Chapter 1

With a quick puff, the lone candle atop the cake was extinguished. “Happy birthday, Ryan!” my mother, Beth, exclaimed. She followed the trail of smoke with her eyes and remarked, “There goes your wish. I hope it was a good one.”

Her brown eyes twinkled, while her infectious smile held my attention, causing me to forget about the tradition. “Sorry, Mom. I couldn’t think of anything I needed. It’s not official, anyway. You’re short seventeen candles.”

Her cute button nose twitched, while her smile grew wider. “In some cultures, turning eighteen is a rite of passage, as in the first year of the rest of your life. I thought you’d appreciate the symbolism.”

With a seductive arch, her eyebrows tantalizingly brushed against her bangs, leaving anyone powerless to resist her irresistible charms.

“I did,” I replied. I saw her face light up with joy, so I went on, “You know, because of you, I’m totally ready to kickstart my career. You played a huge part in how I learned, especially with those awesome games back in middle school. You totally nailed it – they seriously helped me get through my education!”

“They were educational, but we had a lot of fun together, too, don’t you think?” she asked with a grin.

“You’re always right,” I said with a smile. “I never enjoyed playing with other kids, but you managed to entertain me while preparing me for the future. Even after you started working, you found time to help me every evening.”

Mom smiled in response, her approval evident. We avoided mentioning Dad, who rarely spent time at home and preferred hanging out with his buddies, even on weekends.

Upon finishing our cake, she handed me a birthday card. As I opened it, a voucher for a clothing store fell out. “Thanks, Mom. I guess this is a hint that I should replace some of my tattered rags,” I chuckled.

“I know you’ve been saving up for a car,” she stated. “I didn’t want you to worry about clothes when you start tech school this summer. Since it’s Saturday tomorrow, I thought we could go out and make a day of it.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I answered. “I promised Mr. Johnson I’d work on his yard this weekend.”

My mother’s sad expression broke my heart, showing how much she had looked forward to it. Making amends, I suggested, “If I get an early start tomorrow, I should be able to finish everything in one day. That would leave Sunday open, if you still want to go out.”

Her wide smile returned, “Works for me. I’ll even treat you to your favorite restaurant.”

After cleaning the kitchen, we showered and adjourned to the living room to stream some of my favorite shows. Mom baked some cookies and brought them out with hot chocolate. She was pulling out all the stops for my birthday night, as she had every year.

Around eleven, she cleared her throat, catching my attention, and whispered, “Orange.” Hearing our secret signal, I said, “Goodnight,” and headed for my room.

This particular set of events originated from a hide-and-seek game we had played in my youth. Whenever she uttered the trigger word ‘orange,’ I would swiftly scurry to my room and conceal myself, awaiting her search. Over time, it transformed from a game to a secret code to let me know she wanted to be left alone with Dad.

The clanking of the garage door jolted me out of my reverie. Mom had a sixth sense of Dad’s arrival and always alerted me when she heard his car. Although Dad never made an effort to visit me in the evenings, I used to eagerly await his return from work, hoping that he would be happy to see me. Despite his lack of enthusiasm, I longed for his company. I presumed that my parents desired to spend some private quality time together, as they had never shown any romantic gestures in public or in my presence.

Following a restful night’s sleep, I woke up early, quickly wolfed down breakfast, and left the house while everyone else slept. I was resolute in my goal to accomplish the workload of two days within a single day, all with the intention of liberating Sunday to enjoy quality time with my mom. Luckily, the weather was cool, and I was able to work uninterrupted and finish all of my tasks.

Returning home late, I quickly devoured some leftovers, famished from the day’s exertions. I collapsed into bed, utterly drained from the day’s activities. Despite my exhaustion, I felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing that I had finished all of my work in a single day.

By the time I made it out for breakfast, Dad had already left for a day of golfing. To my delight, I was met with a genuine smile that radiated warmth, accompanied by a tantalizing plate of steaming, delicious food. “Good Morning, Ryan,” Mom chirped. “I was in my office last night and didn’t hear you arrive home. Did you find something to eat?”

“I ate some of the leftover lasagna. I arrived home late as it was more work than I had estimated, but still did everything he wanted done. Mr. Johnson had originally wanted his place cleaned up by Sunday, but hated to ask me. He was so happy that he gave me two days’ pay for my work. I’m free to go shopping with you today.”

“Excellent,” she replied with a wide smile. She sat opposite me and sipped her coffee while I ate. Every morning, her infectious cheerfulness at the breakfast table never failed to illuminate my day, and the absence of Dad during those moments only heightened the joyous atmosphere.

Years ago, our family room underwent a major renovation and was converted into a bedroom-office combination. It became Dad’s personal space, and he spent most of his time there whenever he was home. He even ordered Mom to bring him meals, if he didn’t feel like leaving the room. On the surface, it appeared as if she was his maid, instead of his wife.

When I inquired about it, Mom explained that Dad found his work extremely stressful, and he needed some alone time to unwind and recharge. He cherished his moments of solitude and found it hard to relax when other people were around. It was difficult for me to understand at first, but as I grew older, I realized how important it was to have a space to call your own, where you could escape from the outside world and just be with your thoughts.

Once we finished our Sunday chores, we headed to the clothing store. It took much longer than I had guessed, with Mom fussing over the wide variety of pants and shirts. One thing became clear — I wouldn’t have to buy clothes for quite a while.

With the bags of merchandise safely stowed in the trunk, Mom made good on her promise and treated me to one of my favorite restaurants in the mall. As we sat and ate, she reiterated how much she enjoyed spending time with me, while we shopped. Her face lit up with a beaming smile that was contagious, and I felt grateful for taking the day off to be with her.

As we made our way out of the mall, she stopped in front of an upscale clothing store. “I’d like to buy you one more outfit for your birthday present,” she said.

“Mom, I really don’t need any more clothes,” I protested.

“Nonsense,” she replied, and marched into the store. I reluctantly followed and glanced at the price tags on the high-end clothing. “These are way too expensive, and I won’t be in management for years,” I sighed.

Browsing through the racks, pulling out several items, and holding them up for me to see, she remarked, “You’ll look great in this. Everyone needs one good suit, besides, it’s my treat, so don’t fret about it.”

Her crooked, sexy smile was enough to sway the argument. “Why not? If there’s one thing I remember you telling me, it’s to always be prepared.”

She laughed, remembering the times she helped me earn merit badges during my tenure in Boy Scouts. It took another hour to select a style that appealed to her. After the sales associate took my measurements, he assured us that my suit would be ready for pickup in a few days. We stopped at a shoe store on the way out, where she bought me dress shoes to complete the package.

Once we arrived home, Mom helped me remove all the tags before throwing my new outfits in the washing machine. A few hours later, when she helped me hang my latest acquisitions in my closet, I said, “Thanks for everything. I won’t have to worry about spending money on clothes for a long time.”

“If you hadn’t stopped growing six months ago, that wouldn’t be the situation,” she gushed, giggled, and squeezed my arm muscle. “You’ve grown into a strong, handsome man. I’m happy I could make your life at school a little less stressful.”

Her hand lingered on my arm for an additional minute, eventually letting go. She smiled and said, “Orange.”

I was already in bed when Dad arrived.

As soon as school ended on Wednesday, I stopped at the clothing store to pick up my altered clothes. When I arrived home, Mom couldn’t contain her excitement, exclaiming, “Wonderful! You picked up your suit. Try it on for me — I can’t wait to see how it looks on you.”

When I stepped into the living room, Mom’s eyes widened, and she let out a whistle of appreciation. “Looking sharp, Ryan! You’re quite the catch. Some lucky girl will love having you escort her to the prom!” she exclaimed.

Her hidden agenda surfaced as to why she insisted I buy a suit. I rolled my eyes at her playful teasing. “Seriously? I told you — I’m not going. It’s juvenile and no one will remember or care about it in a few years,” I replied with a sigh.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You’ve been studying and working hard lately, and I thought it would be a good idea for you to do something fun. It’s just for a few hours. Can’t you take some time off?” Mom asked, her expression filled with disappointment.

“It’s not solely about finding time,” I responded. “I haven’t had the opportunity to date, and I’m not sure if I could find anyone at this point. Besides, I can’t dance so I’m doing someone a favor by not trampling all over them. Thanks for trying to cheer me up, but it’s for the best not to go. Do you want to return the suit?”

“No, you can use it for other occasions,” she dejectedly lamented. “Change and we’ll eat before catching up on our shows.”

On Friday night, after dinner, Mom entered the living room wearing a coat, business slacks, and heavy boots. “Getting ready for winter?” I asked, chuckling.

As she picked up the remote, she switched the stream to a music channel. “Actually, I think it’s time for a dance lesson. I should have taught you a long time ago, and I feel bad about it. Let me make it up to you now,” she said with a smile.

“Boy, you just won’t let it go, will you?” I asked in jest, to not hurt her feelings. “I don’t think we have enough time for you to teach me enough for prom night. I’m not a fast learner.”

“You don’t need to become a professional. There will be a lot of fast dances in which you can do whatever you want, and from what I can remember from my prom, most of the kids couldn’t slow-dance that well. They mainly shuffled around and didn’t do anything fancy. I’m only going to teach you the basics.”

Knowing she wouldn’t take no for an answer, I rose and listened to her instructions. It soon became clear why she dressed in heavy, conservative clothes. It was sensuous being close to her and if she had dressed for a date, the sexual tension would have interfered with her lessons. As expected, I stumbled upon her boots multiple times until I finally got the hang of it.

We practiced for a couple of hours and continued our lessons Saturday night. When we retired for the night, Mom was satisfied with my progress and treated us to some warm brownies.

On weekends, Dad would typically spend the entire day visiting friends or a bar, leaving Mom and me to handle all the cleaning and maintenance tasks. As we sat down to rest after a long day of cleaning on Sunday, she turned to me and said, “You know, now that we’ve got all the chores done, we can start thinking about the Senior Prom. Have you invited anyone?”

I let out a sigh. “I told you — I don’t want to attend. It’s not really my thing.”

“But you’re going to regret it if you don’t go,” she insisted. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and you’ll always wonder what it would have been like if you didn’t go.”

“It’s too late. Everyone has been paired up by now. I wouldn’t know who to ask, anyway,” I argued, hating to dash her hopeful expression.

“How about Heather?” Mom suggested, a smile gracing her face. “You two connected wonderfully when you worked together in chemistry class. She’s charming and would be the perfect prom date.”

The mention of Heather brought back memories of our time as lab partners during my sophomore year. We enjoyed each other’s company and she helped me excel in the class. However, Heather had transformed from a tomboy to a stunning young woman and was probably dating one of the popular jocks.

“I don’t think she’s available,” I curtly replied, shaking my head.

Determined not to give up, she pleaded, “You won’t know unless you try. Ask her and if it doesn’t work out, I won’t pester you again. Please?”

Her cute, pleading face broke my resistance. “Sure, why not? I still have her number. I’ll text her.”

“No you won’t, young man,” Mom scolded me. “A girl likes to be asked for a date, not by a text. Under perfect circumstances, you should talk to her face-to-face, but time is of the essence, so call her now. Be the gentleman I raised and build a friendly rapport with her before asking.”

She sat and waited for me to react. As I pulled up my contact list, I hesitated briefly, glancing at her, and then asked, “Could I have a moment in private? It’s embarrassing to ask someone out on a date in front of you.”

She stood to leave, but her saddened face broke my heart. “Mom, stay,” I relented. “You’ve done so much and have worked hard to help me get to this point. You have the right to hear the outcome, good or otherwise.”

She sat and smiled wide, waiting for me to continue.

Heather picked up immediately. “Hi, Ryan. Good to hear from you,” she answered. My angst lessened, knowing she hadn’t deleted me from her contacts.

“Hi. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch since chemistry,” I said, apologetically. “I owe you a lot for helping me that year. I should have hired you as a tutor for the rest of my classes. I hear you’re at the top in every class.”

“We did have a lot of fun that year. Did you call for some help in one of your subjects?” she asked.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m actually doing fine,” I replied. “Remember how we clicked that year and all the fun times we shared together? Well, I was hoping you’d do me the honor of being my prom date this year.”

Mom smiled at my progress, but I worried, hearing only silence from Heather. Before embarrassing her any further, I blurted, “I know it’s really close to the prom, and you probably already have a date. I just thought...”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted me, saving me from stammering any further. “I’d love to go with you. It’ll be a blast getting together again. Pick me up at six and we’ll eat something first.”

“Sounds great. Do you have any restaurant preferences?” I asked.

“Nope. You pick it,” she replied. “I’m sorry, but Dad is calling me to help him with something. It was great talking to you. See you later.” She ended the call without giving me a chance to respond.

“All right,” I looked at Mom and excitedly relayed, “she accepted and wants me to take her out to dinner first.”

“Wonderful!” Mom exclaimed, hugging me tightly. We rarely connected so close. Her fragrant hair shampoo smothered my face and flooded my senses. My heart leaped with joy, surpassing the excitement of Heather’s acceptance.

She pulled back a few inches, remaining face-to-face with me. I seized on the moment to admire her beautiful face that I normally took for granted. Her alluring brown eyes filled me with warmth. The close proximity of our bodies and her soul-searching stare sent shivers down my spine, as my caring mother transformed into a sensuous woman.

Breaking the erotic, but uncomfortable, mood, she said, “Let’s eat and we’ll celebrate your success tonight with some fresh cookies and ice cream.”

Time flew by, and before I knew it, prom day had arrived. Dad was absent, since it was Saturday, allowing Mom to help me prepare for my night out. She made reservations at a popular restaurant, and when she coached me on how to treat my date, I retorted, “You do know that it’s not my first time, don’t you? I think I have a handle on how to act.”

“Of course, dear,” she replied, acknowledging her mistake. “I may have been a bit too enthusiastic. But I have faith in you, and I believe you’ll do just fine. I have some computer work to do, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks,” I replied, feeling bad about reprimanding her for caring too much. She walked into my bathroom, the door left open for convenience, and continued to the adjacent room that was now her office, a space that was initially intended for a sibling my parents never had. Sitting on my bed, I watched her sit and work on her computer. After surfing for an hour, I proceeded to retrieve the clothes I would wear.

When it was time to shower and dress, I closed both doors and noticed Mom had already left her office. Once I showered and dried off, I slid on my underwear and pants and sat on the bed, my mind racing with different scenarios on how the evening would proceed. Sudden panic hit me; I didn’t have any condoms. Albeit it would be my first official date with Heather, what if I got lucky? I didn’t want to blow it, so I decided to leave a little early and stop at the drugstore on the way to pick her up.

My chirping phone broke me out of my trance. I answered immediately, noticing it was Heather.

“Hi, Heather. How’s it going?” I swiftly inquired, preempting her greeting.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Ryan. I won’t be able to attend the prom with you tonight,” Heather said, her voice timid and soft.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry you’re not feeling good,” I said, wondering how long she had known she wouldn’t be able to attend.

“That’s not the problem. Do you remember Brad?” she asked. “He was in our eighth-grade math class. You used to talk to him quite a bit,”

Brad and I did hang out for a few months before he joined the rich kid’s group and ditched me. As he was a football jock, I had a bad feeling about where the conversation was headed. “Yeah, I remember him,” I replied curtly, apprehensive about what would come next.

“Two months ago, he asked me to prom, and I accepted,” she explained, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “But then, his uncle fell ill and was hospitalized in the South. Brad felt he had to be there with him during his final days. He knew he wouldn’t be able to return in time, and gave me his blessing to go with someone else. That’s why I accepted your invitation. However, Brad called me earlier today, sounding extremely depressed. He shared with me that his uncle had passed away a few days ago and he’s returned. When he found out I had a date to prom, he broke down in tears, and I couldn’t bear to see him so upset, so I decided to accompany him, instead of you. I hope you can understand where I’m coming from.”

I paused, digesting the situation. It sounded like a good excuse, but things didn’t add up in my mind. I knew Brad well enough to know he wasn’t the caring, emotional guy she described. “I understand, perfectly,” I replied, with more anger in my voice than I wanted. “It’s simple. You upgraded.”