“What does that mean?” I scoffed. “That just sounds like a buzzword some psychologist throws around to get people to come see them and give them their hard-earned money. You mean he didn’t pay attention to you?”
“I guess. Phil, I was alone for hours, days, weeks!” she said, raising her voice a little and then calming down. “When I got married, I thought I would be building and living a life, a family, with your father, but I wasn’t. I was always just waiting for him instead. I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“So, what, you needed constant attention? I mean, how was he supposed to change anything and still make a living, Mom?” I asked, trying to understand. “What would you have him do?”
“I don’t know, Phil,” she said, sounding already exhausted on the subject. “I just— I needed someone around. Richard was there for me. He’s here now. And looking back on it, Richard’s a better fit for me. I care deeply about your dad, I really do, but Richard and I are on a different level. We’re in sync and we’re very happy.”
“You don’t seem that happy, Mom,” I countered.
“Did I seem happy with your father?”
I wasn’t expecting that question. But I guessed I deserved it. What choice did I have if this was going to be a “real” conversation, right? I couldn’t pick and choose what I wanted to hear.
I stammered, trying to stall for time, but by the expression on her face, you could tell that she had cornered me.
“Okay,” I confessed. “You didn’t seem happy. I will admit, you seem happier with Richard, but what about dad?”
“Your father’s a grown man,” she explained. “He can deal with loss and divorce. He’ll find someone else and it’s not like he would take me back, even if I did want to get back together with him. Which I don’t, by the way. Let me make that clear.”
“Yeah, got it.”
“This is not a game,” she added. “This is my life. My real life. And I want to be happy. Don’t I deserve to be? Don’t we all deserve to be happy?”
“I guess,” I sighed, still not really getting it, and wishing I had never started the conversation.
Just then Tracianne walked into the room and Mom and I abruptly stopped talking. She asked for the code to the computer modem’s router. Mom had it written down on a tiny notebook in the junk drawer.
“You know what? I’ll go and get it. Here, why don’t you finish my game of Scrabble?” Mom offered Tracianne. “I’ll get the password for Richard. And I have to finish up the laundry before dinner. If Phil doesn’t mind that you take my place in the game.”
“No-no, that’s fine,” I said, trying to keep the mood light so that she wouldn’t suspect anything.
“Okay then. What’s the score?” asked Tracianne.
I could tell that she didn’t really want to do this, but she was going along with it to keep suspicions at bay, just as I was.
Mom walked out of the room, apparently satisfied that Tracianne had taken her place. I was sure she was going to gloat to Dad that she had finally managed to force Tracianne and I to do something together. If only she knew the half of it!
“I’m at 65 and you’re at 61,” I explained. “It’s a pretty tight game.”
“I see. You like it… tight?” she asked.
Is she flirting with me? Tracianne was hot, but what happened in the car— that could get us both in a lot of trouble.
Sure, I loved it, and my cock was so hard it was ready to go all the way with her. But once I had my senses about me, I knew it had been way too reckless.
I had tried to talk to Tracianna about it and she had avoided me. Now, here she was playing this innuendo game.
To be honest, I was a little distracted. Mom hadn’t really given me the answers I wanted. It wasn’t that I thought she was being dishonest, but it was more like even she really didn’t understand either. Maybe we were both out of our depth when it came to relationships.
“Hello?” Tracianne urged. “Are you going to take your turn or what?”
“Yeah, relax,” I said. “This isn’t a game where you rush people.”
I finally put down the only word I could make.
“Bang.”
Tracianne giggled and then started laughing uncontrollably.
“What?” I asked. “You’re being weird.”
“Nothing,” she laughed. “Nothing.”
She immediately put down another word.
“Lick.”
She then noticeably licked her lips.
Or at least I thought she did.
Was I imagining this?
Maybe I needed to go upstairs and spend more time with my hand. I began to think my blue balls must have backed up into my brain. Or perhaps I could play this game. Turn the tables on her.
“That’s a nice lick,” I commented.
“Well, who doesn’t enjoy that?”