Billie
I found my mom at home passed out on her couch that following weekend, day drinking, and how did I know? Because the margarita in her hands still held the slush.
Sighing, I bent beside her, tapping her face on the white leather sofa. “Mom?”
A groan as she shifted in her feathery bathrobe, her house and my childhood home a complete sty. Honestly, it looked like her closest exploded in the living room, her dresses all over the place, and considering our housekeepers came once a week, she’d done this all since the last time I’d seen her. I had no idea if she’d decided to entertain a little fashion show or what, but half her closest was downstairs and lining the furniture.
Getting up, I gathered some of it, and she moaned the moment I tossed opened the curtains and let some light into the place. She lived like a freaking vampire sometimes. I swear. Seeing me clean and get her things, she waved me off, getting up. “Don’t mess with that, sweetie. You know the cleaners are coming.”
So goes my mom’s life, reliant on other people to take care of her as always. I supposed I was here trying to do that for her. She’d just gotten worse since Daddy left.
I shook my head. “You need to get up. Eat something?”
It was just shy of eleven, which meant mom got an early start on her drinking. Or a late start depending on how one looked at it. She very well could have gone to bed after dawn, but considering half of her margarita was still intact, something told me she hit her Margaritaville Maker well after the sun had risen. She pressed a palm to her eyes. “What time is it, darling?”
“Eleven,” I let her know, not even checking. That’s when I usually came to check on her to make sure she was alive every few weekends since I’d moved back. She wasn’t always good about texting when I used to check that way, or returning my calls. I bunched up her laundry. “Want me to start you a bath?”
“A shower if you could, sweets?” But then she smiled at me, that scathingly beautiful smile that reminded me of my mom and not this shell of a person she’d become. She barely did anything these days besides drink, pamper, and party. A typical affluent housewife without the wife part. She pushed some of her blond extensions back. “I never meant to get such a late start.”
“You never do, Mom.” Leaving her and finding the laundry shoot, I tossed it all down to the basement for when the cleaners came. I tossed my head back to yell into the other room. “Want me to reschedule with Dr. Clayton?”
He was her therapist, and I knew she had an appointment with him this morning because I had access to her date calendar. She could see my calendar as well, but I had a feeling she never looked at mine. I ignored the nail and spa appointments, mostly just concentrating on when she was supposed to be going to therapy.
Stretching, she came into the hallway, shrugging before going into the kitchen. This too was dark, and when I opened the blinds, she cringed. “Don’t bother with the reschedule. I’ll do it.”
“Will you?”
“Of course, my darling. I told you I would.” She popped her little tush out when she dipped into the fridge, grabbing orange juice, so I gratefully hadn’t had to take anything away from her. Giving the bottle a shake of delight, she faced me. “How was your first week of classes?”
“Good, Mom. Good,” I said, knowing that was true after the first hiccup. The bright side h
ad been when LJ hadn’t shown up to recitation this week. Of course he’d been assigned to my class, but since he hadn’t shown, I could focus on teaching and going over the course material instead of thinking about him. The bonus I got was the sick thrill of marking him absent. Attendance wasn’t taken into consideration during lecture, but in recitation, it was worth over a quarter of the grade.
Just call me Petty Betty.
The guy was basically a prick and a half, so yes, I’d been happy to deduct points from his grade. I’d also decided someone was looking out for me because his pal Niko wasn’t in the film class period. I’d checked the class roster myself just to make sure. Having to deal with the pair of them would most certainly send me to my grave.
Mom kissed my cheek as she passed me. “Good. Good. So proud of you.”
She smacked my bottom, getting some of her energy back. Growing up, all my guy friends would call my mom a MILF, and being on the other side of all that, I could see it. She looked more like my sister than my actual mother, long flowing hair and tight little body. The only difference was she was a blonde and I was a redhead, and in addition, Mom never took life seriously in the way I did. I took more after my workaholic father in that way, which was perhaps what might have attracted Daddy to her. Mom was a free spirit. She enjoyed pretty things and making the world lovely, hence why there were always fresh-cut flowers sprinkled all around the house.
The old, colonial-style home with white brick and cream-colored lattice was simply filled with flowers, my childhood home smelling like a meadow and the blooms in Mom’s garden outside matched. Mom took great joy in tending to her flowers as well as sewing pretty things. She made all my pageant gowns growing up and even my prom and homecoming dresses. I wished she’d do something more with that than just spend Daddy’s money. He was forced to pay her alimony after the divorce and probably would be until he was dead and gone as long as Mom outlived him.
It was the least he could do.
Stifling the growl about all that, I composed myself. I promised my mom a shower so I decided to run it for her, getting it nice and warm before picking up more scattered clothing in the hallways. Mom had clothes literally everywhere and passed me in a towel on the way to the bathroom. She nudged her little button nose against mine before hopping into the steaming room and closing the door.
“And stop cleaning this house,” she demanded on the other side. She cracked the bathroom open, steam billowing into the hallway. “Otherwise, I won’t make your favorite chocolate chip pancakes.”
Another reason I came home on the weekends sometimes, Mom’s cooking and baking supreme. I also knew she liked to take care of me too, and I rolled my eyes, promising I’d put what I had in my arms away, then go downstairs. She had a few clothes sprinkled outside her door so I decided to grab those too, pushing open her bedroom door to gather a discarded shirt. There were a pair of jeans as well, and those, along with the boxers next to them, gave me pause. The jeans didn’t look like my mothers, and she obviously didn’t wear boxers. It was rare she wore underwear at all under her silk dresses and designer threads.
Despite that, I reached for them too, getting up, but the sight of a male backside halted all movements. Swallowing, I followed the curve of the most firm ass I’d possibly ever seen to a guy’s back, a pillow over his head, while well over six feet of chiseled male stretched long across my mom’s circular bed. The guy didn’t even fit on it, the back of his feet and ankles hanging off the mattress, and I stifled a gasp, nearly barking out in laughter when I realized what I was looking at.
Oh, my God. My mom’s got game…
This guy was beautiful—at least the back of him was. Completely naked, he was totally sprawled out on my mom’s bed, belly down with his muscular arms tucked beneath him. Groaning, he pulled those arms out, removing the pillow off his head and tossing it in sleep. A sea of blond remained, and though I couldn’t see his face at this angle, that wasn’t needed at all. This guy was gorgeous, and though I obviously knew my mom partook in a few dates here and there since the divorce, I had no idea she was bringing guys home on the weekends.
Okay, Mom.