Slippery Slope

"I understand. Take your time. Get your things." Before I rolled up the window, he said, "Hey, that was good thinking, putting out those markers."

I thanked him, and Mom and I dressed without exchanging a word.

A few minutes later, we were in the back of his cruiser at the top of the hill. He called base, reported us, and then filled out some form. I stared out the window. He talked mostly to Mom.

What guy wouldn't?

***

Back home, Mom and I ravaged the pantry for food, neither of us willing to take the time to make something.

We talked, but not about the sex. Mostly, we just raved about how good the salsa tasted, how great the chips were.

I had this vision while I was munching away: Mom, once we had satisfied ourselves, taking my hand and leading me up to her bedroom.

Silly me.

She called Pete when we finished eating. I hardly saw any of her the rest of the day.

***

The days passed.

The car got towed and fixed. The snow melted.

It's easy to think that, after what we shared in that car, things couldn't possibly be normal again, but they were somehow. Mom made it so that things would not be weird. She ignored what had happened, and I followed her lead, not wanting to bring it up and upset her.

I guess she wanted to forget the whole thing. It hadn't been ladylike what she'd done; it hadn't been proper.

At some point, it dawned on me that we would never talk about it. I came to accept it. But, I still believed that, at some point or other, there would be a look, a glance, a moment between us that would serve as an acknowledgment.

Didn't happen.

***

Christmas came and went. I registered for Spring classes.

On the Friday between Christmas and New Year's, I didn't go out. I'd broken up with Deanna, and most of my friends were out of town. A light snow fell. Mom went out, of course.

I went to bed before midnight.

I was dreaming about meeting my Dad for the first time, and I remember feeling really pissed because, as it turned out in my dream, Pete was my father. I didn't like it, and I was about to yell at Mom when an earthquake hit us. I fell to the floor, watching pictures drop from the walls, seeing glasses fall from the table. The floor, itself, was rocking me to and fro.

I woke with a start.

Mom's soft hands stopped shaking me.

"Mom?" I muttered, rubbing and opening my eyes. It was two in the morning. I looked at her dark silhouette. "Everything okay?" I asked.

Silence.

Her face was unreadable in the darkness. Finally, she said, "I'm hungry, honey."

*****

Note: Thank you to all readers. I hope your patience with the set up was sufficiently rewarded. Mistakes are mine; it's self-edited.