Moving in with Mom

My folks got divorced when I was 19 - they were both at fault, really. Dad was a run-around, mom was a bit of a - well, let's be honest, she was kind of bitchy. From about the age of 12, I had realized that they were a bad couple, a mismatch, and I got a lot of heat from them both when I dared to voice that opinion to an uncle at a family reunion. I suppose it embarrassed them for me to say that, but it embarrassed me to be out at dinner and watch my mom start bitching at my dad because he let his eyes linger on the waitress for too long.

They were better off apart, is my point. I knew it, my younger brother knew it, the entire family knew it. They had only gotten married because my dad, 21 at the time, wanted to hook up with his 17-year old neighbor.

And honestly, I can't blame him - I've seen pictures of my mom when she was a teenager, and she was pretty hot. Not 'holy crap I have an instant hard-on' hot, but definitely a looker. I never really thought of her that way, though - I mean, she was my mom, right?

When I moved out with a girlfriend when I was 17, I was glad to get away from all the fighting, and when my mom called me a couple years later and asked me 'What would you say if I told you that your dad and I were splitting up?" the only reply I could give was 'I'd say it's about time'.

So dad moved out on his own and the papers were signed. We kids were old enough that there was no custody to fight for, and there wasn't much in the way of shared assets, so...it was pretty quick and simple. Mom got the house and a new job, dad got his own place and they both just...cut ties. No alimony, in either direction, no child support. Done was done.

About seven or eight months after they made the split official, I got off work early and walked into the apartment I shared with my girlfriend to find her astraddle another guy on the couch. I found out later that it was a coworker of hers at the financial planner's office where she worked, but it didn't much matter to me who it was.

I headed straight to the bedroom without saying a word, got a gym bag out of the closet, packed as much of my wardrobe as I could into it, and only stopped on the way out long enough to grab my toothbrush and shampoo, with my now-ex-girlfriend chattering at me the entire time like a chihuahua on meth. I just tuned it out, shouldered my bag, and drove off.

I cruised around town for a couple of hours - luckily, my now-ex and I hadn't taken the step of consolidating our assets. I still had my bank account, she had hers, so I wasn't worried that she would try to get to me that way. However, I still had nowhere to go - I'd left on impulse, with no discussion or conversation, and I had zero plans for the future.

So I called my mom. Dad was never really a consideration, - he had a two-bedroom apartment and we were never really each others' favorite people. He always got on better with my brother, since they were both handyman, mechanic, car-guys. I was more of the intellectual, the thinker, the dreamer, and my mom had always seemed to appreciate that more.

She was immediately sympathetic - she'd been cheated on as well, of course, more than once, and she knew how it felt. Before long, I was pulling up into mom's driveway and lugging my duffel up to her door.

What I saw was...unexpected. She'd always been pretty, with long bleached-blonde hair, almost petite features and figure, and a wry twist to her lips that gave her kind of a knowing, ironic smirk. I definitely took after her side of the family most - blonde hair, angular features, sharp blue eyes and fair skin. Totally Western and Northern European, whereas my dad's side was a mix of Native American and Mediterranean, with very dark hair and olive skin.

But now, she looked even better. She'd been working out, or something, and she was still lean, but in a better way. She'd gained just a little weight in her face, giving her a slightly softer, healthier look than the almost-gaunt, stressed-out look she'd had when my dad was still around.

My mom looked amazing, like some petite Nordic ice-queen, there in the doorway, smiling and waving at me. I walked up and she wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly. "It'll be okay, Ian. It'll work out," she murmured. I just sighed and hugged back, feeling how tiny she felt now that I was fully grown. She's only about 5'1", and 100 pounds if she's dressed for winter, while I'm almost 6 feet and closing on 200. Literally about twice her size.

Ever heard the term 'Dad's Cologne'? It's that smell that your dad has when he comes home from work, depending on what he does for a living. It's a smell that, even in your later years, you'll catch and it'll bring your dad to mind as if he was standing next to you. My mom had that, too - for her it was the smell of her foundation powder. It had a very specific scent, although I couldn't for the life of me tell you what brand it was. I just know that once in a while, I'll be passing through the cosmetics aisle of a drugstore on the way to another part of the store and catch that scent, and mom's on my mind.

Anyway, we went inside, and sat on the couch. She offered me a beer, which I refused. She had one, though, which surprised me - she'd never been a drinker, especially not a day-drinker. During our chat, though, it came out that she'd let her hair down a bit since dad and her split up. She'd been chatting with a few guys, although she hadn't actually gone out with any of them yet. She said she wasn't ready, yet - 43, she claimed, was an awkward time of one's life to start dating again.

She also said she was glad I called. While she wasn't ready to start seeing someone yet, she was lonely, and struggling a little with affording the house. In no time, we worked out an arrangement that worked out for us both - I'd pay her rent, about half of what I would be paying for my own apartment, so I could save up toward my own next egg of sorts. She'd get a little more income on the side, and just have someone around to bullshit with from time to time - or just have someone in the house with her. It didn't surprise me that a single woman was prone to a bit of anxiety when they heard something in the house creak at 3am.

The guest room wasn't much - just a bed and a desk, really, but I didn't need much. It did have its own attached bathroom and shower, hallelujah, so we didn't have to worry about bothering one another.

Things went pretty good for awhile, four months or so. Then I switched shifts at work. Keep in mind, I was only 19, coming up on 20, and not in college, so I had one of the typical slacker-jobs - an attendant at a convenience store. I had been on the day shift, usually 10-6, so my hours were pretty much the same as mom's. But when the manager asked me to take over the graveyard shift, for an extra dollar an hour, I jumped at it. I've always been a night person, and while there was more scut work on the late shift, you also got left alone, by and large, unless it was a weekend, and sometimes it was worth it when the drunk girls came in half falling out of their clothes.

Here's the problem - my mom is NOT a night person. Plus, when she and dad were married, she'd taken to sleeping on the couch a lot of the time. So when I had a night off, I'd be awake and moving around at 2 or 3 or 4 in the morning, making food, whatever, and it would disturb her. So I took to hiding out in the guest room and sort of sulking, playing online all night. I couldn't go out, because the front door closing would disturb her. I couldn't cook much of anything, because the sounds in the kitchen would disturb her. So I was more or less trapped in my bedroom all night. Or, from my point of view, all day.

We had a couple of scraps about it, and it always came back to the fact that it was her house. Never mind that I was paying her to live there, or that she had a nearly brand-new bedroom set that she'd bought after dad left. If I didn't like it? I could move out. But I didn't have anywhere to go. At least not yet. So I put up with it, which means I didn't go out much. Didn't really meet anyone.

Porn was my only outlet, and I had to play it quietly or with earbuds in. One of those nights, getting ready to ...relieve myself... I realized that I'd done my laundry and my usual 'clean up' towel was in the dryer. Groaning to myself, I crept out of the bedroom as light-footed as a mouse, and tiptoed past the living room, where she was crashed on the couch, again, as quietly as I could.

I glanced over, and in the light from the television, I noticed something about my mother that I'd never known, never even thought to consider or question. Something that changed the way I looked at her forever.

Mom slept in the nude.

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