“Tell me about Phil Heartthrob, then,” asked the son Baker.
“What’s there to tell? Your *father* couldn’t do the deed so I had to hire a surrogate. Winter in Alps. Remember?”
“I remember. Can I call you… mom?”
“No, keep referring to me as Old Grey. As you can tell by my appearance it’s a name that applies more now. Before I was only 43 to your 8. Yet still you remembered me as ancient. How do I look now? Like a *mummy*, hehe?”
“No,” Baker lied. “You look fine. You look young,” he added, but immediately knew he’d taken it too far.
“Just like your father. Never saying what you really feel. I was never who you thought I was.”
She changed.
