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“Coming, mom!” Kenta shouted from the floor of the living room, lacing up his sneakers.
You stood in front of the door, having just come down the steps. You held your keys around your index finger, spinning them idly. “Don’t rush, sweetie. If you tie them wrong you’ll end up tripping.”
“Tch.” Kenta stood. “I’m not a baby anymore, mom. I’m not gonna fall.” He laughed at the idea like it was something outrageous, beneath him, but the moment he tried walking to the door, he tripped over his own foot.
You couldn’t hold your laughter back even with a hand over your mouth. His cockiness catching up to him really cracked you up.
Kenta kicked at the ground, stepping back and sitting himself on the couch before angrily redoing his laces. “It’s not funny! I swear there must’ve been something on the ground or something! The floor is messed up!”
“Aww, Kenta,” you cooed. “It’s just the world’s way of saying you’ll always be my baby.”
Kenta rolled his eyes before standing up and, noticeably much more carefully, made his way to the door. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m not a baby. I’m a grown ass man.”
“You’re fifteen,” you deadpanned.
“Whatever. You’re just old,” he huffed, crossing his arms.
He was cute even when he was trying to rile you up.
You brushed him off with a smile and opened the door, letting Kenta walk off to the car on his own as you locked the front door of the house. You unlocked the car with the button on the key before opening the driver’s seat door and heading inside, seeing Kenta already strapped in by his seatbelt.
You remembered the times when Kenta was littler, needing to be strapped into his baby seat in the back. He was still small enough to fit in your arms in your mind. It was hard to believe that he was steadily nearing the age where he would be taking your spot up front, making his own choices and going out into the world.
“Mom?” He asked. “Are we gonna go?”
You smiled at him. “Of course. Just making sure my little boy is strapped in good. I don’t know how I’d live if my baby wasn’t safe and sound.”
“You make it sound like I can’t already handle myself.”
“Maybe taking care of you is just my way of showing how much I love you,” you said, quickly going through the routine of checking your mirrors, adjusting, and strapping yourself in before backing out of the driveway.
Kenta stared at you as you did everything, only mumbling a response once you had set off. “Maybe handling myself is me loving you.”