Holly Brooks.

I finished most of my homework in an hour. I considered pushing through for another hour but I was getting tired. I could finish it after dinner, so I stood up from my desk, picked up my unplugged guitar and played some random notes to warm up my fingers. Then I started practicing the solo of a song that had been giving me serious trouble, but I really wanted to get it down. Before I knew it, another full hour had passed and I heard the main door downstairs opening. I put my guitar down and went out to check if it was Isabelle or mom. The smell of food told me it was mom before I could even see her.

I went to the kitchen and found her there, setting a big paper bag on the kitchen counter.

“Hey mom,” I said, speaking quietly as always.

“Ah, Oliver.” She turned to me with a distracted look. She looked tired with her shoulders slumped. She massaged her neck as she rotated it. “You did the dishes? Thank you. Your sister?”

“She’s not here yet.”

“Message her and ask her if she’ll be here for dinner. If not, we’ll eat after I’m out of the shower, okay?”

I nodded.

My mother, Holly Brooks. A half-Asian 40 year old woman, taller than me by about 10 cm. Isabelle and I got most of our looks from her. Her black hair and gray eyes were passed down to us, but it was Isabelle who looked the most like her. Mom practically looked like a more mature, cool and refined version of my sister. There was a small beauty mark on the left side under her lip. Her long hair was then tied into a neat, professional low bun, but when she let it loose it was straight and long enough to reach her lower back. She was wearing a dark blue suit, as she was coming straight from work.

I watched her go up the stairs and messaged Isabelle. She answered quickly, saying she’d be home later but that she’d still eat dinner here. Knowing that, I set the table in the kitchen for two. Then I brought out the food mom had bought.

Mom works as an HR coordinator at a medium-sized pharmaceutical company. Right next to her office is a good restaurant that sells takeout. Mom knows how to cook, but since she comes home tired, that’s what we eat. Leftovers are usually repurposed for mine and Isabelle’s school lunches. Every day she comes home with food from that place, to the point they gave her a nice discount for being such a regular. The food came in black containers with transparent lids, so I could see that we’d be having chicken with a variety of salads.

I served the food, the chicken still hot, and waited for mom to come down. I certainly didn’t expect my own reaction at seeing her walk down the stairs. I almost jumped and my heart started racing, eyes glued to her.

She was wearing a white sweater dress that she liked. I’d seen her in it plenty of times, as she said it was comfortable and it was better than wearing something more casual in case we had surprise visitors. But for some reason I was now very aware of how she looked in it, or maybe of how it accentuated my own mother’s body.

Mom’s chest is big. Really big. Just short of each boob being the size of her own head. The dress hugged her curves to show her narrow waist and wide hips. It showed her bare, smooth and thick thighs. What was more, her hair was loose and lightly damp, changing her general aura from strict and professional to something more relaxed. A familiar, unsettling thought passed through my head like lightning.

My mom was outrageously attractive.

I had thought the same of my sister the morning my body changed. Why? Why was I thinking that of my own mother and sister? Was it because I’d finally had sex for the first time? Was I just a late bloomer and I was only now seeing these things? Unlikely, as I’d been masturbating for years. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel… natural. I didn’t like it.

Either because of my poker face or because she was tired, mom didn’t notice my reaction. She sat down at the table and I hesitated a bit before sitting down across from her. I had to keep my eyes focused on my plate, because looking at mom wasn’t good for my heart.

Without Isabelle at the table, dinner was silent. She was normally the one to carry conversations, as I usually didn’t have anything to say. However, this time I did. I was afraid of mom’s answer, but I still had to ask.

“Um, mom…” I started. “I might come back a little later tomorrow. A f-friend invited me to hang out.”

“Oh?” mom exclaimed, genuinely surprised. “Very well.”

“Also, they invited me to hang out on the weekend. Can I?”

“Is your homework done?” she asked with a lightly stern tone.

“Almost. I’ll finish the rest tonight.”

“Then I don’t see a reason you can’t.” She nodded and easily gave me permission.

But that was it. She didn’t ask who these friends were, where I was going, or even how come I had friends at all. Mom kept eating, her face serious and exhausted. In a way it was for the best, as explaining it all would be awkward and difficult. But…

Dad passed away when Isabelle and I were eight years old, so mom took care of us all by herself. However, she’s been so busy working that… Well, she wasn’t there very much. She always made sure we never lacked anything, but other than dinner, we didn’t spend much time together at all.

I pursed my lips in frustration. I knew that was partly my fault as well, staying in my room even when mom was home and such.

…

“How was work today?” I asked, daring to look up at her face.

I saw a small, gentle smile on her full lips. “Tiresome. We have some complaints for sexual harassment in the office, but it’s hard to tell who is simply trying to get someone fired and who is actually having problems. Don’t be either a liar or a sexual offender, okay, Oliver?” she jokingly warned.

“I’d never,” I answered, chuckling. Then I thought of the things I’d done at the music room recently and a chill ran down my back. It didn’t count if the girls wanted it, right? Of course it didn’t.

“By the way, Oliver…” mom said, looking at me closely. “You look a little different.”

I flinched. Had she started noticing? “D-Do I? I don’t think I’m any different.” Why was I keeping it a secret from her? I didn’t know, but I could feel something in the back of my mind telling me it was better that no one asked questions. Not like any answers I could give would make any sense.

Mom kept looking at me, examining my face. I was wearing clothes, and a baggy t-shirt at that, so she couldn’t have noticed the most drastic changes like Isabelle probably had. Then I saw her grimace, and that made my heart sink for some reason.

“Maybe you’re right. I’m not home very much, so you’re probably growing up without me noticing.” She let out a tired sigh, then her eyes became stern again. “Finish your dinner and go do your homework. Remember your only responsibility is to study. Your grades need to be better than last year’s, you hear me?”

I swallowed, but nodded silently even if I believed I had bigger problems than my grades.