"This town hasn't changed a bit," Tyler said.
Curt took his eyes from the road to glance at his brother, who lounged in the passenger seat of the car, looking out the window at their hometown. Tyler had a point. Time had not been kind to North Meadows. The outskirts of the city were still mostly dank industrial wasteland; the downtown area, gentrified and slowly decaying. The house where they had both grown up lay between the two extremes, in a narrow belt of mostly-abandoned suburban housing. Since the closing of the mills and the moving of the army base, North Meadows had slowly been inching toward its death throes.
Not that Curt felt any less nostalgic because of it. As they drove toward the center of town, he had begun to recognize the streets he'd explored as a kid, the playground where he'd sprained his ankle falling from the jungle gym. Even if his hometown was going to pot, Curt felt good to be home again.
"Maybe it's just the Christmas holiday," Curt said. It was, after all, Christmas Eve, and the roads were slick with snow and ice. Most of the businesses they'd passed had been closed; a few were outright shuttered.
"I friggin' doubt it," Tyler said. Of the two of them, he had always been the more cynical, the more rebellious, and the more daring. In the years since they'd graduated from high school, Curt had taken the stable route, getting a degree in engineering and an office job out of state, while Tyler had moved to Clark Hill and started a pop band. Tyler's arms and wrists crawled with expensive tattoos; Curt had considered getting one, but refrained for fear of repercussions at his job. Curt had had one relationship all through college that had ended badly, while Tyler's string of one-night stands was a mile long, each more extreme and perverse than the last. Tyler enjoyed relating the stories of his conquests to Curt in great detail, knowing that it made him uncomfortable.
In short, they were about as different as brothers could be, but had always remained close despite their differences.
"No," Tyler said, "this place is a shithole. I wish Mom would move the hell out of here. The whole town's in its death throes."
"Where would she go?" Curt asked. Their father had disappeared when both the boys were only fifteen, leaving behind only a garage full of junk and a mountain of debt. Their mother, Donna, worked as a night manager at a supermarket, and her income barely covered the mortgage and bills, let alone room to move. "And how would she get there?"
"Yeah, well," Tyler said, lighting a cigarette. He blew out smoke, scratching the stubbly growth of his five o'clock shadow. "I've got a plan to take care of that."
Curt raised his eyebrows. "Care to tell me what it is?"
"It's too early to talk about it," Tyler said. "But when our new album drops, I'm going to have come money coming in. Enough to get Mom out of debt, maybe get her out of this dead-end burg."
"I see," Curt said. He had his doubts. Tyler was rather famous for diving into things without thinking through the repercussions, of forming plans that didn't seem to have a clear end in mind. His heart was in the right place, but he was, in Curt's opinion, far too impulsive. It was a trait he usually frowned on, but occasionally envied.
"I hope you're right," Curt said. "Mom deserves to be happy."
"Yeah," Tyler said, his tone distant as he gazed out the window. "She really does."
# # #
The house seemed even smaller than he remembered -- a tiny, single-story ranch-style house on the corner, two blocks from the North Meadows downtown. The porch light glowed a dim yellow as Curt pulled the car into the freshly shoveled driveway.
The brothers unpacked their luggage and presents and shuffled to the front door. Both hands full with bags, Curt reached out to ring the doorbell. Before he could press the button, the door swung open.
"My boys!" Donna said, and beckoned them inside.
The brothers hustled in out of the cold and put down their things in the narrow entryway. As he stomped the snow off his boots, Curt took a look at his mother. Unlike North Meadows, time had been kind to her. She had always been shapely, with full hips, large breasts, and smooth, tanned skin, but her best feature was probably her full lips, which were still as red and lush as he'd remembered them being.
Curt had always felt a little odd thinking of his mother in such terms, but even throughout high school and college, he'd heard "your Mom is hot" often enough from his friends that he'd finally acknowledged it himself.
"Hi, sweetheart," Donna said, drawing him into a hug. She wore snug jeans and a red sweater with a low scoop neck that showed off a considerable amount of cleavage, and Curt found himself self-consciously aware of her breasts pressing against him as she hugged him.
"Hi, Mom," he said.
Donna pulled back and kissed him on the lips, a habit she'd never broken no matter how much either of them had begged growing up. Most mothers settled for a peck on the cheek. Not theirs.
"You cut your hair," Curt said, reaching out to touch her curly brown locks. Once long and flowing down to her waist, her hair was shorter now, falling just past her shoulders. "It looks nice."
"Well, aren't you sweet," Donna said with a bright smile.
"Hi, Mom," Tyler said, and stepped in for his own hug and kiss. She pressed herself against him with equal abandon, planting a big kiss on his lips afterward.
"Speaking of haircuts, I see someone's in need of one," she said, tousling Tyler's shaggy head of hair. He squirmed away a little and grinned.
"You know me, I have to preserve my bad-boy image," he said.
"That's you, all right," Donna said, and touched his cheek. "You'll always be my bad boy."
# # #
Never straying from her motherly instincts, Donna ordered them to take off their boots and coats and stow their luggage in the guest rooms. The house, though small, had three fairly generous bedrooms, and she had kept both the boys' rooms unchanged. Curt returned to his old room to find his posters still on the wall, his books still on the shelf, and his bed made. It was as if he'd never left.
After putting away their things, Curt and Tyler emerged with a small handful of presents, which they stowed under the meager plastic Christmas tree their mother had set up in the living room. A small pile of them already lay stuffed underneath the tiny tree, tags showing both their names in their mother's precise lettering.
"Something sure smells good," Tyler said as he wandered into the kitchen, where Donna was preparing dinner.
"I told you I'd give you boys a nice Christmas dinner, and I meant it," she said, taking a sip of wine as she stood at the stove. Curt smiled at the familiar memory. Whenever she cooked, Mom always had a glass of wine on hand. Something about it made him feel grounded.
Tyler stepped in behind Donna and hugged her from behind, putting both arms around her stomach and squeezing tight. Donna made a pleased sound and reached back to touch his hair. In the back of his mind, Curt thought that perhaps the two of them lingered on the hug just a tad too long, but then decided not to worry about it.
"My goodness," she said. "What did I do to earn all this affection?"
"I've just missed you, that's all." He kissed her on the cheek.
"Well, I guess we know who gets the biggest helping of potatoes at dinner," Donna said. "You hear that, Curt? I guess you better step up your game."
"I guess I'd better," Curt said. "Do you have any more of that wine? Now that we're old enough to legally drink it."
She laughed. "In the pantry, son of mine. Break out a bottle or two. We'll make a night of it."
# # #
Christmas dinner was indeed glorious; smoked ham, potatoes and gravy, cranberries, stuffing. Curt hadn't eaten that well since he'd started his office job -- in fact, he was pretty certain he hadn't eaten that well since the last time he'd been home.
Donna watched with satisfaction as her sons scarfed down the meal, nursing her wine.
"My hungry boys," she said fondly. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have men around the house to eat up all the food."
"Have you been dating at all?" Curt asked, twirling his potatoes with his fork. He'd gobbled down his first plateful and now felt himself slowing down.
She laughed, and Curt thought he detected a note of bitterness in her voice. "I have, a little bit. I even opened up an account on one of those dating sites. But most of those men are such creeps. You would not believe the pukes I've had to deal with." She drained her wine glass and held it out to Curt. "Would you be a dear?"
As Curt poured her a fresh glass of wine, Tyler put his hand on hers.
"Don't worry," he said with a smile. "You've always got us."
She smiled and touched his cheek. "I do, don't I? Thank god I raised two wonderful boys. Even if your father was a flaky little... never mind." She raised her glass and drank again. "I shouldn't bad-mouth your father."
"It's okay, Mom," Curt said. "We love you no matter what."
She smiled and reached over to touch his cheek, then reached over to touch Tyler's as well. "Look at you two. Why would I want to get a husband when I have my two beautiful boys?"
# # #
After dinner, they piled their dishes in the sink and left the washing-up for the next day. Donna grabbed the bottle of wine and the brothers grabbed their glasses. All three of them moved to the living room to unwrap presents. Curt and Tyler sat down on opposite ends of the leather couch, just as they always had growing up.
"Just a minute," Donna said before she sat down. She moved to the stereo system and cued up a CD, and music swelled from the speakers. It took a few bars before Curt realized it was the last album Tyler's band had put out.
"I listen to this every day," Donna said as she sat down hard on the couch. Her movements had become a little less precise, and her speech punctuated with occasional pauses -- in other words, she was just a little bit tipsy. But Curt knew his mother's drinking habits, and knew she had a long way to go before she was truly out of control. "And every day I remember how amazingly talented my son is."
Tyler smiled, an odd shyness to his demeanor that Curt imagined no one but family ever saw. "Thanks, Mom," he said. "That's really cool."
They distributed presents and began unwrapping. Donna was a practical giver, and so the brothers got the usual gamut: socks, shirts, cash. Tyler presented his mother with a portable mp3 player, while Curt gave her a new cell phone. The presents were not numerous, so they made a miniature celebration of each one, punctuating the unwrapping with sips of wine and brief, jovial toasts.
All too soon, it was over, and the presents lay in a pile on the coffee table, surrounded by a crinkling cloud of ripped wrapping paper.
"Merry Christmas, sweethearts," Donna said, and leaned over to kiss each of them on the cheek in turn. "I'm sorry it wasn't more, but money has been so tight..."
"Don't worry about it, Mom," Curt said, holding a small picture frame she'd given him. "The gifts don't really matter. I'm just glad we can all be together."
She smiled. "Me too," she said. "I've missed you boys so much. It's hard sometimes, being here by myself all the time. I keep busy with work, and I have my book club, but sometimes I can't help it, and I do get a little lonely." Curt heard the hitch in her voice, and she put her wine glass down and took a deep breath.
"Don't cry, Mom," Tyler said, and pulled her into a firm hug. Both of them had grown up to be taller and broader than her, and so she disappeared into his embrace a little as he held her tight. "We're here now."
"Yeah, but you'll have to leave again in a few days," she said, her tone more than a little maudlin. "I'm already missing you, because I know you'll have to leave."
"Don't be silly," Curt said. "We're going to be here for four days." He reached out and touched his mother's hair, wanting to do his part in comforting her.
She turned back to him, her smile a little sad. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Your poor old mother is getting senile and getting emotional at the drop of a hat..."
"You're not old, Mom," Tyler said. "You're beautiful."
She blushed a little and touched his cheek. "You're both such sweethearts," she said. "I wish I could meet a man just like the wonderful men my two boys grew up to be. Maybe then, I could get laid one more time."
