Sometimes you laughed because your friends were laughing.
Sometimes you said stupid things because you wanted attention.
I didn’t want an argument.
More importantly, I didn’t want Mason stuck in the middle of one.
So I kept my tone light and polite.
“He’s just a baby,” I said, smiling slightly. “It happens. No need to make fun of him.”
I expected that to end it.
Maybe he’d roll his eyes.
Maybe his friends would lose interest.
Instead, the teenager looked delighted that I had responded.
That only made him laugh harder.
“Maybe something’s wrong with him,” he said, grinning at his friends. “Like, defective or something.”
Something inside me changed instantly.
I could tolerate someone being annoyed by crying.
I could even tolerate immature jokes.
But hearing someone describe my son like he was a broken product made every protective instinct in me flare at once.
I felt my whole body go tense.
