Chapter 14

It was after ten before I dragged myself out of bed. But since it was the first day of Christmas Vacation, that wasn't bad. Actually we don't get Christmas Vacation anymore. It was winter break.

Maybe Tami was still in bed and I could go join her.

There'd been a dance at the high school last night, and Robbie and I had gone for awhile to perform with the band. Then we met Tami and Ashley at Robbie's house for a party of our own. Mostly Risk and some dancing and making out. It was a nice way to start the holidays.

I turned off my radio and was getting ready to take my shower when I noticed the noise of the television coming from the living room. That surprised me. Traci must be up, but she'd gone to the dance at the middle school and hadn't gotten home until midnight.

I figured I'd go in and say hi to her before I grabbed a shower.

"Mom! What are you doing here?"

"I live here, if that's okay with you."

"It's just... Are you sick? You should be at work."

"I'm fine, thank you. And I figured that if you got the day off, I should too."

Mom playing hooky?

"Uh, okay."

"And what would you like for breakfast? Your usual omelette with everything?"

"Sure. I'm gonna grab a quick shower."

"It'll be ready when you are," she said, turning off the talk show and getting up.

"Okay," I said and retreated to the bathroom.

I turned on the water and stepped under it, even before it warmed up. Fact one, Mom was home when she should have been working. Fact two, Mom was making me breakfast when she had stated many times I'm old enough to fend for myself. Fact three, Mom was making me an omelette, and it wasn't my birthday, Christmas Day, or the day after a really good report card. Fact four, Mom seriously hated omelettes. Fact five, Facts one through four didn't add up.

The water was just getting comfortable when I stepped out and started drying myself off. Something was going on.

"That was fast," Mom said when I came out, dressed in jeans and a turtleneck sweater.

"Should I wake Traci for breakfast?"

"Your dad took Traci shopping an hour ago."

Fact six, Dad was shopping when he should have been working. Fact seven, Dad hates shopping, especially with Mom or Traci. Fact eight, somebody had to be dying.

Mom brought out a huge platter loaded with a giant omelette, hash browns, and both link sausage and bacon. I had to be dying.

But I hadn't been to the doctor. No, I went a month ago, just before football ended. I'd hurt my ankle and he took an x-ray. But an x-ray wouldn't show a tumor or anything like that. Would it? And people don't get tumors in their ankles. I was pretty sure they didn't.

But if I wasn't dying, it had to be somebody close. Mom, or Dad, or Traci. They all looked good. Traci couldn't be dying; she went to a dance last night.

"You haven't touched your food," Mom accused.

"Sorry, I was thinking." I picked up a fork, and started pushing food around my plate.

"We need to have a talk."

Something about the way she said that made me think she'd used the wrong article. Not a talk, The Talk. Damn, Mom wanted to talk about sex. Now I wished I were dying.

I took a forkful of hash browns and shoveled them into my mouth.

"We need to talk about sex."

Damn! Damn! Damn! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! "Moooommmm!" I protested around a mouthful of food.

"It's time," she said flatly.

"Dad and I have had this talk." I took a bite of omelette. "Three times," I added. Once in California, when he or Mom noticed I was spending more and more time with girls. Once just after we'd moved. And once last year.

"Tell you what. If you can honestly tell me that any one of those talks was more than twenty words, I'll let you eat in peace."

I really wanted to lie to my mother, but I doubted Dad's talks were twelve words each time. If you subtracted twenty minutes of hemming and hawing, it came down to 'Don't get anybody pregnant, ' and 'Don't catch the clap or something worse'.

I looked down at my plate and kept eating.

"That's what I thought.

"Mom, we don't need to do this."

"Yes, we do." I knew finality when I heard it. A judge reading a death sentence wishes he had Mom's finality. Of course, he could get overturned. Not even the Supreme Court could help me.