drabble: sweatshirt
It was so nice having both of the girls home for the weekend. It was only two months into their first semester at college, and Jane couldn’t believe how much she missed them.
Sam had come home last night, and Brooke arrived early that morning-before breakfast. Jane was so happy she offered to do Brooke’s laundry (Sam-of course-had stopped by during the week and done hers).
Jane folded the clothes, and noticed a red sweatshirt. “Brooke?” Jane asked, “What’s a USC sweatshirt doing in your laundry?” Her daughter Sam had gone to USC, but Brooke had chosen to attend UCLA on the other side of town. Their colors were the unmistakable blue and gold.
“Oh,” Brooke blushed, “That’s a friend of mine’s.”
Brooke’s expression did not escape Jane’s notice. “Just a friend?” she teased.
Brooke smiled adorably and her face turned red-all the confirmation Jane needed. “We’ve been dating for about a month now,” Brooke confessed. “It--” she trailed off.
“Is it serious?” Jane smiled.
Brooke nodded. “I think so,” she beamed. “I think this is the one. We’ve talked about my transferring to USC next semester.”
“Well, Brooke, that’s wonderful,” she said, embracing the girl she’d come to think of as a daughter. Brooke pulled away and wiped a tear from her eye.
The blonde rolled her eyes at herself. “Sorry,” she laughed. “I guess I’m just really hoping this works out.”
“Me too,” Jane agreed. “When are we going to meet this person?”
“We planned to tell you guys on Thanksgiving,” Brooke smiled.
“Well I’ll try to act surprised when I meet him,” Jane winked.
Brooke grinned. “I think you will be,” she waggled her eyebrows. Spontaneously, Brooke kissed her on the cheek and headed off to the kitchen.
Jane smiled to herself, really happy with the relationship that had grown between the two of them.
Her own daughter passed by the door of the laundry room and stopped.
“There’s my sweatshirt!” she gushed. “I’ve been looking all over for that.”
“Your sweatshirt?”
“Uh huh,” Sam confirmed. “I was wondering where I left that."
Sam quirked an eyebrow at her mother. “Why are you looking at me like that...?”