Beyond the Borderline

While I progressed through my sophomore year, things began coming together for me. I was able to incorporate my training at Istituto Culinario Italiano and Cordon Bleu into my class and course schedule, even getting regular college credit for the work, on the condition of writing and doing research on what I was learning. It was pretty clear from the start that my time spent in the kitchen with Mom and my part time jobs at local restaurants were a huge asset. I was able to fully immerse myself in my instruction and seemed to pick up every detail without too much effort. Working under the most demanding and critical chefs I had ever seen elevated my skills to levels I could not have dreamed of just a year or two previously. My academic progress was also very good. Like the old saw goes, if you're doing what you really love, it's not a job.

By the halfway point of my senior year, I had standing offers to work as a line chef from several well-known restaurants in the City and a couple potentially very lucrative local possibilities as well. It was a heady experience, reveling in the absolute confidence that I had the right stuff to compete and succeed at the highest level of my chosen profession.

Through all this, I continued to live at home; my thoughts always still with Mom, but stuck adoring her from a filial distance. After Gramps and Nana's passing, we became even closer than before, but I could sense Mom's emotional fragility. I absolutely burned to hold her in my arms, to tell her the deepest, forbidden longings from my secret heart, but I somehow knew that she would not be able to cope with such an outpouring.

You would think that coping with this seemingly endless frustration would have put me in a professional as well as personal funk, but surprisingly, that wasn't the case. My work in the kitchen was as good as, if not better than ever, because I was subconsciously pouring my bottled up passion into my work. I was taking bold risks and seemed to be in the midst of a burst of creativity that I had not experienced before. It was in this period that I came up with many of the ideas that helped launch my career a few years later.

On the romantic front, I suffered in silence, finding some shallow solace in the arms of a number of girls and one of my professors at the U, but I could not bring myself to fully consummate those relationships. It was totally irrational, madly unrealistic and definitely obsessive, but I still wanted Mom. If I couldn't have her, then I didn't want another girl or woman that way. Short of that, I knew that I needed some release besides Rosie Palmer, but that was as far as I wanted to take things. I developed considerable affection for several of my stand-in partners, but I knew they would never have my heart. As callous as it sounds, on one level, these other girls and ladies were almost practice for me.

As my graduation approached, I became enveloped in a sense of great lethargy and more than a little depression. My working life awaited me. I knew that I would probably have to move to the City, and although it was not far from Mom, I dreaded the upcoming change. I felt that once I moved out, there was no absolutely no chance that I would ever be with Mom as I dreamed for so many years. In my darkest moments, lying awake in my bed, I told myself that even now, in the last days of my time with my mother, there was no chance for us. Objectively, I had to admit that Mom had always seemed appropriate and in control when we were together, but I could not shake the deep-seated intuition that she shared at least some of my feelings. I could not purge myself of this belief, even though I had to admit that it was most likely the by-product of my long-standing, unrequited love, rather than a realistic analysis of Mom's behavior. Still, it seemed to me that she was also more down than she should have been, considering that I was still going to be less than an hour's train ride from her when I started working.

My graduation came and went, and I begged off on accepting any job offers, saying I wanted a bit of time off. The ambitious nature of my individual major had necessitated spending a substantial portion of each preceding summer taking extra courses, and what little time was left I utilized working in various kitchens in the City, building my skills and more importantly, my contacts. I knew the job opportunities were still there for me, so I felt no rush. I still hoped against all odds that Mom and I would come together before the summer was over, but I had steeled myself for disappointment.

***

It was then a great surprise to me to see a real glimmer of hope after my graduation dinner celebration with Mom. We had gone to one of our favorite trattorias in Tribeca and had a wonderful meal. I was known there through a number of mutual friends shared with the sous chef, so we had the special treat of a completely off-menu tasting meal, consisting of 8 courses of small dishes from the chef's native Umbria, along with a flight of 5 or 6 different wines. Mom was outwardly upbeat, telling me how proud she was of my accomplishments and how much Nana and Gramps would have loved to see how I turned out. When the meal was over, Mom offered to help me paint the town red, but I declined, definitely in a bittersweet mood.

"Honestly, Mom, I don't feel like partying. If you want to know, I'd be perfectly happy to go home and watch a movie with you."

"The City is at your feet tonight, and all you can think of to do is go home with your old Mom and watch TV?"

"I get more pleasure out of munching popcorn with my special lady than any 10 clubs, Mom. And for the 5000th time, you are NOT old."

"Awww, you're still my sweet guy after all these years. You know just what to say to your mother. It's a date."

We made our way home, making unusually good cab and train connections, arriving back at the family manse in less than 45 minutes. It was a quintessentially beautiful mid-May evening, the evening air just short of shirtsleeve temperature. The sky was crystalline and a waning gibbous moon hung in the sky over our roof. As we strolled up the walkway to let ourselves in, we could smell a hint of lilac in the air from our neighbor's yard and hear the sporadic chirps of crickets. Mom sighed and linked her arm in mine, leaning her head against my shoulder. "It's been a wonderful evening, Ricky. I'm so happy for you and so proud of you I could burst. You have grown into such a fine young man."

"Thanks, Mom. It's all your doing. I owe everything to you. You're my touchstone and inspiration."

"You're also a smooth talking little devil when you want to be," she giggled.

"I'm serious, Mom. You have no idea how much you mean to me. I'm very lucky to be your son."

"Thank you, sweetie. I could say the same."

After we got inside, I changed quickly into my at home uniform of gym shorts and a t-shirt, then headed into the kitchen to fire up the microwave. As the popcorn cooked, I scanned the channels, looking for something suitable. Recalled to the kitchen by the ding of the microwave, I returned with the hot popcorn. Mom was now seated on the sofa, wearing a pair of pastel green man pajamas, legs curled under her as she scanned the TV menu.

"There's a great double feature on the Movie Classics Channel, Mom. How does 'Double Indemnity' followed by 'Some Like it Hot' sound?"

Mom laughed and patted the sofa next to her. "Perfect! Come sit with your Momma and we'll do justice to that popcorn."

I settled in next to her as we watched Barbara Stanwyck's interpretation of evil personified and the ensnarement of the hapless Fred MacMurray in her treacherous designs. Gripped in the storyline, we were on the edge of our seats for the entire movie.

"Some Like It Hot" was a perfect counterpoint to the first feature and although we could practically recite the lines to each other from memory, it suited us down to the ground. About the time Tony Curtis invites Marilyn onto "his" yacht, Mom snuggled up next to me, putting my arm over her shoulder. She reached across her chest to put her hand over mine, pressing it into place on her arm, giving it a squeeze. She sighed contentedly, laying her head on my chest.

I was elated, but confused. Of course, I was also hard. Carbide steel hard. One thing that had not changed throughout the years since Gramps and Nan's passing was what any touch from her did to me.

I couldn't remember the last time Mom was so physically affectionate with me, even in such a harmless way. Since high school, I had grown so used to keeping everything bottled up, minimizing our physical contact to the most innocent essentials, that I was unprepared for the closeness Mom was displaying that evening. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what had changed, but I was perfectly happy to roll with it. By the time the movie was over, Mom's other hand was casually resting on my thigh, much to my utter delight and increasing bewilderment.

As the credits rolled, Mom disengaged herself from me and rose, stretching like a big she-cat. As she raised her arms above her head, the pajama tops rode up briefly, exposing her navel and midriff for a moment. I was utterly captivated and powerfully aroused in seconds. It put me very much in the mind of that time in our kitchen when I was 15, when I first realized I had fallen in love with her.

"I'm for bed, kiddo. I've got to be in the office tomorrow at 9:30 for a deposition." Reaching out to me, she grabbed my wrists, pulling me up insistently. "C'mon, on your feet lazybones, it's late and we both need our sleep." As confused as I was by the unfolding events of the evening, I was even less prepared for what happened next.

Placing her hands on my shoulders, she leaned towards me and briefly but firmly kissed me on the lips. "I had a wonderful evening, Ricky. Thank you so much for everything." She turned from me and headed upstairs towards her room.

If I was confused before, now I was dumbfounded. I must have been standing there looking like a gaffed catfish, because Mom looked over her shoulder and laughed. "Hit the sack buster, I've got a big honey-do list for you tomorrow."

In a complete and utter daze, I completed my evening ablutions and stumbled into bed. Sleep was long in coming as I turned over the night's events in my head. I had no idea what was happening between us, but I did know one thing for certain - something had changed. Beyond that, I simply couldn't process what had occurred. As unexpected and delightfully as things had turned out, I was very nervous.

Against all precautions of self-control and discipline, the near-dead embers of my hopes and fantasies had briefly flared to life tonight and I knew I couldn't survive another disappointment. My rational self knew I should slam the door on those feelings immediately, to save myself any further pain, but I simply couldn't do that. I was like a gambling addict, telling myself again and again that the next hand I was dealt was going to be the big winner, even when all of my experience pointed in the opposite direction.

My dreams that night were fragmented, disorganized and filled with a strange combination of gloomy foreboding and exhilarating foreshadowing. One vignette remains clearly etched in my memory to this day, though.

Mom and I were having a picnic on a rocky beach. The sun shone brightly in a sky rapidly clearing of clouds and coastal fog, but the air was crisp and cool with a stiff onshore breeze that tugged at our clothing as we shared ham sandwiches and cold beer, sitting on a partially buried, bleached tree trunk. The turbulent gusts blew Mom's hair back from her forehead and her cheeks were rosy with a slight windburn. She laughed, her hand in mine as we watched four children playing at the waterline, three girls and one boy. They roughhoused at the edge of the breaking waves, trying to push each other into the water, their gleeful cries blending with the pounding rhythm of the surf and the screeching of gulls overhead, hovering in the strong wind. Somehow, I knew without any doubt or question that the children were ours.

I roused with a start. Sunlight was streaming into my room, illuminating suspended motes of dust, which moved lazily in the air currents from my open window. As I awoke more fully, the last fragment of my dream did not fade, but rather came to full, lucid recollection. In all the long nights of my short life, I had never experienced a dream like this one. The details were so clear, so immediate and so powerful that they had the force of actual memory.

I'd never been a big believer in predestination or fate. While I am a romantic by inclination, I always thought that we make our own lives, putting in long hours, making sacrifices and taking chances to shape our future. I know that everything that I'd accomplished and what Mom had achieved had its roots firmly in the soil of hard work and seized opportunities. And yet...as I lay beneath my sheets, I had the overwhelming sense that I had somehow glimpsed a small fragment of my true future.

Donning my typical shorts and t-shirt, I padded downstairs. As usual, Mom had beaten me to the kitchen and already had a pot of coffee ready. Leaning slightly against the kitchen countertop, she was eating some yogurt, a partially devoured piece of toast on a plate next to her.

She was dressed to the nines this morning, wearing a form-fitting, calf length, black pencil skirt, slit to the lower thigh, with sheer, shiny black hose underneath. Her blouse was jade green silk. It was slightly V-cut in front, revealing a hint of décolletage. I had the subliminal impression of a sheer, pushup bra underneath. An elegant black blazer to match her skirt was draped over a chair in the breakfast nook. Once again, I was pierced to the heart, adoring my beautiful mom.

"Wow, you look fabulous, Mom! I thought you had a deposition today?"

"Precisely. I never waste any of the resources I have at my disposal. I always play to win, bucko," she said crisply.

"Well, if I may be so bold, you've got quite the arsenal there, counselor. Let me guess - your adversary today is probably a younger man, maybe a junior associate or something like that. You're planning to distract him before you cut him to ribbons."

Mom came to my side and kissed my cheek. "You're incorrigible, sweet talking your Mom like that," she said with a wink, tossing her hair ostentatiously.

Changing gears, she then said, "If you have time, I made a list of a few things that need doing before the weekend, can you handle that?"

"Yes'm. At yoah disposal, Mizz Mom."

"Thanks sweetie. If you can take me to the station, you can use the car, 'kay?"

"Sweet. Ready to go when you are, my lady."

As I drove Mom to the station, we chatted amiably about the upcoming weekend and her plans to dazzle her inexperienced adversary at the deposition. When we pulled up to the drop-off lane, Mom gave my arm a squeeze and kissed me lightly on my lips - again! As I sat there behind the wheel, a big goofy grin on my face, I slowly licked my lips, detecting the very slightest taste of her. Lost in the moment, I was roughly returned to reality by horns honking behind me. As the drivers behind me blared their displeasure at my inattention, Mom turned to look over her shoulder at me just before she passed through the turnstiles. I thought I detected a small, enigmatic smile before she was lost to my view in the crush of the morning commute.

I drove home slowly and automatically, barely aware of traffic and stoplights. I didn't fully regain my foothold in this world until I was in our driveway. I sat in the car for some time, blissfully recalling those two kisses. What I felt was the slightest ray of hope yesterday evening had bloomed into a dazzling beacon this morning. I could think of no explanation for the amazing turn of events in the last 12 hours, except that Mom must have some feelings for me as well!

I was so giddy with excitement and elation that I could hardly think straight, but I knew I had to figure out what I was going to do. I had no idea where things were going, but one thing I was sure of was that Mom could not be pushed or manipulated in any way. There was no question that she was too strong willed and too perceptive to be maneuvered by anything I did. She knew me far too well to be taken in by any devious strategy I might employ to bring us together.

I was going to have to wait, however long it took, for her to come to me. I felt as though I would go mad with the anticipation, but I also knew I had waited eight endless years to get to this point. For the first time in my life, it felt as though Mom and I could really be together. Even so, my newly resurrected optimism was tempered by the fact that I knew Mom would want to be in complete control of anything that might come to pass for the two of us.

What was needed right now was distraction. Sitting in the kitchen, I looked at Mom's to-do list. Clean the pool; check the chemistry and change filters. Mow the lawn and weed the mulch beds. Fix the lock on the back door, which was sticking. Pick up dry cleaning and go to the supermarket. Trim the hedges. I buckled down and got to my business. I busted my ass all day and just had time to grab a shower before heading over to the station to pick up Mom.

When Mom settled in next to me in the car, I tested the waters a little bit by pulling her close to me for a hug. She quickly set the tone, pointedly only offering her cheek for a kiss and then sat back. Okay, fine, just as I thought. Mom is definitely going to be the one leading this dance. Time to be patient.

"So, how was the deposition?"

Mom laughed ruefully. "Best laid plans and all that. I may as well have worn a potato sack. The boy-lawyer was there with one of the senior partners of his firm. The partner took one look at me and sent junior out for coffee and I had to go toe to toe with the old guy. It was brutal, but we came through pretty well. Everything else today was pretty routine."

Changing the subject, I inquired, "What would you like to do for dinner?"

"Just feed me and I'll be happy, sweetie. I'm going to have a glass of wine and a nice soak in the tub before dinner, though. Okay?"

"Sure, Mom. I figured to make a Caesar and grill a little salmon, keep it real simple."

"That would be perfect, Ricky. Want to watch another movie tonight?"

"Absolutely. Do you have anything in mind?"

"Terms of Endearment is showing on HBO, is that okay?"

I sighed inwardly. Another chick flick, but what the heck, I didn't really care, as long as I was with Mom. "Fine by me - it's a date."

Mom had her soak and we ate dinner. On top of the long day's work, I probably shouldn't have yielded to temptation and had the extra glass of Chardonnay with the meal, because I nodded off about 10 minutes into the movie.

When I faded back in, my head was in Mom's lap. She was looking at me with a wistful smile, running her fingers through my hair. "My little boy is all grown now - a typical man. Show him a romantic film and he's out like a light in 10 seconds flat."

"Sorry, Mom. I was more tired than I thought. I probably shouldn't have had that second glass of wine."

"It's okay, sweetie. You just relax, let your Mom reminisce a little while."

Mom ran her fingers lightly over my face, brushing them over my forehead, down the bridge of my nose and along my cheeks. "When you were little, I used to do this to help you sleep when you were sick," she whispered, smiling warmly.

"Mmmm...feels nice, Mom."

She continued for some minutes, one hand cradled behind my neck as she traced my features. It was absolute bliss and I surrendered myself totally to the moment, memorizing every sensation. I had never felt so relaxed, so loved. I drifted off again, only to wake with a start as the credits of the movie were rolling. Mom was also dozing, her head slightly lolling to the side, the back of my neck still resting on her forearm. Her other hand was relaxed palm down on my chest, directly over my heart. I was completely quiet for several minutes, savoring the perfection of the moment. As I lay in her lap, I began to feel a familiar stirring in the south forty. Not wanting Mom to be aware, I shifted slightly, but she awoke with a start.