far, our ideas are a piece of shit."

"I'm sure you guys can think of something," encouraged Kristy.

"Well, we did," Austin responds, pulling out two cigarettes and silver lighter from both his pockets.

After offering one to me, he lit his first, rolled down the window, and breathe out the smoke.

"We were thinking of doing a drama film, just like 'My Last Breath', but with more excitement."

"Like a thriller," I added, "but with raw... .intensity."

"Who taught you that, Jack?"

"My older brother," I answered with a smirk.

Kristy grinned until she caught Austin smoking a cigarette on the reflection of her rearview window.

"Austin!"

My best friend looked in her way.

"What?"

"Are you smoking back there?"

Putting down his recently lit cigarette, Austin nodded very glumly.

"Give it to me," Kristy demanded, "didn't I tell you that smoking gives you heart problems?"

"Maybe," Austin shrugs, handing the cigarette to her with the tip of his fingers.

Taking it, Kristy rolls her window down, tosses the cigarette out, and says to me, "What's your brother doing right now?"

"Oh, you know," I say with a shrug. "Jacob is making film productions, writing scripts, and  managing cameras."

Stretching out my arms, I asked Kristy what Olivia is doing.

Austin's mother sighed, "my wife is managing Poetry Night at Rainbow Kisses."

I scrunched my eyebrows at her. "Rainbow Kisses?"

"It's a gay bar on Main Street," Austin explained.

Kristy nodded. "Olivia and her friends are hosting the event; I called in a couple of colleagues from yoga class, choir, and gallery  thinks it will be a safe haven for closeted homosexuals."

"Oh," I say, bobbing my head. "I think what you are doing is fantastic. If people want to express themselves through art, they should keep doing it."

"Thank you," Kristy grinned, swerving the car to her left. "If my wife was here, she would appreciate your compliment."

I smiled in embarrassment, then said to Kristy: "How far is the funeral?"

Austin's mother pondered at my question while speeding down the green stoplight. Three or four cars gained on her tail, but Kristy ignored them.

Instead, she stayed focused on the road ahead of her; checking her mirror twice, gripping the steering wheel, and looking at the gas mileage.

"I don't know, it is like—Kristy did some calculations in her head—thirty miles from the apartment complex."

Austin's jaw begins to drop.

"Thirty miles?" he gasped.

Even I looked at her funny. Never did I imagine the funeral home would be this far. But regardless, I trusted Kristy. She was artsy, quirky, and has the personality of a comedian.

Looking back at my childhood, I have never seen my own mother crack a smile unless Joseph or my older brother Jacob buys her a bottle of medicated pills.

Most days Isadora would spend an hour watching over me, but often times, she would lie in bed, cradling an empty wine bottle.

Shaking away from the memory, I glanced at Austin casually talking to Kristy then suddenly became jealous.

To me, I thought Kristy is—always will be—the most perfect mother in the entire world. Sure she can be a little bit strict, but Kristy knows how to turn a frown into a huge smile.

Speaking of Austin's mother, Kristy's tired left hand abandoned the black leather steering wheel, as she asked her son for an unused cigarette.

Casually, Austin reached into his pocket, took out a white stick, then offered it to her. Thanking him, Kristy plucks the untouched cigarette between her middle and index finger, sticks it into her mouth, then resumed driving.

As she continued heading northwest, Austin groaned, "why does it take us thirty minutes to drive to a funeral home? That's B.S."

"I know it's a very long drive." she agreed, wriggling the cigarette stick between her teeth. "but since we have twenty minutes to spare, we should be lucky we are not in traffic."

But unfortunately, as she steered to her right, a row of thirty cars blocked her path. Muttering, Kristy tries to back out, but when she glanced at her mirror, she noticed more vehicles standing behind her.

Like Kristy, the drivers were all waiting for the traffic to cease, but unlike her, they all banged their hands against the car horn.

Looking over her shoulder, I squinted my eyes and noticed that the stoplights were bright crimson, the lanes have been already filled with cars, and much to my chagrin, there was absolutely nowhere to turn.

While his mother slammed her head against the driving wheel, Austin and I let out a long, torturing groan, then prayed for the stoplights to turn green.

But then again, New York is known for its losing war on traffic jams. So, how is praying for a fucked up stoplight going to change anything?