Play dumb and act clueless — Abbie will buy that

“I know, right?!” you exclaim to your sister, gesturing to the tray of food. “What the heck is up with mom? She’s making breakfast for you now.”

Abbie scowls. “Mom never gets up before seven, and she’s bringing you breakfast in bed?” She steps into your room, closing the door behind her. Her voice drops to a conspiratorial half-whisper, “And how she was dressed, or not dressed really. Her boobs were half out of that robe, and I don’t think she was wearing anything under it.”

You can’t help noticing that your sister isn’t exactly hiding her body either. Her deep v-neck nightshirt shows a bit of cleavage, and her nipples poke up under the thin cotton. It’s not quite long enough to cover her bikini-style panties. Abbie steps closer to your bed.

“Something's wrong. What did she say when she was in here?” Abbie demands, stepping closer to your bed. She looks at the tray of breakfast. “Is that…? That’s not out of a can, she whipped cream at a quarter to six?”

You shrug and try to put on a confused expression. That feels natural to you. “She just said something about wanting to take care of me.” You decide an element of truth will help your cover-up. “She was acting kind of weird yesterday, too, like, very affectionate, touchy-feely. Do you have any idea what could be going on with her?”

Abbie sits down on the edge of your bed, shaking her head in answer to your question. “I mean, I don’t think she’s on ****, coke or something. Right? Not mom.” She bites her lip as she puzzles things out. “What if it’s bad… like she found out she’s dying of cancer or something.”

You don’t want your sister worrying about something like that. You place your hand on her forearm. “I’m sure mom would have talked to us about it if that was happening. You know mom, she’d be practical and want to prepare us.”

“Could she be becoming bipolar, and she’s in a manic phase?” Abbie asks. “Maybe we should get her to see a psychiatrist.”

That’s a line of thought you want to shut down. “We should probably just talk to her first. Maybe it’s nothing. You’ve got tonight off from work, right? We’ll talk to mom then, that way there’ll be plenty of time to get everything straightened out. For now, just enjoy the breakfast she’s making for you, and don’t upset her. Maybe she just wanted to do something nice for us.”

Abbie looks dubious about that explanation. “I don’t like waiting,” she says, “but you’re right, it might turn into a long conversation, and I’ve got to get ready to go. I’ve got my final exam in finance this morning.” She frowns. “Fuck.”

Abbie sighs, then smirks at you. “I’m grabbing the bathroom before you today, beanpole. Don’t have time to wait around for your morning shower-wank. Enjoy your breakfast in bed.” She says sarcastically, as she gets up and heads out of your room to beat you into the bathroom.

When she’s gone, you try one of the berries. The whipped cream is fresh made. You don’t have time enjoy it though. Once you hear the shower running, you rush down to the kitchen in just your boxer shorts. Your mom is at the stove, making more pancakes. “Mom… Abbie thinks there’s something wrong with you. I don’t want her worrying; she’s got finals. You need to convince her that everything’s all right.”

Your mother nods thoughtfully as she flips the pancakes. “Oh! You’re right, honey. I wasn’t even thinking about Abbie." She frowns as she realizes she hadn't given any thought to how her daughter would react to her behavior. "I… I feel like there is something wrong with me. But I shouldn’t make her worry about it. It’s important that she does well on her final exams.”

You give your mother a tight hug. “Perfect. Also, don’t act like you’re treating me special; it’ll make her suspicious. I don’t think it would be good for her to know about these, um, feelings you have for me. You’ve got to make her believe that you just want to take care of both of us, equally. Got it?” You rush to get everything out, worried that you might miss something important. Everything you say comes out more like an order than a request.

“Of course, Davey.” Your mom smiles wide. “I was being so foolish. You know best. I’ll do everything just like you say. I’m so glad you’re here to take charge.”

Your hands are shaking a little as you grab your mom’s shoulders and look into her eyes. “Great mom. Remember, we don’t Want Abbie upset, worried, or suspicious about anything. And if she suggests that you see a psychiatrist or a counselor, just put her off.”

Your mother nods. “You already told me I shouldn’t, honey, so I’ll tell her I don’t need to.” She says, as if doing what you told her is an absolute given.

You pull her towards you and give her a kiss on the forehead. “OK. Good. This will be ok.” You say, trying to convince yourself more than your mom. “We’ll talk more about it later, I’ve got to get ready for school now.”

“Love you, Davey.” Your mom calls after you, as you rush back to your room. You shovel some of the breakfast she made into your mouth, and as soon as Abbie is out of the bathroom, you take a lightning-fast shower. You don’t want Abbie and mom alone for longer than absolutely necessary.

After you’re dressed, you get down to the kitchen again. You see Abbie eating breakfast silently and watching your mother suspiciously. Mom walks over, gives her a hug, and asks how she likes the food. Your sister is surprised by the hug, and gives you a pointed look when she sees you. You think mom can handle not cluing Abbie in to what’s going on. If you stay and make sure, you'll miss the bus.