I had just finished the four-hour drive home from Eastern State where I was a senior. I hated the drive and didn't go home often but it was Mom's birthday and I promised I'd go out with her and Dad.
I had turned twenty-one the week before and Dad said he wanted me to have my first legal beer with him. I laughed when I agreed. I'd already been drunk every night that week.
I pulled my laundry bag from the trunk and didn't make it to the door before Mom ran out to greet me.
"Stanley!" She shouted as she jumped into my arms. I reveled in her embrace as her petite body molded into mine.
My mom, for lack of a better term, was fucking hot. Most of my guy friends lusted for her and the only two that didn't lusted for each other. I'd even caught Mike Jackson jerking off to her while she sunbathed. We still give him shit for that, years later.
"Hi, Mom. Miss me?"
She grabbed both of my cheeks and planted a wet kiss on my lips. She tasted like strawberry.
"Of course, I missed you, Stanley. Come inside, your father made a pitcher of margaritas."
I laughed as she stumbled off in front of me dragging me by my hand.
"Hey, Stan!" Dad called out from behind the bar. "Mom wanted to start early."
I laughed. "Yeah, I can tell."
She slapped my arm and said, "Stop it, you two. It's my birthday."
"Stan, why don't you have a quick shower and get dressed? We have reservations in ninety minutes."
"Sure, Dad. How about a drink first?"
He smiled and poured me one of the frozen concoctions. He lifted his glass and said, "To my son's first drink."
"Happy Birthday, Mom."
We clinked our glasses and I took a long pull off of mine. Dad raised an eyebrow as Mom giggled.
"I'll be down in a few minutes. Casual dress?" I asked.
"Dress shirt and slacks," Dad said.
"Wear a sport-coat," Mom chided, making Dad laugh and shrug his shoulders.
****
My parents met when my Mom got a job as a telemarketer at my Dad's mortgage company. She was nineteen and he was thirty-five. The way they tell the story is that they fell madly in love at first sight. The way my Aunt Karen tells the story, Dad knocked her up while she was bent over his desk.
They married while Mom was pregnant with me, I knew that much, but they've always seemed to be in love for as long as I can remember.
Dad put on a lot of weight over the years and started slowing down, even more, when he hit his fifties but mom was still the firecracker she always was at forty-one. I didn't think she'd ever slow down. Dad's 300 plus lbs. had no chance of keeping up with her and God forbid she and Aunt Karen hang out together. Aunt Karen was forever single, and at thirty-seven could still land any guy in any room if she wanted him.
There was an incident at my sister Kelly's wedding the year before, where I was dancing with Aunt Karen and she ground herself into me. I, being the horny kid that I was, got instantly hard and she smiled at me. She continued to grind me as if she wanted to get herself off. Luckily, no one saw but she gave me several winks as the night went on.
I felt like a chicken in a fox's sight and wouldn't have minded fulfilling an adolescent fantasy by taking her into the coatroom and showing her what my twenty-year-old cock could do to her but my Mom was at my side all night.
My sister Kelly was following in my Mom's footsteps. She was pregnant at nineteen and married to her boss. I hoped she at least would have a marriage like Mom and Dad's. Her boss, well, husband was a CPA and acted like he won the lottery with Kelly, so it all seemed to be okay.
****
I dressed and splashed on some of my finest cologne and made my way downstairs.
"About time," Mom said as she looked me over. If I didn't know better I'd say she had checked out my package.
"One more drink and we're out of here. The UBER will be here in twenty minutes," Dad added.
I sipped my frozen libation and smiled at my Mom's slurred speech and Dad seemingly as buzzed. I figured it would be an early night for them and maybe I could hook up with some friends later, if not get lucky and pick up a girl at whatever club we went to. Mom always wanted to dance on her birthday and I expected that night to be no different.
We chatted about school and my classes for a while and I also got grilled about girls and my lack of a present girlfriend. I didn't have the heart to tell my parents that I had plenty of girls, along with my roommate, who called our dorm, "The Playboy Club."
We had a steady flow of friends with benefits that liked to share our beds and many times share them as a group. There was this one set of twins, Jaime and Janey—well, that's better left for another story.
****
Dinner was boring. Steak for the guys and Lobster for the birthday girl with mom getting hammered on two pre-dinner Martinis and a hundred-dollar bottle of wine with dinner. I stuck to beer as Dad made me drink Heineken with him. He said, "Miller Lite is for frat parties."
With dessert, Dad ordered himself a snifter of Cognac and laughed when I turned one down. "I'll stick with beer. You don't want to see what happens when I mix beer and liquor."
I wondered if that kind of drinking was the new normal for them. I mean they always drank, but I'd never seen them drunk at dinner. Maybe with Kelly and me out of the house, they let loose?
We ended up at—of all places—a country bar. We didn't fit in there in our clothes, but no one seemed to care. I think some of the cowboys appreciated Mom's little black dress and nylon-clad feet as she spun around the room.
The only negative was she was spinning around with me. Dad passed on dancing and was chugging Heinekens at our table. Mom said once, "You're pounding the wrong Heinie," and I choked on my drink. Dad ignored it and kept on keepin' on.
As the night progressed, Mom drank less but it was because we danced almost every dance. She did switch to Manhattans though so they were stronger and she was still plenty drunk.
She was twirling and two-stepping like a teenager. After a while, Dad waved us over and I saw six shots of whiskey on the table.
"Come 'eer, you two. Lemme do my son's first shot with 'em."
"Oh shit!" I thought. Mom smirked and was about to say something when Dad cut her off.
"I know. I know. Lemme pretend he doesn't drink at school."
I was more worried about them doing shots. I wondered when I became the responsible one?
We picked up our shots and slammed them home. The burn from the whiskey was expected but I knew Dad ordered the good stuff because it wasn't as harsh as the rotgut we drink at the dorm.
Dad's eyes got wide and I thought he was gonna toss but he composed himself and lifted his second shot. "Happy Birthday, Wendy." Before we could lift ours, his was down. He looked green and his eyes went wide again. I was sure he would lose it but damned if he didn't swallow and say, "Don't be pussies! Shooters up!"
I toasted Mom's glass as she looked at me sadly. We did our shots and she dragged me back to the dance floor.
The fast song changed to a slow one and she pulled me into her. "Your father is drinking a lot, Stan."
"I see that. He's going to be tough to drag home."
She frowned and said, "Yeah, but I mean he drinks all the time now."
"Everything okay?" I asked.
She buried her head into my chest and said, "He's getting older and with the weight..." she sniffed.
"What is it, Mom? Is he sick?"
She snorted, "High blood pressure, diabetes, hell the doctor won't even let him have Viag... well never mind that. I just miss the old days."
She pulled me tighter as we swayed to a song that seemed inappropriate for a son and his mother to dance that close to. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was being intimate with me.
Mom sang along softly, "It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now..." I looked over and saw Dad look down sadly and do another shot. He followed that by chugging a beer and slammed the empty bottle into the bucket like he was spiking the football after scoring a touchdown.
"Not all is well in the Jameson household," I thought. I wondered if Dad was depressed over his weight gain, and from what mom almost let slip, his issues in the bedroom. I'd never seen him that drunk and he showed no signs of slowing down.
