Me and Ahna both stared at her as she walked out. Ahna was standing by the doorway, I was laying on the bed with my face flushed, on the brink of tears. I looked over at Ahna.
“Why did you do that?” I asked her.
“You always have to ruin everything!”
Ahna walked over to me at the bed and sat down.
“Sweetheart...” She said.
My face was staring down, I didn’t want to lift my head up to look at her. Ahna’s my biological mother, but I don’t call her “mom” or “mommy” because me and her decided on that a while ago. When I was eight I fell down the monkey bars at school during recess. I broke my arm as a result and screamed out “MOMMY!” in pain. All the kids turned to look at me and laughed. Everybody teased me and called me a “mama’s boy”. I told Ahna and me and her decided that I should just start calling her by her first name. Even though she just turned 41 and still very young, and I don’t call her mom or mommy. I will always be her little boy, I think she knows that.