I pull up on the sidewalk in front of our house, park, and pop the lock on the scooter. Running up the long flight of steps to the first floor, I fumble for my house key.

“Mom? John?”

Did I mention my Dad is actually my stepdad? Small but important detail.

“In here, honey.” My Mom calls out from the kitchen area at the rear of the house.

My mother named me Skylar because she doesn’t know who my real dad is. We're free of that detail. When my Mom was younger, and I say younger because she’s way old now, like 68, she couldn’t find a man who she thought was worth having children with. So, she swore to herself that if she hadn’t met anyone by the time she was 45, she would use a sperm donor.

So that’...

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