The last thing Xander wanted to do was make his relationship with his mom rife with awkwardness. They had, in his eyes, the perfect mother-son relationship, after all. Strange to most, certainly, but he enjoyed the candidness of their bond, the freedom she allowed him, and her willingness to listen and discuss things without judgment. Yet, his nagging curiosity was doing its best to muck that up.
As his mom carefully drove them along a sharp-curved, icy mountain road, he pondered her reaction to his forthcoming question. How would she react? Would she react at all? What would become of them?
He sighed, then looked to his mom, who had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, baring her teeth as she rounded the curve. She had a beautiful, round-shaped face, complimented by dark and voluminous hair that stopped at her shoulders. Her skin was fair, and mostly untouched by middle-age. She looked damn good, and Xander was all too aware of it. Even now.
He hated his eighteen year old hormones.
Screw it, he thought. He was going to pop the question. Sure, it was possible he'd ruin the rest of their budding Christmas vacation, but he had to know. Breathing deeply, he straightened himself in the passenger seat. Now or never.
"How do you feel about incest?" Xander asked.
His mom's intensity from the dreadful curve vanished, with a smile appearing in its stead. "I was wondering when you were finally going to ask me something," she said. "You've been sitting pretty quiet the past hour or so."
"Never mind." Xander shifted uncomfortably, then averted his eyes to the icy mountain scene outside his passenger window.
He heard his mom chuckle. "Honestly?"
"Honestly," Xander said, looking back to her. She flashed him a look, and her playful expression waned.
"Well," she said, "I think that whatever two consenting adults do in private is none of my business."
Of course that would be her answer. It was such a liberal, 'cool mom' thing to say. It was the way she answered just about everything. He didn't want—didn't need a politician's response right now.
"On a...personal level, I mean," he said.
A painfully long silence ensued, and then, "I've never really thought about it," his mom said. "Never really had a reason to, I suppose."
"I guess."
"And," she said, "You might not like it, but the Bible—"
"Oh come on," Xander interrupted. "You don't buy that crap, and you know it. One minute you're the good senator, supporting gay marriage, and the next you're in church worshiping the Guy who 'hates fags.' Which is it, mom?"
"There is a thing called keeping your job and your beliefs separate," his mom fired back. "What's with the aggression?"
Xander sighed. "Sorry... But you know you can't have it both ways, mom."
He looked over again, catching his mom's thoughtful expression as she watched the road.
"I'm not perfect, Xander," she said. "I never claimed to be."
"Of course not," he said. "But you're the smartest person I know. You're above all that crap."
"Can we talk about this when we get to Gram's"
"You know we can't talk about this at Gram's, mom. Besides, we're still a couple hundred miles from her place. Why can't we talk about this now?"
She sighed.
"Just answer the question," he said.
"What do you want me to say, Xander? What exactly is this about?" He could hear the frustration creeping in her tone, the leather steering wheel creaking in her grip.
"Me," he said.
"What...?" She eased her grip on the wheel, and flashed him a concerned look.
"I have these feelings..."
"No, Xander, I—"
"I denied them at first," he continued, "but then I started accepting them. Problem now is I can't determine if that means if something is wrong with me."
His mom said nothing.
"I think about you..."
She started. The air changed, thickening with tension. His words were...alarming, even to him, but they were finally spoken. Strangely, it didn't make him feel all that better.
What would happen now?
They rode in silence for several miles, and it was killing him. What was she thinking? Did she hate him? Did she find him disgusting? He just wished she'd say something, anything. He thought to apologize, but turned down the notion. God, he had created a mess.
After a while they rode into Dukes-ville, a quaint mountain town in western North Carolina, littered sporadically with rickety housing and battered mom & pop shops. They had driven by exits for the town many times before, but this was the first time his mom, strangely, bothered to pay the place a visit. Soon she pulled into a motel parking lot, and killed the engine. She fell back against her seat, then let out a deep breath before turning to her son with a tired smile.
"You tired, hun?" she asked.
"A little..."
"Me, too. Driving in the snow is exhausting." She shifted, reaching in the back seat and snagging her coat, then opened her door. "I'll see if I can get us a room for the night, and we'll hit the road first thing in the morning."
"Uh...sure." His mom was lying and he knew it.
He watched her leave the car and hurry inside the check-in office. Stressed his mom to exhaustion, he concluded. What else could it be? It sure as hell wasn't the snow. He swore and slammed his fist into the dashboard.
"Dammit," he said, feeling slight pain throb steadily in his hand. He needed to fix the situation with his mother, and he couldn't think of how. A time machine would be perfect right now.
Some time later, the driver-side door opened and his mother hopped back into the car, letting out a shiver.
"I got us a room," she beamed, "and it's the only one with a heat unit!"
"That's great." He tried enthusiastic, but it almost hurt. He lowered his head. He was being whiny and he didn't care. His predicament called for whiny, damn it.
"Everything is fine, Xander," she said, patting his knee. "I promise."
Bullshit.
He sighed, and decided to toss effort into sounding 'normal' again. "I'm glad."
Now they were both lying. This was going to be their relationship. Fantastic.
Before long they were re-parked and shuffling into their dark motel room. Xander's hand found a switch on the wall, and—flick!—a single Tiffany lamp, sitting primly upon a worn nightstand at the center-back wall, illuminated the cozy twin room just enough for them to get around. The room hadn't changed much since the '70s, but it was immaculate.
"Nice." he smiled, eying the "heating unit" his mom had boasted. It was a radiator wrought by age, which was a strange contrast to the cleanliness of the room.
"Isn't it great?" his mom said. "It's just like the one at Gram's house."
"At least Grams' doesn't look like crap."
"I think it gives the room character," she said.
"I guess..." He wondered if this would be the rest of their life, if their relationship would be policed by small talk to keep from discussing anything serious. Or ridiculous, as he currently viewed it. He moved to the bed closest to the door and plopped down.
