It was early afternoon when I decided to roll out of bed that Saturday. I headed downstairs, ready to do nothing all day but lie on the couch and watch shows on Netflix while eating delicious food. When I entered the kitchen, I had decided that I was having French toast, sausage links, and some Walking Dead. But, just as I had sat down on the couch, my mom appeared out of nowhere. It always seems like just when you have some innocent, inexpensive plans of your own, your parents -- most times your mother -- come in to smash them to bits.
"Would you mind doing a little favor for me?" Mom asked.
My brow furrowed. Usually my mom's little favors were very arduous. I'd made a point to finish all my chores, in and out of the house, the day before, just to avoid this situation. I started imagining the impossible mission that she had in mind for me. Tersely, I answered yes.
"I need you to take some brownies to Gretchen's house," she said.
Hearing that, I WISHED for actual hard chores to do. I would have rather painted the house, weeded the lawn, or re-shingled the roof, than do what she asked. I let her know as much.
Gretchen Bryce-Hughes was one of my mom's friends. She was beautiful, she was British, and a bit of a bitch. The politer term would be obnoxious, but, since she's not here, I'll use the word bitch.
I seriously didn't know why my mom liked her so much. Most days of the week, she would show up to my house unannounced to share gossip with my mom, drink wine, and raid our fridge. She didn't work, so she didn't have anything else to do.
Also, whenever we had parties with our other neighbors, she tended to get really wasted. Even when we had a party without alcohol, she sometimes brought her own. Her drunken escapades were only slightly entertaining at best and were always the talk of our neighbors. When the Henderson's had a pool party last summer, she got a bit handsy with some of the guys at the party, including my dad. I remember her husband been visibly pissed that day.
Despite embarrassing him deeply that day, the two eventually had their first baby three months ago. Since she'd had the baby, we barely saw Gretchen, which was fine with me. I sat up in my seat to properly argue with my mom.
"She's your friend," I said. "Why can't you take her the brownies?"
"I have budget reports to catch-up on," Mom said. "Perhaps you'd like to do them instead?"
"YES!"
"Listen," my mother sighed. "Dad can't stand her, and if I go over, I'll never get home in time to finish my work, so that leaves YOU, the son for whom we spend lots of money on car insurance and gas. We bought you a car for your 18th birthday, so it's time that you earn it."
"I'll get my shoes."
About 15 minutes later, I was leaving the house in my car, with a container of freshly-baked brownies on my front passenger seat. The entire drive over, I was making a game plan: hand Gretchen the brownies, tell her that I had to hurry back home, and get the hell out of there. If I didn't stand my ground, I'd be stuck watching her baby while she went out to party.
Once I pulled into the driveway, I parked the car, grabbed the brownies, and walked to the front door. A few minutes after ringing the doorbell, Gretchen opened the door. She had definitely changed since the last time I had seen her.
Her black hair was disheveled, her face was devoid of makeup, and her eyes had bags under them. She looked like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. But the most apparent change in her appearance was her breasts. She was clad in a dark blue buttoned shirt that wasn't buttoned all the way, which allowed me to see those wobbling, gravid mammaries within the loose confines of her top. It was then that I forgot all about my escape plan.
"You coming in?" Gretchen asked me. "Please say yes; you're the only other adult I've seen besides the postman."
Still mesmerized by her jugs, I followed her into the house. She led me to the kitchen, got a couple of plates, and put some brownies out for the both of us. She tore into the brownies as if she hadn't eaten in days.
"Ohhhh, that tastes so good!" Gretchen moaned with her mouth full. "I'm sorry, but I haven't eaten anything homemade in weeks! I've been eating takeout food and frozen meals non-stop. When you have a baby, you don't really have time to do any serious cooking."
"Mom thought that you might like them."
"I looooooove them. Tell her thanks for me."
"I will," I promised. "She would have come herself, but she's got a ton of work to do."
"That's okay," Gretchen said. "So, how's school going? I reckon you'll be off to university, soon."
"Yeah, I can't wait."
I steeled myself for the inevitable slide into raunchiness that was typical of Gretchen. Usually when I told people that I was almost ready for college, they either joked about all the parties I was going to attend, or the hot college girls I would meet. Surprisingly, she responded with, "Make sure you study hard, so you can get a good job."
From that point on, things got strangely more pleasant. Apparently, she had been so cooped-up at home that she had been forced to binge on television shows. We spent hours talking about what shows to get into. I couldn't believe that I was having such a good time. The only hard part was trying to keep my eyes off her chest.
"Man, these brownies are amazing," Gretchen said, picking up her fifth. "You want some more?"
"Sure," I said. "Do you have any milk in the fridge?"
"Coming right up!"
She got up from her seat and headed to the fridge. She returned with a large pitcher of milk, poured me a glass, and then sat down. I took a long sip to wash the brownies down. Just when I was about to casually announce my intent to leave, she broke out a pack of cards and asked if I wanted to play Gin Rummy. I allowed her to deal me some cards, as well as another glass of milk.
"Shouldn't you check on your son?" I said in the middle of our second game.
"Oh, believe me, Danny sleeps like a rock."
