October 14, 2015. Wednesday. 10:17 am.
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"Mom, you don't need that much squash," I complained as my mother piled two more squashes into the basket. We were at the Farmers Market in Smallville, she's always brought me along every year since I was twelve when we lived in the city, but now that it was practically down the road from her home she was too excited.

My mother just moved into a beautiful house with half an acre of land in Smallville and Perry had granted me leave so I could help her settle in. After my father had died of pancreatic cancer last year, she couldn't take living in their big house anymore. So she moved out here, against the protest of my sisters and me, and had me come down to go to every other farmer's market they had every other month.

With the hope of my job picking up and more and more assignments coming my way I'd have to decline the next few visits. It was getting way too expensive to drive down here a weekend out of each month anyway.

"Yes, I do. They're reasonably priced and I read that they help fight cancer, plus I want to make more of that soup you liked," She quipped placing one more into my basket.

My mother was average height with dark curly brown hair and light brown skin that looked to not age a day since she turned thirty-two. She gave up meat after I was born and has been a vegetarian for over twenty years. I was always her guinea pig for new recipes and even though I hated vegetarian anything I loved the Butternut Squash soup she had made. My sisters never had to try any of her experiments.

She had a weird obsession with staying healthy and eating right. Probably because my father died of cancer and she blamed it on not taking care of your body and not on the fact that he carried the cancer gene and it was triggered.

"How was the date with the detective?" She asked finally pulling away from the vegetable stand. She linked her arm with mine after I switched the basket to my other hand.

"Great, if you like being taken to a stakeout and being fed horrible sausage sandwiches from a restaurant that looked condemned, then, by all means, he gets the best date ever award," I replied dryly.

"Don't be silly, Annie,"

"I'm not. That's what happened. He even left me in the car to arrest them! So I left and went home. The date was horrible, mom,"

"I'm sorry- I had thought he'd be perfect for you,"

"Because he was a detective?" I asked.

"Well, yeah! He's a detective you're a big city reporter. You were born to date him," She chimed as we headed to the car.

"That's such a clichéd way of looking at it, mom. How about you don't set me up on dates anymore?" I stated tossing the basket of squash into the back seat of her truck.

"You're not getting any younger, Annie,"

"Just drive, please. I'm not in the mood for your 'eggs-are-going-to-shrivel-up-in-your dried-out-fallopian-tubes' rant right now," I explained looking over at her.

"I don't give that speech often,"

"Just about every time I see you," I scoffed.

"You don't see me very often," she countered.

"Now you know why,"

"Ouch, OK. I deserved that,"

When we arrived at her house, her neighbor was standing outside my mom's house, a basket on her hip. She was an older woman maybe around my mom's age, in her early fifties; she had shoulder length brown hair and a beautiful smile. I think my mom said her name was Martha.

"Hey, Martha. Come on in," My mother greeted.

"Carla, I see you got more squash," Martha said excitedly as she followed us into the house, "I brought some eggs over,"

I went back to the kitchen to let the older women converse. My cell phone chirped in my back pocket, and I glanced at the screen briefly before doing a double take.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Ms. Westmore, it's Perry,"

"What can I help you with?" I asked as I moved about the kitchen putting away the vegetables and other knick-knacks my mother had gotten. She had a salt and pepper shaker that looked like pigs, rolling my eyes. I set it on the island and proceeded to put away the rest of the groceries.

"Well, Lois is showing more interest in another story, so I'm offering you the interview," Perry explained. I was trying to contain my excitement about actually doing real reporter things. I was pacing back and forth in front of the opened fridge. The goat milk I had meant to sit on the shelf was still clenched in my hand.

"When is the interview?"

"October 28th. It's a Wednesday when you come on Monday. I'll have Lois fill you in and give you her files on him,"

"Him? Who exactly am I interviewing, Perry?" I asked suddenly scared I was going to be interviewing a mob boss or some murderer on death row. What he said next was not who I was expecting at all.

"You'll be interviewing the Man of Steel, himself," He responded.

"Superman?" I gasped. The milk I was holding slipped from my grasp and splattered to the floor, its contents splashing at my bare legs, "Shit! Sorry, Perry. I dropped goat milk. I'd love to interview him! Thank you!"

"It's alright, Ms. Westmore, I understand the excitement. I know you're still settling into not being the errand girl anymore, but I have confidence that you'll do great. Come in early Monday morning. We have a lot to discuss."

"Thank you so much! I won't disappoint!" I said happily.

The minute I set my phone on the counter an excited squeal erupted from me and I danced around the kitchen completely forgetting the milk on the floor.

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