1
I pull the sheet tight across the bed and reach for the crumpled comforter. I really should have come in here earlier. It’s dusty and could use a good scrub down. But Brad will be here any minute and I have to settle for remaking the bed. I sigh. The dust will bother me, but it won’t bother Brad. My son has never been concerned with how clean his room is. All the same, I make a mental note to give this room a good cleaning before he comes home for the summer.
I shake out the blanket harder than I normally would to clear any dust from it, and as it settles, the air sends papers flying off of Brad’s bulletin board. I shake my head. Of course. Finishing the bed, I reorganize the disturbed papers on his desk and reach down behind for the things that fell behind it. I can just feel the edge of a couple of papers, but my arm won’t quite make it far enough. A couple of Brad’s old hockey sticks are in the way, but I think I can reach without knocking the sticks over. I stretch, reach… and the hockey sticks go crashing to the side and I lose my balance and slip down onto the floor. Ow. I’ve got the papers though.
I pull my prizes out from behind the desk and take a look. It’s a newspaper article featuring my son’s high school hockey team. There was an article when the team won the state championships his senior year. The other thing I rescued is a picture, and as I pull it out from behind the article, I immediately feel myself blush. The picture is of Brad and his best friend, Trevor King. Must have been taken some time last year. Brad and Trevor were friends all through high school, and Trevor spent more time here than he did at home. Then senior year, his family moved to a different part of Boston, and I didn’t see him again until he visited Brad for the day last year around this time.
That visit makes my whole body fill with remembered embarrassment, as the way my body reacted when I saw Trevor again was…not appropriate. He had filled out, grown into himself. He was sexy. And eighteen. He and Brad are still best friends, and they play on the hockey team at Boston College together, but I rarely see him.
I stare at the picture. A woman my age probably shouldn’t describe people as hot…but my god Trevor King is hot. I think about all the times he stole into my fantasies, even when I tried to keep him out. But that’s all they were. Fantasies. Harmless fantasies about what he would look like under all his clothes, what he would look like over me, what he would look like—
Stop.
My body is already warming with just those thoughts, and I can’t. Brad will be here soon and I can’t be hot and bothered by his best friend. It’s wrong on so many levels. I pin the article and the picture back to the bulletin board and pick up the hockey sticks I knocked over. Looking around the room, I see so many things I could do to make it just a little cleaner. I won’t be able to finish any of those things by the time Brad gets here though, so I decide to leave it alone.
I head into my office next door—stepping over the mattresses I’ve set out for my nephews—and check my e-mails. This time of the holidays it’s slow. I have a conference call with a client tomorrow, but nothing else is urgent. But speaking of urgent, I send a text to my sister reminding her to bring butter for tonight’s dinner. I haven’t had a chance to get to the store, and we’re going to need it. My email pings and I see an email from a new client asking when we can schedule a call to talk about their new marketing plan. I’m checking my calendar as I hear a key in the lock downstairs. A smile comes to my face. Brad is finally here.
“Mom?” Brad calls.
“I’m up here,” I call back.
I hear the shuffling of luggage and footsteps on the stairs as I check my calendar, and send a quick email so this isn’t nagging me. I hear Brad get into his room, and as I step into the hallway, I hear him laugh. Then I hear another voice, a distinctly deep and male voice. So my son isn’t here alone. Okay…
Probably just a friend from school for the day. I step into the doorway of Brad’s room and tap my knuckles on the door. “Knock knock,” I say, and I have to keep my jaw from dropping, because I’m now face to face with Trevor King.
2
“Hey mom!” Brad crosses the room and sweeps me into a hug. I hug him back, that particular warmth of having my son home and safe filling me up. There’s a small anxiety whenever he’s away, like an itch I barely notice. But as glad as I am to have him home, I’m still beyond shocked to see Trevor here. Trevor, the guy I was just thinking about. The universe must be laughing at me right now.
I’m looking at him over Brad’s shoulder, and he gives me a tiny little smile that’s damn sexy. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. My stomach plummets and I pull away from Brad, managing a smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says. “Mom, you remember Trevor, right?”
“Or course I do,” I say, my smile still in place. I remember him in lots of fantasies that should have never have happened.
“Well, his plans for the holidays fell through and he needs a place to stay, so I said he could stay here. Is that all right? I figured you wouldn’t mind.”
Here. Trevor King here. In my house. For two weeks. I can practically hear the universe rolling on the floor in its laughter. I push through my shock. “Of course. The more the merrier.” My brother and his family are also staying with us until Christmas, but it’s okay. We’ll just be a house that’s a little fuller.
Trevor still has that little smile on his face. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I’ll just go get some extra blankets and make sure we have enough food for dinner tonight.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I make my way downstairs and into the kitchen. I should have enough food—it’s just one extra person. But that extra person feels like he takes up the space of three. A flush creeps up my neck. I can’t believe I’m letting myself get rattled like this, over a boy. Over my son’s friend. Another part of my mind whispers that he’s not a boy, what I saw upstairs was all man. Hockey has been good to him, obvious muscle packing his frame. He’s definitely not the boy that used to come over after school, and the smile on his face tells me that he knows that.
I check the fridge. I’m not sure what I was thinking. With the family coming over tonight we’ll have enough food for an army. I shake my head to clear it. Get a hold of yourself, Stella. Him being here doesn’t mean anything. Just your old body responding to youth and…what’s that word? Virility. Youth and virility. No problem.
It doesn’t matter that you haven’t had a date in over a year and nothing but your fingers and a vibrator before that. That’s fine. It doesn’t change anything. The vibrator is reliable, and after Christmas you’ll try to make an effort to go on more dates with someone
of an appropriate age. I head to the back of my house—my bedroom and bathroom are tucked in the back corner off the living room. What‘s now bedroom used to be my office, but when Brad left for college last year I decided I wanted more space.
Before I get the blankets, I go into my room, suddenly feeling the need to change. I mean, I look fine. But everyone is coming over tonight, and I should look nicer. It’s only right that I look good for Brad’s welcome home dinner. I put on a pair of black slacks and a soft black sweater. I ignore the voice in my head that chastises me for wearing this sweater because of the deep neckline. I tell it to shut up when it tells me that I’m wearing it because I know it makes my breasts look amazing, and that I want Trevor to see. That is definitely not why I’m changing. I have every right to look good in my own home when everyone is coming over for dinner. The perfume I spray on my neck is totally innocent too. It’s not a crime to smell good.
I smooth my hair down in the mirror and remember that I was supposed to be getting blankets. I search through the linen closet and find sheets, a couple of blankets, and a pillowcase. Brad can give Trevor one of his pillows. I take a deep breath and rein in all possible inappropriate thoughts about Trevor. Everything is fine. His being here is fine.