Just Mom

"I'm just your mom, Mac. For pete's sake, stop looking at me like that."

Mac hid a grumble behind his curled fingers. "How about this," he turned the book to face her. She squinted her eyes, then, after a brief moment, nodded. Straightening her torso, she then twisted it gently to her left, placed the palms of her hands flat against the other, then carefully bent her left knee at a slight angle while stretching her right leg out at a slope.

"Wow. You're getting pretty good at that."

His mother scoffed, maintaining her balance. "I wouldn't give it a go if I wasn't going to make it at least 'pretty good'. Come on, honey. You're my one-and-only, infallible, dorky but perfect, young master, not some dirtbag off the street. Don't be afraid to expect the best from me."

Mac shrugged. "I don't know."

The older woman relinquished another sigh as she continued her delicate descent towards the floor. Mac watched, the yoga instructional on the seat of the sofa. Abby, his sister, was bound to be coming home any minute now. How was he going to explain this mess? The "****" chip? The ethically questionable thing he attached to the tip of his finger which enabled him to enslave anyone he tapped with it, including Heather Marelly, his own mom?

BBZZZZZZZZZZZ!

"Mac, please, it'll be fine!"

"Seriously? I just told you I can't UNDO you. Mom -- you're stuck like this!"

"Mac, calm down. Who knows, maybe it'll wear off."

"That would be even worse!"

As Mrs. Marelly pushed the rickety lawnmower over the blades of grass, in a long overdue trimming, Mac walked beside her drinking out of a Kool-Aid. The upper portion of his mother's tight tanktop was already fairly soaked in her sweat, her temples forming beads of perspiration. She gave another heave as the lawnmower awkwardly went over an irregular chunk of soil.

"I don't know if I should have told you." Despite his mumbling, his mother caught it, and looked up from his foot mid-massage.

"Dear, I can keep a secret. I'm your mother." As she said this, she did not stop her ministrations on her son's lower, bared extremity. He was laid back on his parents' queen bed, hands underneath the back of his head, one shoe still on.

"You tell everybody about that middle school incident!"

"What middle school incident?" A dawning came over her eyes. Backtracking, "Okay, that's different." rub-rub

"No, it isn't! Ooh, yeah, right there, yeeeeah." rub-rub "I said it was embarrassing and you just laugh, every time."

"Because it's funny, come on, hon. You were just a little boy." Wriggle wriggle. Her thumbs went into the crook of his arch. Paul taught her that one. Her boy must be enjoying this. Her two hands gripped his foot tightly as he ranted on.

"Doesn't matter, my name becomes Toot-Toot for a week to anybody who hears that story and it's. Just. Awful."

His mother held back a laugh. To her chagrin, Mac caught it.

"Twenty--huff--seven!" the woman exhaled.

Whistle!

"Twenty-eight!"

Whistle!

"Twenty.....n-nine!"

"Almost there, Mom, come on, you can do it!"

Heather was feeling beat. It had been a long day, helping finish the chores she had originally intended for Mac to do, and also whipping up whatever premise he wanted to see enacted on the spot as he saw fit. Again, she didn't exactly mind too much -- in spite of how it looked, she couldn't imagine doing anything but anything he asked, no matter what, no matter when or where. On the other hand, her body was finally feeling some fatigue from the non-stop action, so had some other plans.

However, her son ordered her to do fifty push-ups, so she wouldn't stop until her fiftieth damned rise off the floor was complete. Her white-and-pink sports bra was wrapped snugly over her torso, leaving exposed the backs of her shoulders. She may have neglected her exercise routines in the past month or so, but it still went over her quite nicely. As did those black, form fitting jogging pants. Like before, her skin glistened with sweat, her arms trembled. After all, she wasn't as versed in strength training.

But up she pushed, then down, and up again, her biceps, meanwhile, tearing away under her supple flesh. Up and down she went, even when her face became flush enough to rival the ketchup bottle that Mac was splurging over his burger patty. Up, down, up, down.

Whistle!

Abigail Marelly closed the door.

"Mac? Mom?"

"Just Mom, honey."

Abby entered the living room to see her mom wiping her hair with a towel. She was in her bathrobe. "Where's Mac?"

"You know."

A finger point to the backyard was all Abby needed to know that he was back there, in the shed, working away at some other random thingamajig. The guy was kind of a genius. Funny, since he was just as much of an idiot. "Well, I'll be upstairs. Gonna take a bath myself."

"Were you with Liz again?"

Abby gave a straight nod, bounding up the steps of the stairwell.

"Hey," her mom stopped ruffling through her lush licks of brown-ish hair to look up at the girl, who was more or less the spitting image of the older lady -- only trimmer, slimmer, and with delicately leggy appeal that attracted every male in viewing range when she sported those tantalizingly wavy skirts. "Why don't you go say hi to your brother? You know, before you call it a night?"

Well that was new. "Sorry Mom, kinda tired. Besides, still wanna get some homework done before I go to bed."

"Isn't it Saturday tomorrow?"

"Yeah, if I don't do it now, then trust me, I'm just gonna end up not doing it."

"How about you ask him for help? He'd be willing to if you asked him nicely."

"Who?" Abigail's throat didn't know whether to groan or to chortle. "Mac?"

An eager nod bobbed her mother's head up then down. Abigail scrunched her nose. No, this time, it wasn't the leftover salmon.

Was she missing something here? Wasn't her brother still suspended for playing hooky to tinker with his 'shishkebobs' all last week? Abby would never forget the lecturing she had given him that day she found out. It had already been two days since then, and she still hadn't fully softened up by this morning. Who knows. The house did seem tidier; maybe he actually did all of his chores this time.

"Um... sorry, Mom, I've gotta go." The high-school aged brunette began her march back up the steps, her ponytail swishing behind her as she went, stepping past Mac's room and into the doorway of her own before giving said door a soft kick shut.