Samantha relaxed in the tub, enjoying her warm bubble bath while getting delightfully smashed on a bit of wine. She had been drinking more often as of late. More than she should have maybe, but it had been a long and painful journey since her divorce from the kid's father.
After remarrying, her second, and much happier marriage, ended when her husband died in a tragic car accident, leaving her to raise her three children, Bobby, Riley, and Melissa from the first marriage by herself.
The bathroom was lit by a plethora of small tea light candles, giving it a soft romantic glow helping to make both her thoughts, and her mood, warm and fuzzy. Making sure her thoughts would continue to remain warm and fuzzy, there was a bucket of ice sitting next to the tub with the bottle of Pinot in it.
Sighing, she took another large swallow of her wine before setting it aside. Draping a wash cloth over her eyes, she sank down into the warm bubble bath.
She had maybe been catnapping for five or ten minutes when there came a soft knocking on her bathroom door.
"Mom . . . are . . . are you in there?"
Samantha's eyes flickered open as she sank further down under the protective screen of bubbles which covered nearly the entirely of her whole sunken tub.
"Yes, come in, hon," she called out to him.
The bathroom door swung open then partially as Bobby poked his head in the room.
"Oh sorry Mom, I didn't know you were taking a bath. I guess I can talk to you later."
"Hey you didn't wake your little sister up did you? She is sleeping in my bed, again."
"No. I was quiet and she is still sleeping soundly. I checked."
Bobby started to shut the door before Samantha, suspecting by the mere tone of her son's voice there was something wrong, called out to him. "Bobby come back. It's OK you can talk to me. I mean it must be important if you came up here to talk to me so late. What is it nearly eleven?"
"Yeah, almost but . . ."
"No buts, come back in here and tell your mom what is wrong," Samantha said to him firmly.
"You sure?" Bobby said as the bathroom door started to slowly open again.
"Yeah, beside I'm pretty sure I know what you wanna talk to me about."
"You do?"
"Yes, as my motherly instincts are telling me you and Billy, against my sage advice, rented that stupid Nightmare on Elm Street 2."
Bobby, standing there in a pair of old jeans and a shabby tee shirt, looked at her sheepishly before saying, "Yeah, we did."
"And let me guess, now you two are worried and scared about going to sleep?"
"Yeah," Bobby answered quietly. "I guess we are both scared we might have bad dreams."
"Then why did you watch the stupid thing," she snapped irritably at him.
"I don't know . . . coz we wanted to," Bobby quietly replied.
Samantha, chastising herself for snapping at him, softened her voice before saying, "I mean, you know those scary movies do tend to give you nightmares."
"Yeah, I know but we were just . . . like curious and everyone was talking about it so . . ."
"Well if you do have any bad dreams Bobby, just hmm, come back upstairs to my room as I won't be going to bed for a while yet since I just got into the tub. Just leave both my bedroom door, and the bathroom door open a bit."
"OK . . . sure." Bobby mumbled as he turned again to leave.
There was something in the way he mumbled his answer that struck Samantha the wrong way. It was as if he didn't really take her invitation to come back to her room seriously. Thinking she better double down on things, she spoke up.
"Look, honey, your mom is serious. You can come here and see me if you have a bad dream and need some comforting. I really mean that."
Turning back around to face her Bobby replied, "But what if it's late and you are like, already in bed?"
Deciding to try and make light of the situation, Samantha smiled at him before saying, "Then I guess you will just have to crawl up onto my bed and wake your mommy up."
He gave her a wan smile before saying a, a bit more firmly this time, "OK."
"Promise you will do that, hon. Come see me no matter how late it is?"
"Yes, I promise," he replied before beginning to, once again, retreat from the bathroom.
"Oh wait . . . one more thing, Bobby. I am assuming Billy is kind of worried like you . . . about, you know, having bad dreams and all."
"Yeah. Actually, I think he is even more worried."
"Well then why didn't he come up with you to see me?"
"Oh, you know, how he is. I told him he should come with me, but he said he didn't wanna bother you."
"Well make sure you tell him he is welcome to come see me too if he has a bad dream and needs some comforting."
"OK, I will."
Wanting to make sure her message would be delivered, Samantha said firmly, "You had better tell him, Bobby because I will ask him later if you did."
"OK, OK, I will tell him, Mom," Bobby said before finally departing.
After he left, Samantha smiled to herself, being close to one hundred percent sure one of them, if not both, would be back before the night was up, clamoring for her to comfort them after having a bad dream.
Billy was Bobby's best friend, turning just eighteen a week ago, a mere three days after Bobby's own birthday. They were the proverbial "two peas in a pod" with nearly identical personalities and looks. Although they were both the shy book worm types, Billy was maybe even a bit more reserved than his best friend as he came from an abusive home, mainly because Billy's stepfather was a jerk who liked to thump on both his wife and his oldest stepchild.
As a result of his shitty home life, Billy spent the majority of this time, over at best friend's house. Samantha actually possessed a real soft spot in her heart for the painfully shy Billy so she didn't mind him spending the majority of his time at her house.
Of course, a mother's instinct about such things in dealing with their children, and their needs, is rarely wrong and, sure enough, after maybe about fifteen minutes, she heard a soft tapping on the partially open bathroom door.
"Yes Bobby . . . come in."
The bathroom door swung slowly open as Samantha sank down further under the protective screen of bubbles.
"Its . . . it's not Bobby, Ms. Samantha it's me."
"Oh, Billy, I'm sorry. I just assumed it was Bobby."
"I can come back when . . . when you are out . . . or, you know, not at all. I don't wanna be bothering you but . . ." He paused, looking bashfully down at his feet as he fidgeted nervously.
"But you had a bad dream and wanna talk to me about it . . . right sweetie? I mean, I'm not surprised since your mom told me you get nightmares whenever you watch those stupid scary movies."
"She told you that?" he asked.
"Yes, I mean, we don't talk much, thanks to, you know, your step father but yeah she told me."
And then, not wanting him to feel ashamed about having a nightmare, if, in fact, he really had one, she quickly added, "But it's nothing to be ashamed of Billy. I mean, Bobby gets them too, you know, especially after watching a scary movie."
"I know but not tonight I guess. I tried to wake him to tell him about my dream and he won't even wake up. He is, like, totally sound asleep."
"Smiling, Samantha told him, "So I guess you are stuck telling me huh?"
"Hmm, I . . . ahhh, I don't really wanna talk about it, but I was wondering . . . I mean Bobby told me you said you would comfort either one of us if we, like, had a bad dream."
"I did and yes that applies to you as much as it does to Bobby, you know."
"Good, because I . . . I need comforting Ms. Samantha. My dream was real bad."
Billy looked down then. He was wearing a plain grey tee shirt and a pair of ratty gym shorts and had the most pitiful look on his adorably baby face. Just looking at him, standing there looking so utterly lost and hopeless, caused Samantha's heart to swell with empathy.
Making a snap decision, Samantha decided she would do everything in her power to comfort her son's life long best friend.
"Well, you aren't going to get the comfort you need sweetie standing all the way over there now are you?"
"I guess not," he quietly answered before he slowly crossed the bathroom to her.
When he got so he was standing right next to the tub, Samantha smiled at him before saying, "Now when Bobby has a bad dream I will usually comfort him by giving him a warm glass of milk, to, you know, help him sleep when the time comes, but I think we are actually out of milk so . . . darn."
"Yeah, well, it's OK, Ms. Samantha. I mean, I don't want you going out of your way for me anyways."
There was something about the sweet and gentlemanly way he always called her "Ms. Samantha" that struck her then. Maybe it was the fact she was pretty tipsy but, Samantha, throwing caution to the wind, told him, "Well giving him milk actually only is a minor part of the way I comfort Bobby when he is suffering from a bad dream. The major part, and the most important part of the way I comfort him is by cuddling him."
Samantha watched, almost amused, with the way Billy was standing there, fidgeting all nervous like. Doubling down on what she said, she added, "You know, Bobby always took great comfort in me snuggling up with him when he had a nightmare."
"He is lucky. My mom just gets mad and yells at me because it makes my step dad mad when I have bad dreams and stuff."
"It's OK baby. I'm not like that. I'm not like your mom and we won't even talk about your dad so . . . so just forgot them and if you want some nice, loving comfort from me just tell me."
