February 4th, 2018

My back was pressed against the headboard of my bed. My phone in hand, I scrolled through my Instagram feed, seeing what my friends had posted.

I heard Mom's voice from the kitchen say something incomprehensible, followed immediately by the crash of glass shattering on tile, and a hiss of pain.

I threw my bedroom door open and bolted down the short hallway.

Mom was on her hands and knees, in a pool of spreading liquid and the glittering, dangerous shards of what used to be a glass jar of pickles.

"Mom, what happened?"

She tried to push herself up. "Slipped," she gasped, her voice strained, tight with a pain she was trying to bite back. "Stupid... water."

I was by her side in an instant, my knees hitting the wet floor, the smell of pickle juice sharp in the air. My eyes darted over her, checking for blood, for a break. "Where does it hurt?"

"Ankle," she bit out. "I'm okay. Just... twisted it."

"Okay, Mom. Don't move," I said. I reached out, my hands gently touching her shoulders. "I've got you."

"Raj, I'm fine," she insisted, trying to shift her weight again. "It's just a sprain."

"Just relax. Put your arms around my neck."

She hesitated for a second, her pride warring with the obvious pain. With a small, defeated sigh, she complied. Her arms looped around my neck. I slid one arm under her back, the other under the bend of her knees.

"On three," I said. "One... two... three."

I stood up, lifting her with me. She wasn't heavy, but she was dead weight, her body limp in my arms. Her head rested against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.

"What about the mess?" she murmured, her voice tight with discomfort.

"The mess can wait," I said, manoeuvring us carefully around the glass and the spreading puddle. I carried her down the short hall. I walked to her bed and gently lowered her onto it.

"Okay," I said, once she was settled against her pillows. "Which one?"

"The left," she breathed out, her eyes squeezed shut. "God, it's starting to throb."

"Alright," I said. "Don't move."

I carefully took her left foot and guided it onto the pile of pillows at the foot of her bed, elevating it above the level of her heart.

I went to the kitchen. I ignored the mess for now. I pulled the freezer door open. I rummaged past a bag of perogies and a frost-covered box of fish sticks until I found the blue ice pack. I grabbed the cleanest dish towel I could find from the drawer.

Back in her room, I sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under my weight.

I wrapped the ice pack in the towel. I gently lifted her foot, my fingers brushing against the arch. I could already see the swelling. I placed the bundled ice pack against the inflamed skin as gently as I could.

A sharp intake of breath came from her. Her whole body tensed. Her jaw was tight, her eyes closed, her face pale. I held the ice pack in place, my other hand resting lightly on her calf.

Minutes stretched.

The tension in her shoulders seemed to recede, just a little. She opened her eyes and looked at me. "I can do it," she said, her voice raspy, as she reached for the ice pack.

"No," I said, my tone leaving no room for discussion. I held it firm. "You rest. I've got it." I readjusted my seating position, settling in.

My back was starting to ache after fifteen minutes of holding the same awkward position. I watched her, her face a mask of forced relaxation. Her jaw was still tight, a telltale sign she was battling the pain with sheer stubbornness. I adjusted my grip on the towel, the cold seeping through the fabric and into my fingers.

"Alright," she said, her voice still thin but a little stronger. "That's enough for now."

I didn't move. "We should do twenty."

"Raj," she said, her tone shifting from pained patient to mom.

I looked from her to her ankle. "Mom..."

"Go," she said, her voice firming up. "Clean up the kitchen. I'll be fine for five minutes. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay," I said, finally relenting.

I walked out of her room, leaving the door slightly ajar so I could hear her if she called. The kitchen was a disaster. The smell of pickle was even stronger now; shards of glass glittered on the wet floor. A few rogue pickle slices lay near the fridge.

I grabbed the dustpan and brush from the closet by the back door. I knelt and began the tedious work of sweeping up the larger pieces. I was methodical, making sure I got every sliver I could see.

After I was confident I had the bulk of it, I wadded up a handful of paper towels and started sopping up the brine. The floor was sticky under my hands. I tossed the used towels into the trash can.

When I was done, the kitchen was clean, the floor gleaming under the overhead light.

I pushed her door open slowly. She hadn't moved, but her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

"See?" she said, without turning her head. "Still alive."

"Good to know," I said, walking over to the bed. "I was about to start figuring out how to divide your stuff."

She cracked a small smile at that. "You'd have to fight your cousins for it."

"Fair point," I said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "I'd let them have the ugly vase."

"That's my favourite vase," she said.

"Exactly."

Her smile widened. "Idiot."

I looked at her foot, propped up on the pillows. "You want a massage?" I asked. "It might help."

Her eyes fluttered open. "I don't want you to go to any more trouble."

"It's no trouble, Mom," I said. "It's better than you sitting here in pain all night. Plus, I'm pretty good at it, according to Makaylah."

A weary laugh escaped her lips. "Okay, beta. Okay."

"Alright," I said, pushing myself up from the bed. "I'll be right back."

I went to the bathroom. I rummaged through it until I found a bottle of oil. Something fancy that was once gifted to her, it was probably out of date if things like this had an expiry date. I grabbed it and headed back.

I sat back down on the edge of the bed, just as I had before. I opened the bottle. The woody scent immediately filled the small space. I poured a generous amount into my palm. The oil was cool and thick.

"Here," I said, motioning towards my lap. "Put your foot here."

She carefully manoeuvred her leg until her foot rested in my lap. Her heel was warm against my thigh.

I rubbed my hands together, warming the oil, the scent intensifying. Then, I gently took her foot in both of my hands. My fingers wrapped around her foot. Her skin was soft, and the muscles of her sole were tight.

I started slow, my thumbs pressing into the ball of her foot, working in small, firm circles. I could feel the tension there, the knots of muscle. I applied a bit more pressure, my thumbs gliding over the skin.

"Oh," she breathed out.

I moved my attention to her arch, my thumbs pressing deep, searching for the most tender spots. I found one, right in the centre.

"Ah..." she gasped. Her whole body tensed for a second, then melted back into the mattress. "Right there..."

I worked that spot, my thumbs moving in a circular motion. The tension began to loosen, her foot relaxing under my touch. I moved my hands to her ankle, my fingers gently kneading the swollen area around the bone, being careful not to press too hard.

"Mmm..." The sound was a low hum of pleasure. Her head was back, her eyes closed. "God, Raj... that feels... so good..."

A jolt shot through me, starting in my groin. My dick, which had been lying dormant, began to stir.

I tried to focus. I was helping my mom. That was it. I was a good son. I moved my hands to her calf, my fingers digging into the muscle.

"Mmm, yes," she moaned, the sound higher this time, a whine of pleasure. "Don't stop..."

It was too much. The sounds, the feel of her skin in my hands. My dick was now fully hard, pressing insistently against the fabric of my shorts. My face was on fire.

Her body shifted on the bed to find a more comfortable position. Her other leg bent at the knee, her foot pushing against the mattress. Her heel, which had been resting against my thigh, moved.

It pressed directly into the rigid length, straining against my shorts.

Every muscle in my body seized. My hands froze on her calf.

"Mmm..." she hummed again, a contented sound. She flexed her foot, her toes curling, and her heel ground against me.

A choked gasp escaped my lips. I clamped my jaw shut. My brain was screaming at me to move, to pull away, to create space. But I was paralysed. My hips gave a microscopic jerk upward, seeking more contact before my brain could wrest back control.

She shifted again, this time with more purpose, her heel pressing, then rolling against my straining cock. My fingers tightened involuntarily on her calf, my grip slick and firm.

"Mmm..."

This moan was different. It was deeper. Her head lolled to the side. She was still, her breathing deep and even. Her eyes were closed.

She was asleep.

A wave of relief so intense it made my head spin washed over me. She was asleep. She didn't know.

I had to move. I had to get out of here. Now.

I had to be careful. I had to extract myself without waking her. I gently began to slide her foot off my lap.

As I moved, her heel dragged against me one last time.

Her eyes fluttered open. They were hazy, unfocused, clouded with sleep. "Raj?" she slurred.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

"What..." she started, her gaze slowly drifting down, following the line of her own leg.

Her eyes, still heavy-lidded, landed on my lap. They widened as they took in the very obvious, very prominent bulge straining against the thin fabric of my shorts.

Her brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle in a fog. Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip.

She didn't say a word. She just closed her eyes and fell back asleep.

I lurched to my feet. My legs were shaking. I stumbled away from the bed, my bare feet silent on the carpet. I didn't look back.