We awoke to the sound of mom’s phone, the ringtone she had saved for dad. Through the tangle of sheets, I saw mom’s pale arm reaching for the light on the nightstand. It was like out of a dream — seeing her awakening in the same bed I was in. Never, in my entire life, did I imagine I’d see this.
“Ross?” She answered the phone blearily. I could hear dad’s voice in the silence of the morning, even though the phone wasn’t on speaker.
“Still no clue where you both are,” said dad, still annoyed. “But I guess I deserve it after doing the same to you, huh?”
Mom pursed her lips together, agreeing reluctantly.
“Anyway,” dad continued, “I think I’ve had all the fun I can out here. My head is killing me, and I think if I so much as even think of tequila I’m going to end up puking. So I’m headed out a day early to get back to work — the firm’s reimbursing it, thankfully.”
“You’re headed back without us?” Mom sat up, the covers slipping down her chest, the soft pinkness of her nipples greeting the morning.
“Yeah. So I’ll see you back at home,” dad said without a drop of emotion or care, entirely without any hint that we were family, almost as if mom were just a roommate, though I guess in a lot of ways, she kind of was.
“Alright. See you Ross,” mom rubbed at her forehead. “Be safe.”
“Uh huh.” Dad hung up.
Mom fell back. She looked at me as if I were a stranger in the bed. I was sure she was thinking about what we did last night.
What I did inside of her.
“Uh,” I tried to open a conversation. Smoothly. “Breakfast?” Great job, Brett.
“This is the last full day, you know.” Mom seemed thoughtful. Far off. “And I don’t think your father would have packed everything at the villa. We’ll need to go back today if we’re going to make our flight tomorrow.”
“We’re leaving already?” I got up, incredulous. “We just got here! We’re in Cancun!”
“The plane tickets say tomorrow, Brett.” She swung her lovely, curvy, long legs off the side of the bed and got up. “We’ll have to make the drive back today.”
I was aghast. I didn’t want any of this to be over.
I didn’t want to go home.
“What about the beach? What about exploring the area?”
But mom got dressed, wore relaxed clothes — just a comfortable white sundress, nothing too tight. It was a soft look, a motherly one. Sandals. Sunglasses for the hangover. She pointed at my suitcase, lowering her eyebrows in a silent order, and I dropped the subject. She wasn’t going to argue with me, even a little. We packed and went downstairs to get lunch since it was closer to noon, then checked out.
Once the clerk finished processing us, I remembered the swimsuit that they had in the store where I bought the massage oil. “Hey. There’s something I’d really like you to get,” I took her arm and brought mom up to the display. She looked through the glass of the storefront, assessing the sexy piece that barely functioned as a swimsuit at all — all string, all skin, two whole inches of cloth, combined. Her eyes went wide as she measured just how skimpy it was.
“Brett, that’s just vulgar.”
“It’s sexy.” I pointed at the price tag. “It’s not even that much. In the US, it’d be three times that.”
“You have no clue what swimwear costs in the US, do you?” Mom smiled at me. “But maybe just for you, I’ll get it.”
A minute later, mom exchanged cash for the tiniest shopping bag I had ever seen — not even hand sized. That’s all it took to package it. Mom asked the lady at the checkout if they had any Plan B, and the lady behind the counter uncomfortably pulled some from under the counter. Mom paid for it, looking at it nervously as the lady put it in her hands. As mom turned away, I saw the lady, the same one from yesterday, glaring at me.
We pulled out of the parking lot and left the Isla Mujeres at the edge of Cancun. The ocean was still there, but I internally said goodbye to the long line of resorts and endless sand. I noted the fact that we didn’t even step outside on the beach while we were at the resort. We missed one of the best parts of Cancun. That’s how short our time was.
I wanted to ask mom if we could go back, but the fact was, we had plane tickets, and if mom was an immovable stickler about anything, it was timing transportation and getting to the airport as early as humanely possible. She wanted to make the drive back today so that all we needed was the two hour bus to Belize City the next day. Even that would make her nervous.
The drive began with mom biting her lip and looking concerned. She gripped the steering wheel with alternating hands. Nervously. I could tell she was thinking about the Plan B. I noticed it, peeking out of her purse. She hadn’t taken it yet.
“You alright mom?”
“Oh. Brett.” She said, in a slight daze. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
I didn’t want to ask her to take it. We had 72 hours, and it hadn’t even reached 12. It was a weird moment — I felt nervous. Excited at kocaeli escort an unnamed possibility. Scared. Reluctant. A part of me didn’t want her to take it at all. I felt like maybe she didn’t want to take it either.
Our five hour drive back to Consejo went by in near silence. We only spoke when passing off the driving, when filling up with gas, when we got lunch. I couldn’t quite tell if it was a sad silence or a nervous one, but either way, it was tough to handle, made worse by the fact that I had nothing to say to make the silence go away.
Hours went by. At one point, while I drove, mom took out the box of Plan B and stared at it. She drank some water, reading the label. It went back into her purse, unopened. I heard a deep breath. Like a nervous sigh.
I turned the music mix back on at some point, in the endless highway jungle heading south. It blended into itself, the time fading it into mere noise. Every town, every tourist trap, every gas station was another reminder that we were leaving the region and that at some point tomorrow we’d be back on home soil.
And then what?
The sun had already fallen out of the high point in the sky. It was early evening by the time we pulled up to the villa. Mom woke up, stretching, the white dress flowing gently with her movement, and stepped delicately out of the car.
“I’ll get the luggage,” I offered. She went on as if she didn’t hear me.
There was no sign of dad at the entry. His shoes were gone, and all that was left of his luggage was another broken luggage wheel and a small scratch in the flooring from where the broken piece likely dragged.
When I got inside, I saw mom standing by the sliding glass door at the back, the one that overlooked the patio of the villa. It had a sea view, and it was suddenly strange to me that I never really bothered to take it in from that spot. The ocean was spread out in front of it — twilight colors starting to touch at the edges of the sea.
Mom’s arms were folded in front of her, tightly.
“Hey.” I tried a small wave to get her attention. “You alright?”
“No.” Mom seemed to shrink.
“What’s going on?”
Without answering, she opened the sliding glass door and went outside to the patio. Golds and oranges made streaks across the sand. The sound of the surf roared ahead of us, the occasional dot of a person along the stretch of public beach our villa sat on.
It was weird that I never really bothered to go there either. It was always that secret place instead, though maybe our time here was better for it.
Mom looked out to that beach and seemed to be very, very lost.
I didn’t know what to do. What could I do?
“I’m going to clean some stuff,” I offered. “So the landlords don’t charge us extra.”
Mom muttered some barely audible thanks, and I left her there. Her stare was fixed on the water, the waves, the way the light skipped off the ocean.
I only started to clean, but felt unsettled. It didn’t take long for me to give up and to go back outside, where mom stood at the ocean’s edge, farther than before, looking out. The water lapped at her feet, where she stood in perfect stillness, like a statue of marble. The sun was now low on the mountains behind us. Shadows streaked up into the water. The gold faded into dark aqua, and the sound and scent of the sea clouded us completely.
“Hey,” I went up to her from the side, trying not to startle her. As I got close, feeling as the tides rose up to cover my feet, I finally got a closer look at her face.
She was crying. Her eyes were red, her face was blotchy. My mom wiped her face, but the tears kept coming. She put her head low, trying to keep me from seeing.
“Hey. Mom.” I went up and wrapped my arms around her, and she embraced me around my waist, tightly. She pulled me as close as she could, squeezing as hard as she could, as if we could become one.
She was shaking in her crying, silent, except for the soft brushing of her face on my shirt. But she started to lose control. As the water surged up over our feet again, she let go.
I held her for moments while she sobbed in my arms. The sun was completely gone over the horizon. The sky was a deep, darkening blue. The time moved far, far too quickly.
“I don’t want to go,” she finally cried, her voice hoarse. “I want to stay here forever.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I held her close to me. I wanted it to go on forever too. I didn’t want to leave this beach, to leave behind the villa, the lights of Chetumal. To let that secret pool be discovered by any other, to let life go back to anything like the way it was.
Mom’s hair smelled so sweet. Stars shone over the edge of the water, climbing, little gems in the sky.
She eventually took a deep breath, the sound like the softening noise of the surf. Her crying stopped. I could tell she was thinking, processing. It was her way — to take difficulty in stride, to let the emotion out, only once. Just once. And then to breathe deeply, to think, then to continue, kocaeli escort bayan with some new, self-sacrificial mindset at play. It was what made her so incredible. It’s what broke my heart.
“Let’s go inside,” she said, her voice once again firm.
We stepped through the sand, walking with impossible slowness, the breeze picking up, wicking at her dress. The sound of the ocean calmed as we left it, and above us, above the soft light of the villa, above the darkness of the jungle and the dots of streetlights in the village, the stars grew bright and spread, infinitely out.
Mom reached out and took my hand. We walked, hand in hand, as lovers.
“Wait here,” she said as we got onto the patio. She went inside, came out with some light food from the fridge. Fruit. Cheese. What was left of the tequila. Two glasses. We left the lights off, the residual light from inside enough to illuminate our food.
We sat together on the patio, watching the stars come out while we sipped the last of what was there.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” mom said. She sipped her tequila and looked away from me, toward the darkness of the ocean.
“You’ve grown, so much.” Mom nodded to herself and stared out, as if trying to see something in the stars that dusted the horizon. She started to talk about life, what it meant, while keeping her eyes from looking at me. In the dark, it was hard to tell what kind of face she made as she dispensed all of her wisdom, all of her knowledge, condensed. What kind of things to expect. What kind of people I would meet, the sorts of struggles I was practically destined to face.
“I think it’s getting closer to that time, you know? Where you’re supposed to go out on your own. Completely.” I could tell she was biting her lower lip. “Back to real life.”
“I know.” We went silent for a moment.
“I know you’re headed back to college right after we arrive home.” She sighed. “Are you excited for it?”
I wasn’t. I knew mom was hurting, and I knew she was mourning the end of all this as much as I was. Going back was hollow. It was empty. It didn’t have her. What the hell was I supposed to do?
“Don’t answer that,” mom said, interrupting my train of thought. Her whole demeanor changed — she was once again the strong woman with the cutthroat business attitude that lectured me on the road trip. She was the strong mom that could have been, the one that was now.
“Listen to me. Life goes on like this. Nothing is perfect, and all things end, but if you let that erase everything good you have then you’ve wasted what you did have. Brett…” She took the rest of the glass and downed it. Poured another splash for each of us, emptying what was left in the bottle, and downed that. “I need you to make the most of this.” She looked at me with her dark, solemn eyes. Her fingers went delicately over her chest. “Make the most of it,” she repeated, trying to communicate some meaning.
“Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?” It was a more important question than she had ever asked me. The seductive look in her told me that tonight was the night I would have to prove that I could let go, that I could enjoy what little time we had left, to make it glorious.
My mother stared at me intensely, waiting for me to answer. “Tell me. Tell me you understand.”
“Good.” Mom leaned back. “Drink up.”
I took the glass and downed the last drops of the tequila. Mom edged the empty tequila bottle to the side. There was now nothing separating us on the table.
“Alright,” she said with finality. “Listen to me, now.” Her eyes were clear. Her voice was strong, and straight. Her tone was relaxed, but intentional. She was in full control.
“Listen to me, very, very carefully.”
I listened, with total obedience. My heart pounded, I felt a deep, crushing sadness. I didn’t know why.
“We both know what we’ve done. We both know that it’s almost over. That it’s almost time to go home. I love you, Brett. But you have so, so much of your life ahead of you. What are we supposed to do, to carry this on forever? It can’t go on.” Her words slapped me, hard. I couldn’t even think. I couldn’t receive.
“So tonight, for our final night here, I am going to give you all of myself.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“Everything, Brett. Do you understand? Every bit of me. I am going to let you do whatever you want to me. Whatever you want. And whatever you want me to do, I will do it for you, I’ll use every bit of me for your pleasure, this one last time.” Her breathing was steady, her eye contact unyielding. “My body is completely yours tonight — you may use me, abuse me, do anything you wish to me. Anything you want to try, it’s on the table.”
“I want you to know that I love you, son, with everything I have. And tonight, there will be no protests from me, there will be nothing from me that will stop you from fulfilling everything you could ever dream of with me. In return, all I ask izmit escort is that you remember tonight forever, while accepting that afterward, it’s time to move on. Know that I will move on as well, and that I will be fully expecting you to make a life of your own so that you never, ever feel like I have held you back in any way.”
I stared at her with awe. Her words were so firm. There were no tears, no trailing sentences. Mom was strong, she was ready, her word was final. “You are my son, my beautiful boy, and I love you, and I want you to know that I have your back with everything. If this is our last night, then I need you to make it count.”
Mom stood up. “Come with me.”
She held out her hand.
If I took it, it meant that I was accepting the same. That after tonight, after I could give and take anything and everything I wanted, that it would be over.
Mom wasn’t just asking me to move on. She wasn’t just asking for a night we could never forget, and then to forget it. To make love, to forget love. She was asking me to grow up.
Her hand was trembling.
I could tell, in her dark eyes, in the serious, calmness of her face, that this is what she wanted.
I took her soft, white hand, and in that instant, I became a man.
She led the way into the house, moving like in a dream, her hand like a blooming flower in mine, through the sliding glass door, past the couch, and the armchair, passing the kitchen, her hair glimmering in the half lights of the villa. We made it into the entryway where the stairs were, and she moved ahead of me, her dress swishing, the shape of her bottom conforming to the movements of the skirt, her perfume filling my senses as she moved ahead, glimpses of her milky legs as she went upward. We were on the second floor, outside of her room, outside of the door where I attempted to kiss her goodnight only a few nights ago.
The door was closed. Mom held my hand next to it. She didn’t look at me, instead staring at the door, where inside, the bed that was reserved for her and dad lay waiting. She looked at me. I could hear my heart pounding in my hears. Hear her breath, heavy, as her nervousness finally revealed itself.
My mother put her hand on the knob, turned it, opened it. It opened smoothly, silently, into a white carpeted space. She didn’t make a move to go in, and instead, watched my face, while I watched hers. It was a face of acceptance, of fear, of stoic dignity, of the soft blush of sexual reception. I thought of the moments where I waited for her to enter the hidden place with the pool, where I held the vegetation back. Of the way she looked. Of the way I must have been looking at her in this moment, as the door was held open for me.
The room was twice as large as mine. A king bed with all the sheets tossed to the floor stood in the center of the room. A couple mirrors lined the sliding closet doors. To the east side of the room, a double door opened up onto a balcony. But it was just me. Just me and mom. The lights were low.
I was already erect, already panting with excitement, already prepared to ravage her. The sad thoughts of leaving her behind were fading, they were disappearing — mom wanted this, mom wanted me to grow up and leave, and even though it hurt, it was what I knew she wanted for me, more than anything.
She walked to the bed. All that was left on it was the top sheet — a perfect surface. The only sign that dad had been there were the blankets that formed a pile on the floor.
My mother reached down, lifting the edges of her white dress. She stopped when the edges reached her waist, revealing a little pair of lace panties. White. Dainty. Only marginally whiter than her flesh. She watched my reaction to it, watched as my cock tented against my pants.
Her dress continued upward. Her soft, tight tummy, pale, only lightly tinted with the sun, was still marked by that inkwell of her belly button, by the smooth and gentle curve of her flesh as it led up to the underside of her breasts. I didn’t realize she wasn’t wearing a bra, but there were the pretty jewels, the ruby nipples, the color of pale coral.
The dress went up, over her head. It floated gently to the floor as she let go — it collapsed by the sheets, by the blankets. Mom lifted a hand to the bun of her hair, and pulled it free. Her hair let go — it cascaded, it drifted, it settled around her breasts, down her arms, behind her shoulders.
She was like a Nordic Eve. All that was left was her panties. She turned slowly to the side, hooking a finger into the waist band, pulling it gently down, the edges pressing into the softness of her flesh, of her fertile, wide hips, her legs, the ample flesh betraying just how soft she truly was, until the edge of black hair emerged, the carefully trimmed triangle, softened over the time spent here, all the more beautiful and natural for it. She kept lowering the panties, down, down, opening her mouth and watching as I stood, entirely hypnotized by the dot of pink, by the lips of her pussy as they uncovered for me, a shining color like her tongue.
The pair fell from her thighs, settled to the floor, around her feet. She stepped out of it, watching me, the way I worshipped her from afar.