Mother comes to stay with jilted lonely son
‘I haven’t heard from you in a while, Steven. Is everything okay?’ read my mother’s message. Immediately I was reminded how long it had been since we last spoke and of how I must have been the world’s shittiest son.
I’m that guy who isolates himself when depression and stress take their toll. I don’t think about how long it takes to get back up to speed. All I care about is that nobody feels burdened with me. But when home becomes the problem, a trap for all my prevalent insecurities, I tend to hide at work instead.
My work ethic had already cost me my fiancée, or so I’d thought. She not only took with her the ring I put on her finger, she took it and pawned it so that she could “help” to pay off her secret loser boyfriend’s debts.
How about that? Not only does Carol fall for a bigger piece of shit than I allegedly was, she leaves me for a complete dead loss; a social and emotional parasite who will no doubt leave her in utter ruin. Good luck, Carol. Enjoy that while it lasts.
So I bade good riddance and moved on the only way I knew how. I got sick to death of making myself miserable and ploughed through my work. When my mother got in touch, I was quick to see the light of day. I had a lot of making up to do…
2
I called her. ‘Hi, mum, I’m sorry I haven’t spoken in a while,’ I said, wasting no time.
‘Been keeping yourself busy no doubt; keeping your mind off the bitch?’ she asked.
‘I should have listened,’ I began to apologise. She wouldn’t have it, though.
‘I never really disapproved,’ mum asserted. ‘You were so happy with her.’
‘But you had your doubts…’
‘But I hate being proven right, Steven,’ she said apologetically. ‘Forgive me?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive, mum,’ I assured. ‘It was my choice. And I never stopped loving you or wanting to speak to you. I just didn’t want to appear as pathetic as I’ve felt lately. I don’t like being seen miserable like I’ve been.’
‘I have next week off. I could come and take up some of that newly acquired space of yours,’ she slyly jested. My heart immediately lifted at the suggestion. ‘We could keep each other company. I’m not really getting back into this singles game like I thought I might.’
‘I’d love that,’ I beamed. ‘I could introduce you to a new cuisine I’ve been trying out. It’s called “Sad Beans a la Tin Can”.’
She gasped and struggled then to hold back. I could hear the faint hint of a giggle batting from behind her pursed lips. ‘I’ll cook as always. Want me to bring anything?’ she asked.
‘Just your beautiful self, mum,’ I smiled, and notably for the first time in a while.
3
My mother’s name is Sara. At forty two she’s seventeen years older than me. My father didn’t stick around. Rather than count on the system to raise me for her, she worked her ass off and went to night school to study accounting, and rocketed me through college while working her ass off even harder to provide for the both of us.
We’ve had a unique relationship through the years, growing up, and as an adult. Being that we went through a short line of potential suitors for husband and replacement father figure, I guess you could say I matured pretty quickly, and also grew fiercely protective and loyal to her. We’re also pretty liberal-minded. She had her flings as well as her boyfriends, and so she was never in a position to deny me that either, but it was never a priority for either of us.
For the last few years Sara was engaged to an older guy, Oliver, who seemed to be the real deal. That was more or less the situation that gave me the push to get out onto my own two feet and to go make something of myself. He was the last man to lead her along. After that she grew tired of trying.
Sara is 5’5″ with wispy blonde hair and glows with fair skin, and with few lines and faint creases other than laughter lines. Stress takes its toll, but in her case I think it just expresses character. She always somehow thrived off stress, unlike me. She has a lot of character, and something of a dual personality that’s as motherly as it is carefree. I wish I was only as confident as she was in herself. It’s meeting and trusting new people where she lacks confidence, and now I see why.
She also has a great figure with all the right curves and just enough cuddle where it counts. God knew I was counting on those cuddles. She wears these sleek silver-rimmed glasses that ever so slightly magnify her cool blue eyes. When she smiles I forget everything else around me.
Mum planned to drop into town on the Friday. That gave me enough time to talk my situation over with the boss so that I could grab a week off for some much needed de-stressing. Ron asked me what took so long, stating that he could see that I was struggling and that my work was suffering. He was quick to give me some time off. So mum wouldn’t have to sit around bored waiting for me to get home every night.
I met her at the terminal at 4pm with a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, grabbed her luggage and drove her to the supermarket to grab some amenities, and then home where immediately we opened the white wine as she flew about the kitchen preparing some much needed home cooking, the way nobody else knew how.
There was nothing like my mother’s cooking. After living off of tinned food and microwave dinners, the heavenly, hearty, aroma of the spaghetti and meatballs, bolognese sauce and garlic bread had my stomach grumbling anticipation as I tipped back the wine, watching mum work her magic. And the wine was getting to me quickly – empty stomach!
‘It’s nice to see a real woman in the kitchen again,’ I said without thinking. She thought that over and laughed to herself.
‘No contest,’ she said immodestly and grinned as she sampled the sauce and then brought the spoon to my mouth. The rich tomato, garlic and herb flavours might have brought tears of joy to my eyes had I not already felt the alcohol’s effects. I groaned my full approval and nodded.
‘Good?’
‘Amazing,’ I declared gratefully. I was up in an instant, wrapping my arms around my mother and holding her close to me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered discreetly into her shoulder, ‘I can’t help myself. I’m happy to see you again.’
‘Okay,’ she said with a slightly startled tone. Behind me one arm stuck out at an awkward angle as she tried to keep her wooden spoon at a safe distance. Light-heartedly she warned, ‘let’s not get saucy…’
I took a step back, awkwardly looked at her, and then when she moved my attention to the tomato sauce-covered spoon in her hand, I abandoned concern for laughter. Setting the pans to a lower simmer, she turned back to me, took my cheeks in her hands and kissed me full on the lips, soft, warm, and full of love. I fell right into it and reciprocated with a loving smooch, inhaling her and pulling her into me by her shoulders.
‘I’ve missed that,’ I told her.
‘Me too,’ she consoled. Then, ‘why did you stop talking to me? I was afraid I’d done something wrong.’
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