The faucet to the sink ran as Mum scrubbed the pots, music playing from her phone on the counter. Nothing had changed. It wasn’t going to. Ricky had accepted that, at this point. His hair had grown long enough to pull back into a ponytail, and he could feel his mother thinking it needed a cut, that it was too long for a boy. His pants with the floral patches were too girly for her son. Even that wasn’t enough to break her silence.