A.R.M.

Mom blocks out the sky like an eclipse. "Nathaniel? What are you doing?"
"Dying."
"Don't talk back to me, young man," she says. She looks at the pothole between my legs. "Did you throw up?"
"Morning sickness."
"You're not the one who's pregnant. You can't have morning sickness," she says with a huff. She missed the joke entirely.
"I ran too hard," I correct myself.
"Get out of the middle of the road and get in the car. We're going home."
I search her face for the answer the sky couldn't give me. "Do you think I can be a good dad?"
She sighs heavily, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just get in the car, please."

Published in Issue MMXXIV.II by The Taborian