Debra was surprised to find her son both awake and hogging the hall bathroom. He was engaged in a very frustrating and clearly futile attempt to take up personal grooming. The last time he put this much effort into his hair, it was to contest a speed infraction in traffic court. Thrilled at the midday appearance, she whipped up a few slices of French Toast on sliced wheat bread and set the table with margarine, pancake syrup, and his coffee mug. As grown up as he might be, she still enjoyed smothering him when he sat still.
She drank her coffee at the dining room table like a civilized person, scrolling through her phone when he finally made his debut. Squeaky clean and shiny as a brand-new coin, he managed to make himself look so awkward that Nikki felt a twinge of pity muddled with pride. His wet hair awkwardly parted, and he wore an old polo shirt from a B-list celebrity golf tournament he worked in his sophomore year of high school for community service hours. She remembered taking him shopping, and how excited he was to meet a celebrity, but that was back when he still talked.
Shuffling in self-consciously, he muttered a good morning to his mother, kissed her on top of her head, and slid into his seat at the table without another word. Nikki didn’t need a thank you, but a grunt might be nice.
He slathered his lukewarm French toast in margarine that didn’t quite melt and poured a generous helping of maple-flavored breakfast syrup over the plate, leaving his breakfast looking like an atoll or island floating in a sea of sticky liquid. Cutting monstrous bites, he cleared a slice in just a few mouthfuls.
“So,” she interrupted his feeding, “got any plans today?”
He stopped chewing and blinked at her, deciding, probably, on whatever lie he preferred to get out of the discussion. Swallowing hard he took a deep breath. “I have a date?” he asked, as if it might be a trick question.
“You have a 'date.' Is that some sort of slang or something?”
“No, mom. A real date.” He hunkered over his breakfast, guarding it like a feral cat.
“Take it easy, honey, chew.” She patted his hand, admiring how good he looked clean-shaven, in a simple collared shirt. Still a little ruddy-cheeked from his shower, she thought she detected a slight blush. “So, an official date, huh?”
“It's just coffee, mom.”
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
She nodded, wondering if the spa in Indio even had a big blonde masseuse, or if it was inappropriate to ask. “Well, good for you, honey.”
His hair was parted severely, and while he had attempted to coif it into something remotely stylish, he only succeeded in making himself look uncomfortable. Content in knowing that they were finally making it official, Debra relaxed into the ineluctability of the match. There was never any doubt it would happen; the only question was when.
“Honey, you know that I love you exactly as you are.” She stroked the back of his hand to soothe him like she had as a toddler. Still effective as a subconscious technique, she lifted his chin with her knuckle to make eye contact.
He squirmed slightly, embarrassed.
“And if she’s worth it, she will too,” she said, smiling with a soft pride that inevitably embarrassed him, even in the privacy of their kitchen.
He nodded, reluctantly grateful for the motherly encouragement, just until she reached up and ruffled his hair, entirely undoing all of his careful grooming. “So don’t go trying to change, wouldja?”
Although he grumbled a disgruntled protest, he didn’t bother to get up and check his hair but smoothed it back out. “It’s just coffee, mom.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may,” she checked the clock above the stove, realizing that she still had errands to run before work, collected her phone and mug, and pulled her robe closed tighter. “God gave a man two heads, and only enough blood to run one at a time.” He nearly choked on his French toast bite and began shoveling the rest into his face hole as fast as he could. “So, wear a damn condom, son.”
He stared at her, his face contorted into revulsion and blank horror. "Ma!"
“What?” she asked. “I’m still too young to be a grandmother, and I think Donna would agree, so you kids just be safe, alright.”
Austin moved around her like a blur of anxious teen awkwardness, cramming the last bite down even as he set the plate with the remaining puddle of syrup into the kitchen sink and brushed past his mother without a goodbye kiss. Given the topic of discussion, Nikki understood. “Now, go get her, tiger!” Mortified to superspeed, he was across the lawn to his pickup truck and zipping down the street before Nikki could lock the screen door behind him.
For lack of a better father figure, she hoped that a brief safe sex reminder should suffice. Short of cheering him on with a rallying cry of ‘boobies!’ She was confident that his public education had taught him enough to make him a menace but hoped that Jynx would set him straight finally. At least he knew she was willing to talk about it if he had any questions, even if the idea horrified him.
Nikki finished clearing the table, rinsed off his plate and fork, and loaded them into the dishwasher. At the very least, they would probably end up living in their own apartment soon, and Jynx could learn to pick up after him. She took a few moments to text Donna while she watered her sad little tomato garden: “Still off Friday? Making appointments in Indio. You fly, I’ll buy.” Droopy leaves and all, she inspected the latest attempted gardening failure and wondered when it was time to build herself a proper greenhouse like Mr. Englehorn had.
“Satisfied?” Donna responded.
Poor choice of words, Nikki mused.