Page 97 of These Family Ties

I’m half-tempted to tell her—to admit to everything—just to see what she says. Mom loves me, but will it be enough?

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Dinnertime rolls around, and Dad still isn't home. Mom doesn’t seem too worried, but she’s visibly disappointed. I can see it in the slump of her shoulders and tightness of her smile as she tries to play down how hurt she is by his absence.

Shuffling my chair closer to hers, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her in for a hug.

“Don’t worry, Mom. He’ll be home soon I expect,” I reassure her.

“I know, I’m just sad that he’s gotten so caught up in work that he’s missing out on spending time with you—with us.”

“I’m here all summer, there will be other times,” I say, giving her a kiss on the forehead. I wink before continuing, “It just means he’ll miss out on dessert again.”

My stomach growls at the thought of dessert, but it’s not the cream donuts from the bakery that I’m hungry for. I’m craving a different kind of dessert—a cream pie of my own making.

It would be too much of a risk to try and repeat the fun I had the previous night. Though she still has no idea that the man she made love to was her own son, she seemed to thoroughly enjoy what I had to give her. Being with her came so naturally to me—the way she responded to my touch, the feel of my body on hers, and how she came so hard around my dick when I was deep inside her sweet pussy—it makes me want to do it all over again.

Dad doesn’t appreciate what he’s got. If he did then she wouldn’t have come apart as easily as she did. She seemed so surprised at the level of passion I showed in our coupling, and it makes me angry when I realize how neglectful he has been of her. I’ll take care of her, worship her, make her feel like the beautiful and sultry goddess she is.

I don’t know how I could convince her that we’re so much more compatible, more perfect for each other than her and Dad ever were. The urge to recreate exactly what we shared last night is at the forefront of my mind, but I don’t know how I could initiate it without raising suspicion. It would seem strange for someone who is practically devoid of passion like Dad to suddenly develop an interest in her two nights in a row.

I want her so badly, and it’s difficult to weigh the reward versus the risk with a clear head. There’s a sizable absence of reason and cognizance. All sense has been overwhelmed by the insurmountable desire I feel, combined with the desperate need for her love. I want her to want me too, and it stings that I have to take a cloak and dagger approach to getting what I want most in this world—her.

I groan and do my best to remain composed, but I’m so consumed by everything about her that it takes a conscious amount of extreme effort to maintain it. Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I attempt to appear visibly calm and unfazed by her presence and the obvious lack of my dad being around.

Popping my head through the door to the living room, I get her attention. “Hey, Mom. Want to have another movie and wine night?” I ask, mentally kicking myself for going down this destructive path while simultaneously hoping she’ll enable me to do so—even if she has no idea what she’s really agreeing to.

“Sure, that sounds great,” she agrees, smiling so warmly at me that blood rushes south.

My heart is pounding wildly in my chest and my breaths grow heavy with anticipation. I’m too far gone to stop now. I’ll see this through, no matter what the end result may be from taking such a wild risk.

Chapter Thirteen

Edward

I pull out a half-empty bottle of wine and a glass from the cupboard, and with shaking hands I head to the medicines cupboard and pull out the box of Dad’s pain meds that he had when he had a whiplash a few months ago.

Before I can reconsider, I pop two of the pills out of the blister pack and pry apart the shell to reveal the powdery Codeine inside. Taking a deep breath, I empty the contents of both into the bottle of wine and dispose of the evidence.

I carry them through to the living room where Mom is curled up on the couch again, just like the night before. My entire body feels as though it’s humming with electricity, in anticipation of another chance to be with the woman I love… without interruption or her fully knowing what’s happening. I should feel bad for this—though I can’t deny that taking her like I did and how I plan to do it all over again makes the guilt worthwhile.

It helps that I’m a similar height and build to my dad, and I’m hoping that with her senses clouded by wine, I’ll be able to convince her again that I am him. She seemed confused this morning, but she didn’t question it, no doubt finding something about our interaction that allowed her to believe I was him. My stomach twists, knowing that she didn’t come apart for me like I wanted, but thinking I was Dad.

I’ll take what I can get, and if this is the only way to get what I want, then so be it. I hadn’t intended on acting on any of this, I just got so caught up in everything Mom is—beautiful, clever, kind, loving…and impossible to resist.

Sitting next to her on the couch, I take her hand. She smiles, giving it a squeeze, not seeing anything deeper in it than my being her loving son. I am her loving son, it’s just that the way I want to show her love isn’t morally acceptable.

We settle on the couch and watch the movie she’s picked out for us tonight. Another classic horror flick. Every time she jumps at something on screen we laugh. It’s all a part of the fun, the rush of adrenaline that hits us when we’re scared. I’m afraid, but it has nothing to do with movie monsters or special effects. I’m scared of how far I’m willing to go—for her, and everything I want with her.

The movie ends and the credits roll, but this time Mom is still awake. She gets to her feet and sways a little, putting her hand on her head—no doubt feeling the effects of the alcohol and codeine. I sweep her off her feet and she yelps loudly in surprise.

“Edward Everett! Put me down, this instant!” she orders, but I ignore her protests and proceed to carry her upstairs to her room.

“What kind of son would I be if I didn’t take care of my mom when her equilibrium is out of sync?” I ask her. She rolls her eyes and smacks me on the arm.

I shrug and continue up the stairs. When we reach the hallway at the top of the stairs, I set her down on her feet. She puts a hand on each of her hips and looks up at me with a mixture of indignance and amusement.

“I am quite capable of walking upstairs myself, thank you.”

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