Home for the Holidays

Peter lay awake in the bed. He was propped up on an elbow, reading her book, when she entered the room. "Bathroom's free," she said lightly. She felt awkward and uncertain for no good reason. This was her room and her son. She shouldn't have so much trouble being normal.

"About time," Peter grumbled sleepily, putting her book on the nightstand. "What took you so long?"

"I was shaving," Tanya said without thinking. The last word came out as a kind of squeak. She cleared her throat.

Peter looked at her, his face unreadable. When had that happened? She always understand him at a glance before.

He scratched at his chin. "That's a good idea," he said. He clambered out of the bed and headed for his morning ablutions. Tanya waited until he entered the bathroom to close her bedroom door. She wavered for a moment before turning the lock and getting dressed.

*

Peter came down the stairs to the smells of breakfast. Gingerbread pancakes, turkey bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, fresh fruit, and coffee. He grinned, admiring his mother in her red apron laying food on the table. Tanya wore jeans and a pale blue blouse underneath. She looked up, smiling self-consciously for some reason, and her eyes widened in shock.

"Your beard!"

Peter massaged his bare chin. "I was going to cut it before winter practice anyway. Plus, it seemed like the thing to do this morning."

Tanya's cheeks turned pink. "Well, I made a big breakfast, as promised."

"I see that." Peter settled down at the table. He reached for the carafe of orange juice and poured himself a glass. "This looks awesome, Mom." He looked up. "I can't help but think I'm being fattened up to go do some manual labor, though."

"The storm is over," she said, looking out the window. It was still cloudy, but the sun was peeking through the cover. Enough to make the world outside glow, buried as everything was under five feet or so of snow. "There's a service that takes care of the driveway, but I am a little worried about all the snow on the roof. And the walkways will have to be cleared, of course."

"Say no more, Mom," Peter said as he forked a pancake and dropped it on his plate. "I will take care of it."

"Thanks, Bunny." She brightened. "After that, we can decorate the tree!"

"Great," Peter said weakly. His mother punched him lightly in the arm.

"Cheer up, kid. It's Christmas Eve! Are you telling me that you're too old to decorate the tree with your mother on Christmas Eve?"

Peter smiled. "No, I guess not." He shoved food into his mouth. It might be fun, he decided. He wasn't thrilled about having to go out into the cold again, but at least he would be armed with a shovel this time. And anything that made his mother smile was probably worth it.

After Peter and Tanya had eaten their fill, Peter cleared the plates and filled the dishwasher. Tanya tried to intervene but he shooed her away.

She watched him for a few moments. "I found some presents in your bag. I set them under the tree."

"Oh, shit, thanks Mom. I had completely forgotten about them."

"No problem. Nice of you to pack them for the hike. They were a little squashed and the paper was a little soggy, but it's still nice to see you thought of me."

Peter looked at her in horror. But she started laughing. "They're fine," she said. "That backpack of yours could survive on a glacier. Your father knows his camping gear."

"Stepfather," Peter corrected under his breath. "You had me scared there, Mom. I was afraid your presents were ruined."

She stepped up to him and kissed him on the cheek, with his hands in the sink. "Sweet boy." She turned away, heading for the living room.

Peter watched her swaying hips and shook his head. With the dishes done, he pulled on his winter gear and clambered outside. The wind was biting, but he worked up a good sweat digging his way to the garage. Once he had the snowblower running and the roof rakes to hand, he really went to work. A few hours later, he clomped back onto the porch. He looked back, noting that no one had approached the driveway to plow it yet. There wasn't much sign of travel on the road either, barely visible as it was through the screen of trees in the yard. It might take a day or two for the roads to get cleared. He worried about his abandoned car, and silently thanking his Mom for having him call the police.

Inside, Christmas music blared from the stereo, and sweet scents emanated from the kitchen. Tanya was baking.

Peter pulled his winter gear off and went to find his mother. She had pirozhkis cooling on racks, and sugar cookies in the oven. The kitchen was a mess of mixing bowls and spoons and ingredients.

"I'm not cleaning this mess up," Peter said by way of greeting.

Tanya looked over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes. "What if I ask nicely?"

Peter groaned, but his irritation was completely feigned. "I guess I would have to."

Tanya smiled. "Well don't worry, I won't ask you. You did a great job with the yard and the roof. Do you want some hot chocolate or coffee? Can I make you something for lunch?"

"Lunch would be great. But coffee first."

Tanya nodded and set to work. She turned on the Keurig, and cleaned up her work station on the counter quickly and economically. She looked up twice, noticing Peter watching her, and both times ducked her head, blushing. "What are you doing?" she asked eventually. "You don't have to stand there waiting. I'll call you when it's ready."

"I'm not waiting. I'm watching." Peter took a deep breath. "I missed you, Mom. It's just nice to be here with you."

"Oh, Bunny, such a sweetheart." She lifted up her hands, dirty from baking, and gestured at him to come close. She half wrapped her arms around him, keeping her hands carefully clear, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Peter responded by wrapping his arms around her tightly, pulling her close, reveling in the feel of her heavy bra-clad breasts against his chest.

They held this pose for long moments, neither one of them moving, just holding one another close. When the Keurig signaled it was ready, Tanya found her voice. "Ok," she said, pulling away slightly. "Pick out a flavor. I'll clean up and make you a sandwich or something."

As they parted, on impulse Peter leaned forward suddenly and pressed his lips against hers. "Love you," he said, stepping back.

Her cheeks red, but a dazzling smile lighting up her features, Tanya said, "Love you too."

*

After lunch, despite Peter's diffidence, they finished decorating the tree. Actually, Peter finished decorating the tree. Tanya sat on the couch drinking a hot chocolate while Peter picked through the last box of ornaments and found places for them on the tree. These were "his" ornaments, and they were mostly kid's stuff. But he didn't mind amusing his mother, and at the very least, it was nice to spend time with her.

"So, how is the semester going?"

"Good. I had some trouble with my math final, but I'm pretty sure I passed."

"And is there a lady in your life?"

"Mom."

"I'm just asking. I don't think I've met one of your girlfriends since high school."

That's because they're usually intimidated by you, Peter thought. Most of the girls he had brought home had trouble believing his mother was old enough to be his mother, much like so many of his friends growing up had not-so secret crushes on her.

"I don't have a lot of time, between classes, practice, and community service," Peter said.

"That's too bad," Tanya said. "A young man should have a young woman in his life. Especially such a handsome, thoughtful young man like you."

Peter looked askance at his mother. She was beaming at him, legs crossed with the top foot bouncing. He wondered what was in the hot chocolate, and whether he was old enough to drink it. "Thanks," he said automatically. He thought for a moment. "I do have a friend on the swim team who I mess around with from time to time."

Absolute silence. Peter looked over his shoulder. His mother was no longer smiling, and the foot wasn't bouncing any longer. "I'm not sure I follow," she said.

"The women's swim team," Peter clarified, and almost laughed at the way his mother relaxed.

She saw his expression and blushed. "That's not what I... I mean, if you did feel that way about boys I would be supportive, I just...uh..."

"S'okay, Mom. I don't swing that way." He smiled, and decided to test the waters. "I like boobs far too much."

The color on Tanya's cheeks deepened. She cleared her throat. "So you have a friend with benefits? Why don't you just date her?"

Peter shrugged, disappointed at the minimal reaction. "I don't know. Like I said, I'm busy. So is she. We help each other out from time to time. It's like being in a relationship, but without any of the complications." He paused, looking at the ornament in his hand. "Or some of the benefits."

"So you do want to date her?"

"Not exactly." Peter hung the ornament on the tree. "I think it would just be nice to have someone to spend time with, to be with. To wake up next to in the morning."

Silence again. Peter looked back at his mother. Her expression was thoughtful. She sipped her mug, noticed him looking at her, and met his eyes. "That is something very nice to have," she said at last. Peter's heart tumbled.

He turned back to the tree. "What about you, Mom? Have you started dating yet?"

"Oh God, no," Tanya said glibly, her voice suddenly stronger, as if this were a more comfortable topic to discuss. "I've had offers, mind you. Your mother isn't completely washed up. But I guess I'm just not ready." Tanya looked into the bottom of her mug. "Which is weird, considering," she said softly.

"What?"

"Nothing," Tanya said.

"You know, Mom, Greg was an idiot for leaving you. I still don't know how he could do it. You're beautiful, you're kind, you're funny. You are a great catch."

Tanya ducked her head. She was blushing a lot lately. But it made her feel warm and desirable to hear her son say these sorts of things. Or to get hard around her.

"Thank you, Peter. But don't badmouth Greg. I don't want you to do that. Like the way you keep calling him your 'stepfather.' He's more than that."

Peter shook his head. "He hurt you, Mom. He left you. I'm not sure I can forgive him for that."

Tanya took a deep breath. "I have."

Peter turned. "What?"

Tanya cleared her throat. "I have. I had to. You have to realize, Peter, that Greg leaving had nothing to do with him. He's a good man. He loves you very much, and he has been a good father to you. You should give him another chance."

"Mom, what are you talking about? He went and got a girlfriend, while you two were still married. Probably not even his first."

Tears formed at the corners of Tanya's eyes. "I never loved him, Peter." She took a deep breath. "That's not true. I grew to love him, but I was never in love with him. Seems silly, that idea, so close to 40, but it was important to him. He sensed it. I think he always kind of knew. There's a part of me that I kept separate from him, that I never shared with him. And it drove us apart. It is my fault that Greg left, not his."

Peter sat down next to her and hugged her closely. "Mom," he said. For a while that was all he said. Then, "Why did you marry him in the first place?"

"A boy needs a father. I believed it then, I believe it now. That's why I don't want you to be angry with him."

Peter sat still next to her. "I can't help it," he finally said.

Tanya patted his knee. "Maybe when you're older, you'll understand."

"I'm the same age now that you were when you married him."

That brought Tanya up short. "I forget that sometimes." She looked over at him and set her mug down. "Look, I was 20 years old, with a 3 year old son. I didn't have a lot of prospects, then. We were living with my parents, and using Aunt Tracy for daycare. Greg was... nice. He liked me. We had fun together. And he didn't mind that I had a kid. He even seemed to like dating a single mom.

"Then he proposed, and I saw a life for us, a stable life. Greg is a good man, a good provider, and as it turned out, he couldn't have kids of his own. Which is why you don't have any siblings, by the way. But anyway, as long as you were taken care of, I was happy. But I guess it wasn't enough for him.

"So I can't really be mad at him for going. Plus, you know, he appears to have a thing for younger women. Which I am not anymore."

"Mom," Peter said, "you didn't have to do that for me. I... it was better when it was just the two of us. I remember being happy, anyway, and things with Greg haven't been all sunshine and roses. You didn't have to settle for him just for me."

Tanya started to cry. She reached out to grab Peter's hands. "I'm so sorry, honey. The whole thing goes around and around in my head. Did I screw up back then? Did I ruin my life trying to make yours as safe and perfect as possible? Maybe that's why I want you to stay close to Greg. I don't want the last seventeen years to be a complete waste for both of us."

Peter pulled her closer to him. He could feel his own eyes misting in response to his mother's burst of emotion. "They haven't been a waste, Mom. As long as you and I have each other, nothing is ever a waste."

Tanya started crying harder. "I'm sorry," she said again.

On sudden impulse, Peter shifted, pulling his mother into his arms. He looked into her tear streaked face and kissed her on the lips. Not a chaste kiss like the one he gave her at breakfast, but the kiss of a man in love with a woman. He pressed his lips firmly against hers. Her lips parted, welcoming him. Her eyes closed and she leaned into the kiss, returning his passion with equal fervor.

For a split second, it was perfect.

Then she pushed him away and shot to her feet. Without a word she rushed from the room, hurrying up the stairs.

Peter slumped against the couch.

*

An hour later she came back downstairs. Peter had not moved.

"Oh," she said, as if surprised to see him.

"Mom," Peter said, his voice was a croak. He coughed, but before he could start again, she interrupted.

"I'm not mad," she said. She sighed. "I don't know what I am. I am your mother though, and that... that can't happen." She walked over to the couch and placed a hand on the backrest. "But - something else I know. Today is Christmas Eve. It is getting late. If we're going to have dinner, I need to start cooking."

She paused. Warm brown eyes found their mirror in her son's face. "Would you... would you want to help me in the kitchen?"

Peter swallowed whatever he might have said, knowing it wouldn't be enough. He should apologize, he supposed, but he didn't feel sorry. Instead, he simply nodded.

She took his hand and pulled him to his feet and led him into the kitchen. Lights went on. Food came out of the refrigerator and pantry. Knives flashed. The oven came to life. The only words that passed between them were Tanya's whispered instructions and Peter's occasional requests for clarification.

When dinner was ready, Peter set the table and Tanya laid out the food. He didn't blink when she added a wine glass to his setting, but he did frown slightly as she poured him a liberal amount.

She raised her own glass. "To us," she said. He clinked his glass against hers and they both drank. Dinner passed quietly as well, but it was a companionable quiet. None of the awkwardness that should be present seemed to affect them.

Peter finished his glass before his mother and without asking for permission poured both himself and his mother some more. It was his turn to raise a glass. "Merry Christmas," he said. Tanya smiled, clinked her glass with his, and took a healthy draught.

"Any plans for the rest of your vacation?" Tanya asked.

"Not really," Peter said. "I suppose it depends on how soon we can get dug out. I thought at least one of the guys would have called me by now."

And like that, they were talking again. If his mother wanted to ignore that kiss, pretend it never happened, then Peter would do the same. But he would keep it with him forever. His mother's were the sweetest lips he had ever tasted.

After dinner, Peter washed and Tanya dried. When the last dish clinked into place in the washer, they took their glasses of wine into the living room. Tanya turned off the lamps, allowing the room to be illuminated only by the tree.

Peter settled on to the couch, the scene of the crime, and his mother surprised him by sitting next to him and leaning into him. Her back nestled against his chest and she stretched out along the length of the sofa.

Gingerly, Peter put his arm around her, settling his hand on her belly, beneath those wonderful breasts. He could feel the heat of her body through the thin blouse. The scent of her shampoo filtered up into his nostrils.

"This is nice," she said. "Just the two of us. I'm almost glad the blizzard hit and we couldn't get together with anyone else."

"I don't know. I think I could have done without the blizzard."

Tanya held her wine glass out and swirled the liquid around. "Without the blizzard, we wouldn't have had that shower together."

Ah. Peter wished he wasn't talking to the back of her head, but it was possible she was only open to discussing this because she couldn't see him. "Do you think I kissed you because of that?"

Tanya sipped her wine. "The thought occurred to me," she said. Her voice was low.

"Mom. The shower was equal parts agonizing and wonderful. Just like sleeping beside you and holding you all night. But don't think that one thing leads to another. You are the most beautiful, wonderful, loving woman I have ever known. I would have kissed you anyway, even without the blizzard."

She sat in silence, leaning against him, breathing quietly. She sipped her glass of wine, finishing most of what remained, and then stood up. Peter could have held her in place, but he let her go. He felt something inside him constrict as she turned, her beautiful face inscrutable, her eyes hooded in the dimness of the room.

"I'm going to bed," she said.

Peter stared into space for long minutes. Gradually his eyes focused, finding the Christmas tree and its bright lights. With a grunt, Peter levered himself to his feet. He brought the wine glasses into the kitchen and set them in the sink. He started shutting off lights and then climbed wearily up the stairs.

In the hall, he saw his mother's bedroom door was closed. But a light showed at the bottom, warming the hallway.

What does that mean?

Peter stumbled into his room and peeled off his clothes. He found the sweatpants and thermal top he'd worn to bed the night before and put them on. He was just about to turn the covers down when he paused, turning things over in his mind.

I had to try, don't I? Just one more time.

Peter stepped out in the hallway and lightly rapped on the door to his mother's room. "Mom?"

"Come in," she said. There was a flutter of something in her voice, something he didn't recognize. He eased the door open.

Peter froze in the doorway. His heart began to thunder in his chest.

His mother knelt in the middle of her bed. Her unbound hair tumbled down her back. A hint of blue eyeshadow lightened her eyes, and a fresh coat of red lipstick decorated her full lips. She wore only a matching pair of black floral print bra and panties. They emphasized the thrust of her bust, the narrowness of her waist, and the width of her hips. Her hands rested on her silky smooth thighs, folded beneath her. His mother's pale skin fairly glowed in the light from the lamp.

"Mom?" Peter said, absolutely stunned.

She beckoned him with a curled finger. "Come in," she said again. "What do you think?" she said, raising her arms and turning slightly. Her big breasts jiggled enticingly in her bra.