[Anela]

When I unlock the front door, I know Aiden is home by muddy footprints on the floor. That boy is always sneaking off, scavenging the woods. My apartment is otherwise clean, but basic. The apartment's personality screams Target, which makes me feel poor. If I spent all my money decorating this apartment though, I would never be able to save up enough money for a house. My son and I are so close to the house of our dreams.

Most of the items are stolen, anyways. It's not like I put a lot of effort into my home.

"Did you go out again?" I call out to Aiden, dropping my bag of food onto the counter. Carefully, I extract the items hidden in my big jacket. There is no response. Maverick comes running down the hall, slobber dripping from his large, open jaws. His looks are intimidating, but Maverick was afraid of anything, from latex balloons to the fridge door closing. Rottweilers truly were the biggest babies.

Crouching down, I scratch behind his big, floppy ears. His neck instantly turns to the side, enveloped in pure bliss.

"Where's Aiden?" I ask him. At the sound of his owner's name, the dog perks up. Trotting on the linoleum floor, Maverick leads me into my son's room. He's lying flat on his bed, legs kicking the air. A notebook is in front of him, and he's pressing different mushrooms onto the paper, taking notes, measuring the shrooms. "Drug dealing now" I joke, plopping down next to him.

My son hardly would take an ibuprofen, nevertheless do something that risky. Aiden doesn't respond. Maverick whimpers, lying his large head on his big paws. His rooms is covered in wildlife. Tanks of snakes, lizards, and frogs are basically stacked on top of each other. A uncaged bird sits on his desk, pecking at the hard wood. Books are piled on top of each other. He never wanted a bookcase, he thought that would look disorganized.

Ripping out the airpod that seems to basically be tapped to my son's brain I repeat my question. "Drug dealing, are we?"

Aiden rolls his eyes. His curly, brown hair is getting long again, nearly covering his eyes. I have tp find a time to cut it again. Bringing him to a barber is too risky. He's only fifteen. He hasn't aged out of the system yet. If they found him, he would still have to do three years in foster care. After what I had to go through in the system, I would rather stay holed up in this little room than be placed in someone else's home.

"No, I'm taking prints. If I can learn to identify edible mushrooms, than we would have a new, free source of food on our hands. I could even sell some. You do too much, I want to help out, too."

That was my son. The naturalist. The helper. Everything he did was for the world around him. That's why he had so many animals. Anything he saw that looked like it was in trouble he helped. Snakes frozen in the winter. Lizards with a mangled foot. Anything. It was even how he had come to own Maverick, whose owner always left it outside with it's leash tied to a drain pipe. No food. No water. Until Aiden took him home. I'm sure it's one of the reasons Maverick was so attached to him.

"You can't go out during school hours. Officers might ask you why you're not in class," I remind him softly.

"I have an ID, mom."

"A fake ID, baby. Remember that. It looks legit, but it won't scan on a cop's computer."

"I know what I'm doing," he argues. "I can hide if I need to."

When I was his age, that's what I had thought too. I hadn't realized how many eyes were always watching. How many people would snitch for a gold star and a pat on the back.

"I just don't want you being taken away," I said, truthfully. "I have an appointment tonight, but I have time for whatever the hell you're going to make with chipotle adobe and water chestnuts."

My son's eyes light up. Even though he is only fifteen, he is already 5'10, and have far outgrown the apartment. His brown, curly afro-like hair sticks out all around his head. There's something about him that looks aloof, like a character in a cartoon. He's not used to this society. I can tell by the way he talks to me, the innocence and genuinity of his words. Until he is older, he will never understand.

In the kitchen, he rummages through the items I have brought home. He is grateful, I can see it in his eyes. Sometimes, I hate coming home in the evenings. It makes it even harder to leave him during the night.

"Wow," he exclaims. "You are going to be blown away by the chipotle veggie curry I'm making. And, I'm going to add some of the mushrooms I've found out are edible, too."

"Don't poison me with them," I say. "I'll be right back."

Disappearing into the hallway, I duck into the bathroom. There were a few items I made sure not to leave on the counter for him to see. One being the pregnancy test package. Staring at the cardboard package, I dread the next minute of my life. Becoming is easy, but finding out is hard. It never feels real until you're sitting there, staring at the results of your actions.

With a deep breath, I pee on the stick until I can't anymore. It only tells you to do it for four seconds, but I'm scared to look at it. I put it on the counter and bury my face in my hands.

On the results, there isn't just one little line. There's two. Even after all these years, I know what that means. Blinking the tears out of my eyes, I wrap it up with toilet paper and dump it into the garbage. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do now. There are so many paths. I could abort, I could not. I could tell my son, I could not.

One thing is clear to me. My son and I need to get out of this fucking country.

After wiping my tears away, I step out of the bathroom. I can do this.

The house smells good, full of rich spices and buttered mushrooms. Aiden's curls bounce as he flips a plate of mushrooms in his pan. Then, he throws the pan down to go stir a bubbling pot. I wonder what his sibling would be like, if they would be as caring and kind as he was. Than I shake my head. I can't think about that kind of stuff. For all I know, I could be getting an abortion tomorrow at the black-market clinic. Nowadays, they have vans full of supplies that will take care of that problem, for a price.

In another moment, my son is plating my portion and placing the plate in front of me.

"How does it look?" he asks, with his usual lopsided grin.

"It looks perfect," I smile, giving his hand a squeeze.

He goes to clean the kitchen, but I beckon him to the table. 'Don't worry about that, I can clean up before I leave for work."

Aiden joins me at the table.

"Actually, mom, I wanted to talk to you about that. I was thinking, that if I worked everyday to harvest edible plants and mushrooms, could you sell them for a living instead of... going out?"

I swallow hard. Having your child be disappointed in your work is like a knife to the chest.

"I don't think that would make enough money." I tell him, than pick up my empty plate. "I have to get ready baby, okay? I'll be back before midnight." Leaning forward, I plant a kiss on his forehead. I wish it didn't have to be like this. In the depths of his hazel eyes, I can see how lonely he is in this quiet apartment. He has his animals and books, but how long can those keep someone happy?

I tilt his chin back to look into my eyes.

"Give me one more year, okay? I promise you by than we will move to Vancouver okay?"

Vancouver, where there wasn't restrictions on who could get pregnant. Where food was more accessible and jobs hadn't been taken over by AI inventions.

"I can wait one more year mom, but I can't do this for the rest of my life."

I give him a sad smile.

"You won't have to."

Back in the bathroom, I dip another pregnancy test in the empty toilet so it reads negative. I put it in an empty jewelry box, and on my wait out, leave it on the neighbors door. He doesn't need to know the truth. It's his kid, but it's not his problem. Besides, I'm fucking keeping the baby. My children are too perfect to be killed six weeks into life in the back of some illegal, unsantary van.