Cinnamon Muffins Chapter 2: This Weird Guy Lives on a Suburban Pullout Couch Now

Spoilers: I introduce the most healthy parents you've ever seen

Wes takes a long sip from the steaming mug, not reacting to the temperature even though it must be scalding. The tea is decaf- Martha Post hates it when her son drinks caffeine before bed.

"Th-thanks, Mom," he says softly.

Martha nods. "Want to tell me why you're bringing home unconscious boys in the middle of the night?" She's biting back a frustrated, worried scream because she knows it won't help.

Wes nods back. "He wa-was sleep-eeping under the b-bridge by C-C-Clearwater Str-St-Street."

Martha is not pleased with how much Wes is stuttering. Nowadays, he only stutters that bad when he's panicking. She leans back in her chair and gives Wes a sympathetic smile and she gives herself a sigh. "Alright, kiddo," she says, "I'm going to leave the rest of this conversation for tomorrow when you're more relaxed, but I do want to know what happened." It won't help anything to get Wes all wound-up and scared right before bed.

"Honey?" Richard Post calls from the living room, "This kid's running a fever. We still have that acetaminophen in the cabinet?" Well, that explains why her son, bleeding heart that he is, sprinted home with him. Now the only question is literally everything else.

"It's the blue bottle next to the decongestion medicine, dear. Look in the medicine cabinet."

"Found it. Thanks, honey."

Wes has downed half of that decaf tea, and Martha decides it's bedtime now. Her son looks as wired as an electric panel during business hours, but she knows he'll turn off like a circuit breaker the moment his head hits the pillow.

"Alright, Wes,” she says, patting his elbow to prompt him to stand, “let's get you to bed." He’s taller than she is now, but there’s still the stubborn part of her muscle memory determined to scoop her son into her arms and rock him like he’s a toddler.

"B-bu-b-but Mom, T-Tay-aylor's-" This is that Taylor? The one her son can't shut up about? The one he gave a free cinnamon muffin to the other day? That Taylor? Martha swallows a smirk.

"Taylor will be fine, kiddo," she reassures him. "Your dad and I will take care of it. You go to sleep so you can be ready for that test tomorrow." That reminder works to get him to acquiesce to bedtime.

It’s rare she’s up for his bedtime, and she savors the walk to Wes’s room and the way he kicks his shoes off and falls into bed. His feet almost hang off the edge. Martha had been right about him being like a circuit breaker; he's already asleep. Maybe he’s mostly grown up now, outgrowing a lot of their help, but she tucks his comforter around his shoulders and turns off his lights before going into the hallway to meet Richard.