Chapter 1

“My mom’s got a crush on you.”

That’s what my best friend, Richie, said, one night when we were just hanging out in my back yard.

The evening was warm and we were sitting on the lawn chairs having some sodas. We’re both old enough that my folks wouldn’t have minded if we got a couple of Heinekens out of the fridge, but instead we were just drinking Cokes.

At first I didn’t think that I heard him right.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘got a crush on me’?”

Richie took his time taking another pull on his can of Coke. It looked like he was debating whether to say something or not. But then it was like he decided that he needed to.

“Davey, my mother’s got a serious crush on you, and...” He trailed off, like he needed to say more but really didn’t know what it was he had to say.

Of course I was sure he was just clowning around, fucking with me just for the heck of it. I mean, sure, I’d known Richie’s mom for ages, since we were seven and in the second grade, and yeah, she’s a real nice person and I like her a lot and she seems to like me a lot and is real glad that I was Richie’s friend.

But the other thing is – his mom is really pretty. First, she’s really cute. I mean, she looks like what you’d think of if I said “blond high-school cheerleader.” But then there’s the other thing, too. I’ve seen her in a bikini at the pool, and even around their house, in athletic wear like tights and a T-shirt or her sports bra, and she’s got a great body, and I’d give several ... well, I’d give a lot – to have a girlfriend like her – in looks, and in personality. But, c’mon – Richie’s mom, Carole?

But Richie hadn’t smiled, or laughed, or punched me in the arm and said he was just messing with me, or given me any sign that he was joking. In fact, he seemed real serious, like what he said was some kind of ... burden or something.

Still, I was sure...

“Yeah, right – your hot mom’s got a crush on a college kid she’s known since...,” and I couldn’t think of how to say how long she’s known me.

Richie didn’t say anything, just stared at his can of Coke.

“C’mon, Rich, enough’s enough – let it go, man.”

But Richie didn’t “let it go.” Instead he got even more serious.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you, Davey. My mom likes you, and she likes you in a way that’s not like you’re a friend of mine...”

He paused, like he was trying to find the right way to say something.

“Davey, I think she likes you ... like a man.”

Like a man??

“Don’t fuck with me, Richie. Like a man? Shit. I’ll bet that to your mom I’m still the little twerp who used to splash around with you in your kiddie pool in our underpants. She sees me like a man? Bullshit.”

“Davey, she says things to me, about you – about how smart you ... no, how intelligent you are, and about how kind and thoughtful you are and what a fine young man you’ve become, and she says things ... about how you look – I won’t even say what she says ‘cause it’d make me feel gay just saying them.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I just sat there, waiting for him to break up laughing at the practical joke he was trying to pull on me.

But he never did. So finally I said, “Okay, Rich, if your mom’s really like you say, why? Like, I’m still a kid, like you. Why would a woman like your mom,” I took a chance, “ ... be attracted to a kid?”

Richie just shrugged and continued staring at his Coke can.

I tried another angle.

“Okay, let’s say your mom really is ... attracted to me...,” and now it was me who was groping, trying to come up with the right words ... and whether I should even say them or not, “How would you feel about it ... about that?” I know that if the situation was reversed that I’d sure as shit have some feelings about it.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, Davey. And the first thing I thought about was if she’s just lonely – physically. I mean, she hasn’t gone out practically at all since Dad died, and maybe she likes the idea of having some college stud ... well, you know ... And in one way that grosses me out, thinking about my mom and ... a guy ... you know, that way. But on the other hand, at least I could understand it, and I wouldn’t hold it against her.”

And I thought, yeah, that might make sense. I mean, if a woman as... attractive ... as Richie’s mom is ... hadn’t... you know ... for a long time, then maybe she’d start looking at young guys. But before I could say anything Richie went on.

“The thing is, when I listen to the way she says things, about you, it’s like ... like...,” he took a deep breath, like he was going to say something that he’d thought about a lot and had kind of rehearsed it, “It’s like she thinks you’re like ... that you’re like the kind of man that she hoped my father would be...”

Richie’s father. He seemed OK, but never really quite ... involved, engaged, if you can understand what I’m trying to get at. It was like he had this really great wife and this really cool son and yet he never seemed to appreciate them. And then he died – I never got the details – about eight years ago.

So, okay, maybe – and for the life of me I can’t figure out how or why – Richie’s mom sees – or thinks she sees — things she thought she saw in Richie’s dad back when ... back whenever.

“So...?”

“So I guess what I’m trying to tell you is – she doesn’t see you like ... I think she looks at you ... like she thinks ... you should be ... the man ... that you ... that the two of you ... should be ... together.” And he kind of just seemed to ... sag ... once he finished saying that.

Okay, this is already weird, but now it’s starting to get downright creepy. I mean, what’d it be like between me and Richie, my closest friend in the whole world since we were just little kids, if me and his mom were... together?

But I had to ask him one more thing.

“Why are you telling me all this, Rich?”

He thought for a moment.

“Because I owe it to her ... to my mom.”

Richie ... Rich... Richard Wilson has been my best friend since he and I were in the second grade and we got into this playground fight – I can’t even remember what it was about, and I’m sure it wasn’t anything that important in the first place – and Mrs. Conner made us sit in the classroom by ourselves until we apologized to each other. And we’ve been pretty much constant companions since then.

And of course we spent a lot of time at each other’s houses and got to know each other’s parents. And that’s how I got to know Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, ‘cause I was over at their place so much, and in the summer we’d splash around in the play pool that Mrs. Wilson would inflate for us in their back yard, and later when we got older, maybe nine or ten or so, he and I’d ride our bikes to the municipal pool in Humboldt Park.

And in the cold weather we’d do stuff indoors, like playing bumper pool in their basement or air hockey in ours, and later, when they got good, video games.

And Mrs. Wilson was always there. Mr. Wilson, not so much, but Mrs. Wilson was always there to offer us juice or Kool-Aid and to answer questions and fix scrapes and cuts and stuff, and lots of times she’d ask me to ask my folks if I could stay for dinner (and Richie’d have dinner with us lots of times, too).

And she was always so cool. I don’t mean cool like ... like “being cool” ... like she never tried to be our pal or talk like we did or butt into our games or anything. I mean ‘cool’ like nothing was ever a big problem or a “federal case,” as my dad would say. If something bad happened, or if Richie or I ever fucked up – I mean, screwed up – she never made a big deal about it – just told us to stop doing what we were doing or fix what we’d busted. And if we asked a question, even if it was dumb, or maybe even about something that was kind of embarrassing, she do her best to answer it honestly but in a way that was right for how old we were.

And after enough years of this we became friends, and she wasn’t just “Richie’s Mom” anymore. I mean, yeah, she was still “Richie’s Mom,” but she was also my friend. And we could talk about stuff, like things about our other friends, or about current events and stuff like that, even if Richie wasn’t there. And even sometimes things that were bothering us or problems we were having.

When we were ten Mr. Wilson died. Nobody ever talked about it much. Like I said earlier, Richie’s dad never seemed to be quite “there,” never seemed to be really involved in his family’s life. When I got older I wondered if he committed suicide or if it was something about alcoholism or something like that. But like I said, that was one thing that Richie and his mom never talked about.

After we graduated high school I went to college at State, in Springfield. Richie decided to stay in town and go to Columbia Tech because they have this extensive medical technology program. Plus, going to school in town and living at home saved them a ton of money. And whenever I would phone I ended up spending half the time talking to Richie and half the time talking with his mom ‘cause I was just so used to us talking.

So when I came home for summer vacation it was just natural to head straight over to Richie’s house. But when I rang the bell it was Mrs. Wilson who opened the door. She looked at me and got a big smile on her face. She threw her arms around me and hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, then pulled me into the house and closed the door behind us.

“It’s so good to see you – it seems like it’s been so long!” and she hugged me again. “Rich is in the shower – he got a call just after he talked with you so he’s running a little behind.”

We went into the kitchen and sat down at the table – the table where I’ve spent hundreds – thousands? – of hours over the past 11 years? She poured mugs of coffee for us and sat down, and that’s when I realized how happy I was to see her again, and how natural it felt to be sitting at her kitchen table with her.

“Gee, Mrs. W, it’s great to see you again.” And I meant it – it was great to see her again.

“It’s good seeing you, too, David. But don’t you think we’ve known each other long enough that the ‘Mrs. W’ thing is getting a little old? I think from now on you should call me Carole – would that be OK?” And she waited for me to say something.

“Sure ... Carole.”

“And the other thing is ... you’re not the skinny little squirt who used to run through the lawn sprinkler with Rich when you were seven. Now you’re a 19-year-old college boy – college man. So I don’t think you’re ‘Davey’ any more, do you? From now on, with me you’re ‘David.’ Right...?”

Carole and David.

It felt comfortable. The way old friends should be.

Anyhow, it’s two weeks after Richie and I had our “conversation” – the “conversation” where he told me that his mother “had a crush on me.” And that she doesn’t see me as her son’s friend – or at least, not just as her son’s friend. No, instead she sees me as a man. And more than that, she feels that we, her and me – this man – should be together.

WTF?

I mean, WTF?? Richie’s mom – and she’s a great woman, don’t get me wrong – but jeez, she’s practically like a mom to me. I mean, she is a mom, of course. But she’s almost as much a mom to me as my own mom is.

This is friggin’ crazy, right? How can she see me as ... as a man? I mean, she said that I’m not the skinny little squirt that ran through the sprinkler with Richie, and I guess that’s true. And that now I am a man ... well, sort of ... But, still...

And how can I see her as someone else instead of as my friend’s mom?

But then I realize ... it’s not that hard to see her as ... not-a-mom. In some ways, for years I’ve seen her as not just a mom. As I’ve learned more about people I see how nice she is, and how smart she is – she graduated Phi Beta Kappa and cum laude in biology in just three years from a real selective private college. But also how smart she is about life, and how much stuff she seems to know, and the real good advice she’s able to give – but only if you ask her.

And how most of what I know about girls came from her. And not all that “you need to respect her” or “be sensitive” BS. Instead, she explained it to me that it wasn’t about how the girl makes me feel, but how I make the girl feel. And about sex. And I’m not talking about the technical stuff, like... techniques. That’s why the Internet was invented, right? No, the things she told me, now that I think of it, were mostly just plain Golden Rule shit... ‘scuse me – Golden Rule stuff, like think about how I’d like to be treated, and how I’d like to feel – that kind of stuff.

And, yeah, I admit – I’ve looked at her like a woman lots of times, too. I mean, one, she’s got a real cute face, and her hair is this real nice blond that’s kind of the color of straw. And I’m not gonna lie – she’s got a real nice body. And I’ve seen her sunning herself in a bikini when Richie and I were in the pool, and I notice how good – how hot – she looks when she’s wearing a T-shirt or a tank top and jeans or her yoga pants.

So, yeah, now that I think of it, it’s not that much of a stretch for me to see Mrs. Wilson – “Carole” – as a woman.

And then my mind starts to flash back to how things have been the past couple of weeks, since I got home from college and Richie and I started hanging around again. First, like how she – Carole – talks to me. Not like her son’s visiting friend – instead it’s more like her and me are having a conversation and Richie’s just there too.

And there’s the physical stuff, too. Like how it seems like she stands just a little bit closer to me than she used to. And not flirty-type stuff, like touching me all the time for no reason or twirling her hair and stuff, but now when I come over and she walks me into the house she puts her hand on my arm, or on my bicep, and keeps her hand there for a while. Same thing when I’m leaving.

And the time last week when Richie and me were going out and she asked – not prying, just polite interest – where we were going and Richie told her and said we might meet up with some girls later. And now that I remember it, she got this look, almost like she had some kind of pain. It was only for a second, but now that I think of it and knowing what Richie told me about how she feels about me, I’m wondering – did it actually hurt her – the idea that I might be meeting some girl – some other girl.