It was the day of my sister's wedding, and my mom was giving me trouble. She had reminded me what I was supposed to do. I had forgotten something important, namely the Italian meringue pie that I had promised to make as a surprise for my sister and her groom. We had a wedding cake, obviously. It was nothing like that. It was a brother and sister thing, a memory from when we were much younger and this had been the most delicious thing imaginable. So, I had to make one. I had promised myself, and more importantly in this case I had promised my mother.
Why she had chosen to stay behind I didn't know. She did some light cleaning, nothing much. Our relatives weren't slobs. Maybe she felt bad leaving me all alone. But it was nice having her here, all joy and Mad Men-inspired look, pretty curls in her dark blonde hair. She looked amazing actually. Sometimes, when I turned my head, I saw delicious heavenly blue hips and snake-smooth legs, only to be reminded that it was my mom after all. No touching! But even if she weren't my one and only mom I was drained after what my girlfriend put me through, yesterday and today. My bone was tired.
She raised a graceful hand to her temple. At first, I thought she was straightening her flat hat, pinned on, but she had a funny look on her face.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She turned around and blushed. "Nothing," she said. "I was only daydreaming."
"Oh," I said.
"Hang on!" she said.
"What?"
"You have something there, on your cheek."
"What ..." I tried to find it with my fingers.
"A speck of Italian meringue," she said with a smile that confused me. If someone else had looked at me like that, hungrily, well ... But I was wrong to think like that. "Want me to kiss it off?" she continued. "Like I did when you were little?"
"I don't remember that," I said, and started to move around the table as she approached me. It felt weird.
"Sure I did," she said. "You would be so afraid of something sticky that I would give you a kiss and make it all better."
"You don't have to, really," I said, and kept on walking around the table. "What are you doing?" I asked. She was following me, faster now, black heels sounding off the floorboards.
"What does it look like? I'm trying to catch you, silly."
It could all have felt almost normal, playful even, if it hadn't been for the hunger in my mother's eyes, the locked-on smile. If it had been someone else, I would have known they were trying to put on an act, to fool me or something. It all felt surreally real, like a David Lynch movie.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a hard voice. She was panting by then. "Let me take care of it for you."
"No, please," I said with a panicky voice.
Eventually, the fifth turn around the table, I reached out for a towel and with desperate motions I rubbed it all over my face. When she grabbed me by the arm I froze, staring down at her face, coming up, and up, only to look disappointed, like I had spoiled all the fun.
We didn't say anything after that. She just chuckled and tousled my hair, with a friendly little tickle at my neck. She then left me with the pie. I just had to dollop some meringue towers to finish it off. It required a steadier hand than I had at the moment, but not too bad, was my final thought. I just had to clean the edges of the large plate and put it in the gift box. I asked my mom to help me.
"Of course, my dear," she said.
"I just have to lower it carefully now, and ..."
My mom accidently pushed the box off the table. I almost dropped the pie when she dived after it. I was standing away from the table, my hands full, when she came towards me, the box forgotten.
"Mom, what are you doing?" I asked.
"Playing."
"Playing? But, mom, I have to put this in the box. It's quite heavy."
