Grown-ish Apr 2026

She looks at her own couch—a thrifted monstrosity with a mysterious stain shaped like Florida. She types back: "Only if you bring oat milk."

Zoe's mom texts: "So… grandkids?"

(Not joking) It's called adulthood.

Kombucha isn't a currency.

That's not comforting.

It's 2 AM. The oat milk is gone. The synth from Aaron's apartment can be heard three blocks away. Zoe is trying to log into her student loan portal. She's been locked out six times.

And to not knowing what we're doing.

(To herself) Was my birthday my password? No. My dog's name? No. "Password123"? That's too honest.

Never eat brunch? That's not a plan. That's a crime against humanity.

Maya bursts in, still in her work blazer, mascara smeared. grown-ish

Zoe hangs up and sighs. Her phone buzzes. A text from Aaron: "U up? My roommate brought home a synth. Need to escape. Couch available?"

My dad says the first year after college is just a very long Tuesday.