Mommy knows best

Chapter 5

The next day was Sunday. I awoke to the sound of movement elsewhere in the house. I glanced at my clock and groaned. Just after 9am was too early to get up on a Sunday - even on those Sundays when I didn't have a hang over. A slight headache and a touch of queasiness bore witness to the fact that I was more used to the occasional beer than I was to wine and champagne. Of course, once even half-awake I had to get up to go to the bathroom and, of course, once I had been to the bathroom I was wide awake with no chance of getting more sleep, even if I did go back to bed. I pulled my robe on over my boxers and wandered downstairs.

My mother was making a cup of tea. She smiled at me. "Sit down. Toast will be a minute." She put a cup on the table in front of me.

"Thanks, Mum."

"How did you sleep? I think you were starting to fray at the edges by the time you went to bed." Mum started to wash some dishes and cups.

"Slept fine but I feel a little iffy this morning." I got up and went over to my mother. I stood behind her, holding her shoulders, and bent my head down to kiss the top of her head. "Thanks, Mum. It was a brilliant night." I sat back at the table and nursed my cup. The tea was still too hot to drink.

My mother looked over at me. "Good grief, you really did have a lot to drink, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Before this morning, when was the last time you kissed your poor old mum?"

"Last night."

"No, I kissed you last night: a peck on the cheek. When was the last time you gave me a kiss?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Christmas, probably."

"And it's now June," she said.

"That sounds really bad," I said. It did sound bad. She was teasing and I knew it, but even in jest she had a point.

My mum has always been great: kind, patient, understanding. She's a good laugh, great to talk to and she's always taken great care of me and my dad. She does all the mum things: cooking, housework, laundry, but she's also found time to run a part-time catering business and - a couple of years back - to do an Open University degree in psychology. She plays piano and has a broad taste in music. She even likes a lot of the same contemporary bands that I do, and she always copies my CDs and MP3s onto her phone. I had never felt that she was not my real mother or she did not have that kind of connection with me but to be honest, the fact that we did not share any DNA must be making me far more bolder than I normally am.

I didn't take her for granted. I swear I really did appreciate my mum. I knew how intelligent, cool and hardworking and generally awesome she was. But as I sat in the kitchen while she joked about me never giving her a kiss I had a kind of epiphany moment. She was right. I never did give her a kiss, or a hug (although she would sometimes casually hug me in passing). Nor did I tell her I loved her or that I appreciated all that she did for us.

I actually felt ashamed. She was only teasing - my mum never complained or grumbled - she wasn't really scolding me for my neglect, but I felt as guilty as hell. For the second time in 24 hours I felt my eyes fill with water. I mumbled something about needing the bathroom before breakfast and beat a hasty retreat.

As I stood at the bathroom sink washing my face I resolved to show my mother the appreciation she deserved, and that I really did feel. After all, I was 19 now - time to start acting like a grown up rather than like a selfish kid.

I went back for my toast and sat down at the table. Mum looked at me curiously as she put a rack of toast and a clean plate in front of me. "You all right?"

"Yes, fine." I said confidently. And promptly burst into tears. For heaven's sake, what the hell was the matter with me?

Mum was taken aback. She hesitated for just the briefest moment then she hurried back to me and threw her arms around my head, hugging my face to her chest. "Oh, baby. What's wrong?"

I gently pushed her back just enough to free my face from her large, soft bosom.

"Apart from not being able to breathe?" I said, smiling sheepishly through my tears. "I love you, Mum."

"I love you too, Alex; but what on earth's wrong?"

I explained, as lucidly as I could, the revelation I had experienced as she had teased me. I told her how ashamed and devastated I had been at the realisation that I never showed her how much I loved her.

"Oh, baby, don't be silly. It really is probably still the wine from last night that's making you feel all sentimental. Don't worry, you'll be back to normal by lunchtime." She tipped my head up and kissed my forehead.

"I know you love me, Alex. I don't need you to carry a banner around. We're just not the kind of family who make love into a display."

It was true. I was always faintly embarrassed by hugging and kissing amongst friends and family members. It was just something that hadn't been a feature of my upbringing. I felt kind of sorry about that sometimes. A lot of my friends had very demonstrative, even soppy, families, whereas my own family was kind of reserved. I'm an emotional sort of person, I think, even sentimental. I did like affectionate contact, but never felt comfortable or confident instigating it myself - with anyone except girlfriends, that is.

I finished my breakfast in silence then took my cup and plate over to the sink where my mother was still cleaning up. She washed them and put the put them on the draining board. As she turned around I wrapped my arms around her. I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment - after all, I really didn't do this kind of thing - but I had resolved to change the way I treated my mother and I was determined to do just that.

I hugged her for a few moments. As I released her she looked up at me with surprise. I bent to kiss her cheek.

"I mean it when I said I was going to change," I said. "You're great, Mum and I've always known it, but I never bothered to tell you."

"Oh, baby." She gave me a hug of her own: a much more thorough one than the nervous attempt I had made. When she looked up at me again her eyes were shining. "You really are such a darling." She have me a shove. "But it's time you were showered and dressed.”

You may be expecting me to confess that I soon let things slide - after all, it's easy to slip back into old, lazy ways - but I didn't. I made an effort to be helpful around the house. Whenever my mother did something for me I made a point of thanking her properly, often with an accompanying hand on the shoulder, or a hug, or even the occasional kiss on the cheek. My mother accepted all this with a faint air of bemused delight. A side effect of the additional attention I paid her was that she paid me more in return.

Mum clearly loved to be loved and appreciated and she loved to be hugged. Within a week we both seemed to have adjusted to a new way of being with each other but, at the same time, we both revelled in the novelty and newness of it. It became natural for us to hug or to slip arms around each other's waists whenever an opportunity arose. It was completely natural, innocent and wonderful.

By the time I got back to the sitting room my mother had put the newspaper down and seemed to have nodded off. She stirred as I sat on the sofa beside her.

"Sorry. I must have dozed off."

"You work too hard."

"No harder than anyone else," she smiled.

"Fancy a hug?" I opened my arms.

"Always," Mum replied and slid over to me. I wrapped her in my arms and she lay her head on my chest. "You know," she said. "I have to admit that I didn't really take a lot of notice when you spoke about making an effort to show me that you love me." She looked up at me. "You've really kept it up and it is so nice. Alex, you are a lovely, lovely lad and the extra attention has begun to spoil me. I'm starting to feel entitled to all these cuddles."

"You are entitled, Mum. I was kind of shy at first - we've never been that kind of family - but it feels really nice to be able to cuddle up with my mum." I kissed her head and squeezed her gently. "I love you."

"You, on the other hand, are a real sweetie. You'd really take me out for dinner?"

"Of course. In fact, I've booked us a table for 8 o'clock and a taxi for 7.45, so I calculate we've got about 20 minutes of cuddling before you need to start getting ready."

"Really?"

"Honest. Cross my heart."

Mum made a small excited noise and kissed my chin. "Where are we going?"

"You'll have to wait and see, but it's the kind of place where we need to look presentable, so I'm going to have to change as well."

"You mean wear a proper shirt? Again? That'll be twice in a month. People will start to worry about you."

"Let them worry. I may prefer to slob about in jeans, but if I'm taking a lady out I have to do it right."

We settled into our cuddle and didn't speak again until it was time to get ready. As I sat there cradling my mum in my arms I was happy, warm and relaxed. Surely nothing could feel better than being close to the person I loved most in the world.

I had been ready for a good fifteen minutes when the cab arrived. I waved out of the window to let the driver know I'd seen him. When I turned to call out to my mother she was coming down the stairs.

"Wow, Mum!"

"What do you reckon?" she asked uncertainly, giving me a twirl as she reached the hall.

"You look amazing... Like a different person."

"Think it's appropriate?" she asked, still a little doubtful.

"Hell, yes." I hesitated. "You look..."

"What? Like I'm trying too hard? Like mutton dressed as lamb?"

"Well, please don't be offended... I probably shouldn't say it, but... My god, Mum, you look hot."

She giggled.

Her outfit was all black. I'd never seen the dress before. It was knee length with a fairly tight skirt. The bodice was cut lower than anything I could recall seeing her wearing, and Mum was displaying an impressive cleavage. Honestly, I had never really given much thought to the fact that my mum had a figure, but she surely did and it was a bloody good one. Her breasts were large and the skin exposed by the low neckline was clear and pale. By no means wasp-waisted, Mum did curve in enough in the middle to make the flare of her curvy hips a beautiful sight to behold. Her long dark brown hair was down, hanging forward over one shoulder. Around her shoulders she wore a silky, crocheted black shawl.