Mom's Ripple Effect (Extended)

She froze, her muscles going stiff beneath her clammy skin. Deep down, she had always known. His fascination never died.

"Well, um," she coughed, "you didn't miss any races or have, ya know, awkward moments earlier this season."

"Yeah, cos I've always gotten rid of it first."

"Oh. Alright. So, why the problem this weekend then?"

The silhouette rocked back and forth against the yellow nylon, and Heather scratched the part in her hair. "Paul, why was there a problem this weekend?"

"Cos you did the wash Friday night."

Huh? Her head tilted. "Honey, you lost me...."

"Mom," he shakily voiced, "I use your underwear for it."

She twitched and squirmed, thrashing her limbs to rid them of the crawling sensation. Her green eyes bulged from her head as she screamed inside.

"Mom?"

Collecting and calming herself with her hands, Heather answered, "Yeah. Wait, so, do you mean you use the dirty ones? Or do you go into the drawer?"

"Dirty."

Thank god, she sighed, neck rolling in her hands. "Hoo! Okay, um... So, I get how the laundry can be a problem with that. But why did that--?"

"There weren't any in the hamper," he mumbled. "So I had to try without 'em. And I couldn't do it."

"Ah. Gotcha," she bit her lightly freckled cheek. "So, I get how that happened. But, I mean, I wore underwear yesterday and took them off, so...."

"They didn't work."

"Okay. Why not?"

"I don't know. Just... After what we did yesterday, I just... It wasn't the same."

Heather's ass hit the grass with a thud. Not only had she warped her son's brain by accident but had knowingly done it again yesterday, and for no good reason.

Apparently, instead of rolling up her top and jiggling her boobs, she could have simply asked him to turn around for a minute and left her panties on the rock.

"I see," she replied, hiding her self-loathing. "So, is there anything else you do, in regards to me? I won't be mad. I just wanna understand so I don't keep making mistakes."

"I look at you a lot. Like, all the time. And I look at your Facebook pics a lot, too, like the ones where you're dressed how you used to dress. And you already know about the panties. But I also broke up with Kennedy because I kept thinking about you. And... Yeah. That's... That's all I can think of."

Through the panting in the tent, Heather could hear the weight leaving his body. And while the masturbation stuff was unsurprising, hearing he broke up with her friend's daughter because of her was troubling.

"Okay. Thank you for telling me," she nodded to herself. "And, wait... You noticed I started dressing different?"

"Yeah... I think that's why I liked your shirt so much yesterday. It was right, and I guess I wasn't used to it."

"Ah. Makes sense." She pursed her lips, climbing back to a squat. "Well, I have to go think about... well, everything, heh! But you stay here as long as you need to, okay? Text me if you need food or water or anything. I'll be nice this time, I promise."

"Thanks," he chuckled.

"Oh yeah! By the way, congratulations on Nationals! Woo!"

"Hah. Um, thanks, mom."

*** Home ***

In a rarity, Heather was excited for a workweek. Not because of the work but because it meant a five-day reprieve from rowing parents and being looked at as a harlot.

While Monday and Tuesday were lovely, Wednesday caught her off guard, for her husband was waiting for her in the kitchen when she got home.

"Hey, hon. What are you doing here?" she asked, curious why he wasn't at the river coaching after school.

"Heather, can you sit down?"

"What's wrong?"

"Just, please, sit down," Rich huffed.

She swallowed, doing as he asked.

"Look, there's no easy way to bring this up, so I'm just gonna come out and say it. I heard a rumor that you've been going off with other men at races."

Heather flinched. "WHAT?! Who told you that?"

"A lot of people are saying, it seems." Her husband tapped the table, chewing his gum. "I wanna believe it's just a rumor, but I heard it from parents who I've known for quite a while."

"Wha? Rich... You... If that many people are saying it, you know it can't be true. It's crazy! You know how some of them hate me and would love to spread a rumor like that. Do you seriously think that could be true?"

Rich leaned back in the wooden chair, puffing air from his stubbled cheeks. "Yes, I know about your rivalry with them and all the drama. You talk about it all the time. And I know that some parents can get a little crazy. That was actually my first instinct. But then, I thought more about it....

"When you're at the races, you're on your own all day, and Paul's races take up, what, twenty minutes total? The rest of the time, I'm not with you, and it's not like any of the dads from other teams know who you are or who you're married to. So... The opportunity's always been there."

Under the table, Heather's knuckles balled into a fist. And her eyes turned a dangerous shade of green as she glared at her husband, wanting to knock the gum from his mouth.

"You think I spend my weekends blowing random dad's at rowing events? How the fuck could you even suggest that?"

"Prove that you don't, then."

"Wha... Wha... WHAT?" She laughed at the ceiling, hitting the table. "Prove I don't? How the hell would I do that? Go around with a lie detector test and interview every guy at the river, then show you the results?"

She shook her head. "And what the hell did you just say? That I spend all day alone? I wish! Do you have any idea what I'm doing when our son's not rowing? I'm organizing the canopy, keeping all the rowers on schedule, and parenting dozens whose bitchy parents treat the races like a daycare!

"But do I get paid? No! I barely get thanked, not even by you! But somehow all of that is my responsibility because I'm your wife. You'd be up to your neck in bullshit without me being there dealing with all the parents.

"And, oh, hey... If not being supervised is all I need to start being a whore, why don't you ask me to quit my job? Why not put a leash on me or one of those tracker things? Then you can always make sure I'm where I'm supposed to be and not off blowing more men."

Her husband folded his hands, staring at the table. "Heather, let me ask you very clearly... Have you ever cheated on me?"

"Rich, I promise I've been as faithful as you."

His nose twitched. "Well, I'm choosing to believe you for now. But if I find out you're lying to me, we're over. And for the love of god, Heather, if you did anything with a parent on our team... Christ, you'd make my life a living hell."

She silently glared, her sharp, dimpled chin and flaring nostrils speaking for her.

He continued, "I don't know if you've noticed, but the parents on our team are religious, upright people. So along with our family, you'd be destroying my career here."

"I understand," she subserviently nodded, almost smiling with rage. "Oh... And by the way, the parents you trust so much might not be as saintly as you think. Because I heard that Gretchen fooled around with one of the coaches." Her husband's eyes flashed and neck shrunk. Finally, Heather for sure.

"Um," he coughed, clearing his throat. "Well, that's really serious if it's true. But I'm starting to think you're right about the parents being crazy. I'm sorry I even asked. I've been under a lot of pressure with Nationals. But, yeah, I know you'd never cheat — just like I wouldn't."

He stood up, pushing in his chair. "And I'll see if I can dig up anything on that Gretchen rumor. I don't know which of the guys it would be, but we'll see if it's even true."

"Mm," Heather lovingly grinned as he said goodbye and left for work.

----

Despite winning the battle with her husband, Heather's outlook was bleak. Her marriage was faithless, her husband suspected her to be a whore, and he had denied their son a seat on a boat so he could fuck a gremlin.

She needed a drink, a friend, and her youth. Unfortunately, she was forty, was out of wine, and none of her friends would speak to her now.

There's always Celine. Heather dryly thought of the other receptionist at the dentist office who still called her "Harieta."

Maybe Pam? It's been long enough. You can tell her how your son only broke her daughter's heart because he loved jerking off in your panties too much.

Flopping onto the squeaky, living room sofa, Heather sighed. The white walls around her felt less homey and more like a prison.

Paul would be leaving at the end of this summer. Then what was she to do? Keep being the coach's wife? Deal with parents every weekend for the rest of her life? Live here with Rich? But how would she start over?

The front door swung open, and Paul strode through the doorway in his blue singlet and shorts, waving goodbye to whoever dropped him off.

"Hey, honey! How was practice?"

"It went really well!" he said, setting his drawstring bag down.

"Good! And, um, how was the teasing today? Any better?"

"Yeah, it pretty much stopped. In a way," he chuckled as he untied his sneakers.

"What does that mean?" Heather asked, brow arched.

Paul explained, "Well, I knew the guys wouldn't stop ripping me for it, so I just told 'em I like to masturbate before races because it makes me row faster."

He then laughed, kicking his shoes onto the rack. "And I said all the bathroom stalls were taken before my race Sunday, so I was out of luck."

"And they bought that?" Heather laughed, holding her face.

"Uh-huh. They thought it was funny. I figured they couldn't make fun of me if I was in on it."

"Ah. And you're now fine with being known as the guy who masturbates to row faster?"

"Hey, it beats being called 'boner boy.'" He shrugged in his singlet in front of the door. "Plus, I think it's true — I do row faster."

In all her snickering, she almost let his final remark pass, but then her curiosity got the better of her. "Wait, sorry... How long have you been touching yourself before races?"

"Oh." He straightened his back and scratched the side part in his hair. "Uh, well, I guess Saturday was the first time."

"Oh." Heather rubbed the back of her neck beneath her copper waves. "Honey, not to put a damper on things, but neither of your races last weekend were your best. Saturday, you needed that crazy sprint at the end. And Sunday, you were lucky to advance."

"Exactly! That's what I'm saying. I was crap on Sunday after I didn't do it. But on Saturday, after we-- it happened, I was wiped... But only for a little while. Then at the end of the race when my testosterone came back, I rowed the best clip of my career. It was like an electric shock."

Rolling her green eyes, as only a mother could, Heather poked, "And you don't think this might all be in your head? You don't think that 'shock' was you hitting the wall and your adrenaline kicking it? Because if flowing testosterone helped win races, dontcha think Sunday would've been your best race?"

She tried but couldn't stop her laugh from bursting through as she wormed on the striped sofa. "I'm sorry, honey, but--"

"No!" Paul growled. "It's not in my head. I felt clear and in the zone afterward on Saturday. I was exhausted before the race, though. But once things started working again down there, I got hard and went on a tear."

Heather opened her mouth, about to voice more skepticism of a performance-enhancing boner. But then she remembered the stiff, celebratory hug following Saturday's race. "Well... More power to you, I guess."

Watching her son sort through his drawstring bag by the doorway, Heather was unsure of where they stood. In some ways, things felt normal. Even their routine was the same, with him coming from practice, her on the couch with a magazine by her side, and them chatting. Though there were differences, a subtle tension that caused their once effortless talks to be replaced by him popping his lips and humming while she quietly sat.

"So, how are things with you?" Paul broached. "You look a little down."

The mother scratched above her ear. "Uh, yeah, I've been dealing with... a lot lately."

"That sucks. Like what?"

"Same old crap," she snorted. "Dealing with crew parents mainly. They can be... challenging."

Paul picked at his arm, eyes down at his socks on the laminate. "Yeah... That's true."

"Why?" Heather leaned forward on the sofa, her tone firm. "What did you hear?"

"Nothing!" he said quickly.

"Paul...."

"Nothing, just stupid stuff."

"Paul, tell me what you heard and who you heard it from. Please."

He winced and squirmed. "A few of the guys told me about a rumor that you did stuff with some dads at races."

"Fuck." Heather flopped onto the cushions again, squeezing her head. "The kids too! Are you serious!" she vented at the ceiling.

"Which dads?" she asked, sitting up. "Which dads did they say?"

Her son eyed the staircase across the room. "Um, I don't really--"

"Paul...."

"Dad's from other schools, they said. Like, maybe a few on our team too. But I know you wouldn't do that with one of my friend's dads," he assured.

Shit.

On the bright side, not everyone in her home so easily believed rumors of her being a common whore.

"What about dads on the other teams, though?" she pressed, pulling her hands from her white, oval cheeks. "Do you think I did anything with them?"

"Eh..." His jaw buckled. "I mean, I-- No. No, I don't think you'd do that either."

"Paul... Be honest. I won't be mad."

"When... When you did what you did for me on Saturday, you seemed comfortable in a new, random situation like that. And--"

"I seemed comfortable to you?!" Heather slapped her thighs, tossing her head.

"No, no, no. I meant, like, most moms wouldn't have done what you did. But you did it," he explained. "And I'm not saying that's bad. I thought it was good. Like, good that you did it because you saved me. But, yeah, you surprised me by doing that for me. That's all."

"Mm," she reckoned. At least her son saw her actions as heroic and not disturbing. Because he was right — very few moms would have sacrificed themselves in the same way. Though whether that made her a disgusting or honorable mother was up to interpretation.

Hugging her body on the old, striped sofa in her favorite oversized hoodie, Heather addressed her son. "I've never done anything with a dad on another team. And what I did on that rock was a spur-of-the-moment, no-other-options, emergency decision. And I need to know you understand that."

Paul nodded at his socks. "If it's worth anything, I wouldn't have judged you for it — if the rumors were true. I know how dad is, and I know that you guys are kind of, ya know, not on--"

He paused and looked over, shaking his brown head. "Hold on... You just said you never did anything with a dad on another team. Does that mean...?"

Her stuck tongue gave it away, and her son's brown eyes bulged from his square face. "Honey, it's not what you think!"

"Seriously?!"

"Paul, listen. I had to do it!"

"Had to? You 'HAD' to?"

"Yes! I didn't wanna scare you, but Jackson, Cody's dad — he saw us."

Instantly, Paul straightened up, his arms settling at his sides. "Like, when we were...?"

She nodded, eyes shut. "He came up to me and named his price... and I paid it. But there's nothing to worry about now. Nobody will find out."

"Wow," was all the teen could muster, standing stunned in the humble living room.

"Of course, Cody's dad had to tell a buddy about what I did for him. Then he told someone else, who told someone else. And now, everyone thinks I blew half the crew dads in the region. Yay me."

"I can't believe you did that," Paul said, his cheeks high, almost admiringly. "Thanks, I guess?"

"It is what it is." Heather picked at her nails.

"I'm sorry, mom. This is my fault. I should've said no when you offered. Maybe if--"

"No, honey, don't!" she waved. "I made the decision, okay? It's my fault you have to deal with these rumors about me now. And they're not going away anytime soon. For either of us."

The mother and son sighed, reflecting to themselves.

"Well," Heather laughed, spreading her palms, "since all my decisions have backfired on me lately, how about you give me some advice? What do I do about the gossiping parents? So I ignore them and wait till they're bored of talking about it? Or do I fight back somehow?"

In front of the door, Paul puffed his chest and mused into the distance, taking his role of trust seriously.

"I don't think you can fight it," he finally said. "Denying it will make everyone think you have something to hide. It'll make the scandal seem even bigger."

Heather smacked her pink lips. At times, her son's wisdom impressed her. He did have the best brain in the family. "I think you're right. I think ignoring it is the way to go. Letting things pass usually works best in the long run, anyway."

"Not as well as you think it does. With small things, yeah, but ignoring big things just makes them worse," he challenged.

"You think? Because I think they'll be bored of it in two months, and then I'll never hear of it again," she snorted.

"No, mom, it doesn't work that way! This isn't some rumor. It happened! You actually blew someone, and he told everyone. They all know it's true now. And people don't forget about sex stuff. Ever. Look at us!"

"Wha... Paul..." she crossed her legs, "What does any of this have to do with what we... back then?"

"UGH!" He threw his arms over his head, squatting down before popping back up. "Mom, this is the same thing you did on my birthday. We never talked about it. Never! You just kept ignoring it and acting like everything was normal. But it wasn't. And now we have all these weird problems because of it. You literally changed how you dress around me instead of talking to me. Did you think I'd forget what I saw? Cos I won't! You dropping down in that chair like that... I see it constantly. Now I have to check you out all the time and steal your underwear from your hamper every morning. And believe me, I don't want to. But I have to! And you're all weird around me now. So that's what ignoring it has gotten us. Everything's worse because we never tried to talk and deal with it. I wanted to, but you obviously didn't. So, no, you're not going to ignore this problem too and magically get over it."

As the radiator ticked from across the room, Heather sat, feeling unsure and raw. But one thing was clear — she and her mother had been wrong, and her son was right. Avoiding problems wasn't a virtue. It wasn't a sign of wisdom, or patience, or cleverness. It was living in denial. The team's parents, much like her son, had created a fantasy version of her in their minds. And they'd never unsee it, not when it was based on true events.

Sighing, Heather sunk into the cushions and turned to her son. "Thanks for the advice. You made some solid points," she smiled.

"And, please, bear with me on the whole opening-up thing. I tend to hold things in a bit too much, if you haven't noticed, heh. But if this is what talking through problems is like, I think I can get used to it."

Folding her arms again, she complimented, "At least one of us was brave enough to put himself out there and take the first step."

"Thanks," Paul twisted bashfully, "but I think you were much braver and put yourself out there a lot more."

Heather snorted, as did Paul. And then they laughed, filling the living room with her high and easy register and his slowly deepening one.

"Hoo!" Paul grinned, catching his breath. "This is actually how I got everyone to stop ripping me over my boner. I finally stopped feeling sorry for myself and just accepted it and owned it and laughed about it. Now it doesn't feel so bad."