Fernie, BC

My eyelids, still gummy with sleep and whatever concoction we’d mixed into those plastic flutes last night, fluttered open. I had to squint against the glare, and for a moment, the world was just a collection of warm colors and dark shapes. Slowly, it resolved into the familiar shape of my girlfriend.

Makaylah.

She was wearing a grey fleece bunny costume. Her head, with the hood's ears flopped to either side, was pillowed right on the meat of my quad. From the waist down, she was a perfect ninety-degree angle, her toned legs pointing straight up at the wall, her sock-clad feet braced against the pale blue paint. In one hand, held aloft was a paperback.

"Morning," I croaked, my voice feeling like I'd swallowed a handful of gravel. "You know, most people use a pillow."

She didn't look up from her book, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "Shhh," she squeaked, her voice pitching up in that way it always did when she was trying to focus.

I gave the thigh that her head rested on a quick flex causing her head to raise just a little, enough to be annoying.

Her eyes found mine. Her nose scrunched. The gold hoop in her left nostril caught the light. "Do you mind?" she asked. "I'm at a pivotal moment."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "What's happening?"

"Orual is finally seeing the princess for who she really is," she said, her eyes already drifting back to the page.

"I know the feeling," I said. "Woke up and my girlfriend was a giant grey rabbit reading a book on my leg."

"It's incredibly comfortable, thank you very much. You're just jealous because you're in shorts and freezing."

She wasn't wrong. The air in my room had a bite to it.

"It's the new year," I said, reaching for the duvet we'd kicked to the floor sometime in the night. "I'm embracing the cold. Building character."

"Or you could just put on a shirt," she suggested, turning a page.

She finally dog-eared the page and lowered the book, resting her chin on my knee. Her eyes were focused on me. There was a playful glint in them.

I reached out and poked her side, right where I knew she was most ticklish.

She yelped, a high-pitched squeak of a sound, and twisted away, her legs collapsing from the wall. In a flash, she was on top of me, her knees pinning my shoulders to the mattress. The book thumped onto the floor.

"You're annoying," she said, her voice a low whisper now, the playful squeak gone. Her nose was inches from mine.

"And you're a mean bunny," I shot back, my hands coming up to rest on the warm curve of her waist. I could feel the toned muscle beneath the fleece. "Who falls for the same tickle attack every single time?"

"I don't fall for it," she insisted, her nose scrunching again. "I allow it. It's part of my grand strategy."

"Which is what? To pin me down and read to me until I beg for mercy?"

Her lips brushed against mine, feather-light. "Something like that."

My hands slid down, over the soft swell of her hips, coming to rest on the generous curve of her ass. I gave it a firm squeeze. "Well, you've got me pinned. What are you going to do with me?"

The squeak was back, high and flustered. "I—uh—I'm going to make you some coffee," she stammered, pushing herself up suddenly. The shift in her mood was as fast as ever. "And breakfast. You must be starving."

She rolled off me and stood up, stretching her arms over her head.

"That's your strategy?" I propped myself up on my elbows.

"It's a good one," she said, her back to me as she walked toward the door. "I want to thank your Mom for letting me stay over," she said, her voice muffled by the hood. "I love Meera, I want to do something nice for her."

"You don't have to do that," I said.

"No, I do," she insisted, turning back to me. The hood fell back, revealing her messy dark hair.

I watched her leave, my bedroom door clicking softly shut behind her.

With a groan, I pushed myself upright, the muscles in my back and shoulders protesting. The floor was frigid against my bare feet as I padded toward the bathroom.

The mirror over the sink was not kind. My hair was a disaster. My face looked puffy and pale. I ran a hand under the cold tap, splashed some water on my face, and then squeezed a generous dollop of toothpaste onto my brush. The minty taste was a welcome jolt, scouring away the fuzzy residue of sleep and cheap prosecco.

By the time I spat into the sink and rinsed my mouth, the scent of frying bacon was wafting under the bathroom door. My stomach rumbled in response.

Makaylah was a whirlwind of focused energy. The pan on the stove sizzled aggressively as she moved bacon strips around with a pair of tongs. On the counter, a bowl of what looked like pancake batter sat next to a carton of eggs and a half-empty carton of orange juice.

"Hey," I said. "Smells amazing."

She jumped slightly, turning to me with wide eyes. "Oh! Hi. I didn't hear you."

"You seemed pretty focused." I pushed off the frame and moved toward the coffee maker. "Need a hand?"

"No!" The word was sharp. She immediately softened her tone. "I mean, no, I've got it. Just sit down. It'll be ready in a minute."

"You sure? I can handle coffee duty."

"I said I've got it," she said, her back to me as she cracked an egg into the pan. She was already stressing.

"Alright, alright," I said, holding my hands up in surrender. "I know when I'm not wanted." I backed out slowly.

I flopped onto the couch in the living room. I grabbed my phone from the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a notification from a friend. It was a blurry photo from last night, me with my arm slung around Makaylah. I swiped past it, my thumb scrolling through the endless stream of New Year's wishes and recaps. The sounds from the kitchen continued. The clatter of a plate, the sizzle of the pan, Makaylah's sighs. I let my phone drop to my chest, staring up at the water stain on the ceiling that looked vaguely like a map of Canada.

The ceiling map wasn't getting any more interesting. The creak of my mom's bedroom door cut through the sounds from the kitchen.

"Raj?" her voice, still husky with sleep, called out. "Are you burning something?"

"I'm not burning anything," I called back, not moving from my horizontal position. "Makaylah is in there."

"You didn't have to do all this, beta," Mom's voice carried from the kitchen. "You're our guest."

"I wanted to!" Makaylah's response was slightly higher pitched than usual. "To thank you for letting me stay."

The floor creaked again. "Honestly, Makaylah," my mom said, "every single time I meet you, I think, 'Okay, this is as nice as she can possibly be,' and then you go and do something like this. Where did Raj find you?" she asked, gesturing a thumb in my general direction.

"From the bargain bin at Walmart," I called out from the couch.

"Don't listen to him, he's an idiot," my mom said.

"Hey!" I protested, pushing myself up on my elbows to glare toward the kitchen. "I offered. She banished me. It's a hostile work environment in there."

My mom appeared in the doorway. She was wearing her old flannel pajamas.

"Hostile?" she said, her eyebrow arching.

"I was banished," I repeated, letting my head fall back against the couch cushions with a soft thud. "She's very territorial in the morning."

"He's useless," Makaylah chirped from the kitchen, her voice light and teasing, the clatter of plates confirming she was setting the small table in the alcove.

"See?" I said, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. "It's a conspiracy. You're both ganging up on me."

"Get up," my mom said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She threw the dishtowel at me. It landed squarely on my face.

I peeled the towel off my face. "Fine," I grumbled, swinging my legs off the couch and planting my feet on the cold hardwood. I pushed myself up.

Makaylah was plating the last of the eggs when I shuffled into the kitchen. She looked up, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. Her nose scrunched. "About time."

"You kicked ME out, why are you lying?" I said, pinching at her stomach. She yelped and swatted my hand away, laughing.

My mom slid into the chair, taking a long sip from the mug of coffee Makaylah had already poured for her. "Ah," she sighed, her eyes closing. "This is the life."

Makaylah slid a plate piled high with bacon, eggs, and two fluffy pancakes across the table to me. "There you go, Your Majesty."

"Why thank you, my lady," I said, digging my fork into the stack.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the scraping of forks against plates. The food was incredible.

"This is amazing, Macca," I said, my mouth half-full of pancake. "Seriously."

She just shrugged, her focus on her own plate, a small blush rising on her cheeks.

"So, what are you two troublemakers getting up to today?" my mom asked, wiping a bit of yolk from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "Anything exciting for the first day of the year?"

Makaylah swallowed her bite of pancake. "I'm supposed to meet Christina around one," she said. "We were going to hit the gym, and then maybe grab a coffee."

My mom nodded. "That sounds like a productive start to 2018. You two are making the rest of us look bad."

I speared the last piece of bacon on my plate. "My plan is..." I said, popping it into my mouth. "I'm driving this one home, and then see how long I can lie on the couch without moving."

"Sounds thrilling," Makaylah deadpanned. "Don't pull a muscle."

"I'll try to pace myself," I said, pushing my now-empty plate away.

We fell back into a comfortable silence. When the last bite was gone, I stood up.

"Alright," I said, stacking my plate on top of my mom's. "I'll handle the cleanup."

"You don't have to do that," Makaylah started, pushing her chair back. "I can help."

"Nope," I said, shaking my head and gathering the remaining cutlery.

She opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. "Fine," she said, standing on her tiptoes to press a quick, soft kiss to my cheek. "But only because I have to go get ready."

I watched her walk toward my room, the grey bunny suit a final farewell. I turned back to the sink, the stack of dishes waiting. I turned on the tap, the hot water a welcome relief against my cold hands.

The dishes were done. The remnants had been scrubbed away, the counters wiped clean, the small kitchen restored to its usual state of cozy chaos. My mom had retreated back to her bedroom.

I headed toward my room, the plan being to find a clean shirt and maybe convince Makaylah to watch a movie before I had to take her home. The door was ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside, my mouth already open to make some dumb joke.

The joke died in my throat.

Makaylah was standing with her back to me, her feet slightly apart. The grey fleece costume was in a heap on my floor. And she was completely naked.

The light from my window caught the smooth, pale skin of her back, tracing the elegant line of her spine and the twin soft dimples just above the swell of her hips. She was in the middle of pulling a black sports bra over her head, her arms raised, which arched her back and emphasised the incredible, toned curve of her ass.

Time seemed to stutter. My brain, for a split second, just blue-screened. I had seen her before, of course. Fumbling in the dark, glimpses under blankets.

I must have made a sound. A sharp intake of breath, maybe. A choked-off gasp. Her arms froze halfway through pulling the sports bra down. She tensed, every muscle in her back going rigid. Then, slowly, she turned.

Her eyes met mine. A look of shock flashed across her face, quickly followed by a deep, creeping blush that started at her collarbones and rushed upward. Her hands flew to her chest, one arm crossing over her breasts while the other shot down, attempting to cover the neat shaved space between her legs.

"Oh my god!" she squeaked, her voice hitting that high pitch I knew so well. "Raj! Get out!"

Instead of leaving, my brain, which was barely working, did the only thing that made sense in that moment. I reached down, grabbed the hem of my t-shirt, and pulled it over my head. I dropped it on the floor. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and boxers and shoved them both down in one go, kicking them off to the side.

Now we were just two naked people in a room.

I held her gaze. "Okay," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "Now we're even. No need to hide."

Her arms, which had been locked in place over her body, slowly relaxed. Her eyes flickered down, taking in my chest, my stomach, the distinct, weighty shape of my dick resting against my thigh. The blush on her cheeks deepened.

"This is weird," she whispered, a small, almost laugh-like puff of air escaping her lips.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It is."

I took a step toward her. And then another. I stopped right in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

She finally lowered her arms completely. Her breasts, full and firm with the lightest brownish-pink nipples, were right there. My gaze drifted down, over the defined plane of her stomach to the smooth skin between her legs.

I lifted my hand, my fingers tracing the line of her jaw. Her skin was so soft. I tilted her chin up, so she had to look at me.

"You are," I said, my voice dropping into that lower, softer register I reserved for moments like this, "so incredibly beautiful."

My thumb brushed over her lower lip, the skin there plump and soft.

The door to my room crashed open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang that made us both jump violently.

My mom stood there, a pile of folded towels in her arms. Her wide eyes darted from my naked chest to Makaylah, frozen and exposed, and then down to the very obvious state of my undress. The color drained from her face.

The towels tumbled from her arms, hitting the floor with a soft, muffled thud.

"Oh," she breathed out. "Oh, god."

She spun around so fast she almost stumbled, her bare feet thudding down the hallway. A second later.

Makaylah let out a strangled noise, a cross between a sob and a gasp.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her hands flying back to cover herself. Her eyes were wide with panic, darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. "No, no, no. I can't." Her eyes were fixed on the floor. "I have to go. I can never look at her again. I can't... I have to go." She scrambled away from the wall. She bent down, snatching the black sports bra off the floor, then her leggings. She started dressing with a frantic energy.

"Don't go," I said, the words feeling useless.

"I don't need a ride!" she yelled, her back still to me as she pulled the leggings up over her hips. She snatched her hoodie and socks from the pile, her hands shaking.

She was shoving her feet into her boots, not even untying them, just cramming her socked feet inside. She grabbed her phone and keys from my nightstand.

She bolted for the door. She didn't even look back. The front door opened and shut, the sound echoing through the small house.

And then there was silence.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway. I heard my mom take a slow, steadying breath. Then another.

"Raj," she called out, her voice muffled by the wall. "Come to the living room. And sit down."

My feet felt like they were cemented to the floor.

"Now, beta," she added, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I took a step. Then another. Walking into the living room. I sat on the edge of the couch, my hands clasped together in my lap, my knuckles white. I couldn't look at her.

She was standing by the window, her back to me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"I'm not angry," she said, her voice quiet. "I was a teenager once. A long, long time ago, but I remember." She let out a short, sharp breath that might have been a laugh. "I know... I know you're... active."

"We aren't," I said, my own voice barely a whisper. "Not like that."

She walked over and sat in the armchair opposite me, tucking her feet underneath her.

"It's okay if you were," she said. "I just... I need to know you're being safe. That you're being respectful. And that she's being respected." She looked at her hands, picking at a loose thread on the arm of the chair. "This is... this is the kind of talk a father should be having with his son. I don't have a script for this."

"You're doing fine," I mumbled.

She looked up at me. "So, what were you doing, then? You both seemed... very ready for... an activity."

My face flushed with heat. I looked down at my hands. "We made a deal," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "A while ago. We decided... we're waiting. Until prom. To... you know."

My mom's eyebrows shot up. "Prom?"

"It was her idea," I said.

She blinked slowly. "Okay," she said, drawing the word out. "That's... very sweet." She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "So, if you weren't going to have sex... why were you both naked?"

My brain stuttered, trying to find a way to explain it.

"She was embarrassed," I said. "About me seeing her naked. So I... I thought it would be fair if I was naked too."

My mom stared at me. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She leaned back in her chair, a slow, deep sigh escaping her lips. She brought her hand up and pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You," she said, her voice flat, devoid of any emotion but a deep, profound weariness, "are an idiot."

"I know," I whispered.

She dropped her hand. "No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I don't think you do."

Another beat of silence.

A different question, one I hadn't even realized was brewing in the back of my mind, pushed its way to the surface.

"Mom," I started, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat. "Can I... ask you something? Something weird."

Her eyes focused on me. She looked wary, like I was about to ask her to help me hide a body. "Weird is the baseline for our morning right now."

"When you... when you walked in. You saw... me." My face was on fire. I felt a dizzying wave of nausea. "I don't have a... a dad. To ask. And the guys at school are all liars."

I took a shaky breath, forcing the next few words out. "Is it... I mean, is it normal? The... size?"

The question hung in the air between us. For a long moment, she didn't answer. I risked a glance at her. Her expression had shifted from exasperation to something else, something softer.

"Oh, beta," she whispered. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, they were shining. She looked away, out the window again.

"Raj," she said, her voice strained. "I am your mother."

"I know," I said, my voice small. "I'm sorry. Forget it."

"No," she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "No, I get it. I do. It's just... this is a conversation I never, in a million years, thought I would be having." She took a long, deep breath, as if bracing herself. "Okay. Okay. I'll answer you. But we are never, ever speaking of this again. Do you understand me?"

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

She looked at me, her gaze direct and unwavering.

"What you have," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "is... around the same with the biggest I have seen in person."

She held my gaze for another second. She looked away, a faint flush creeping up her own neck.

"There," she said. "Are you happy? Now you know. You are... adequately equipped. Can we please move on and pretend this entire morning was just a fever dream?"

I could only nod, my mind reeling. I felt a strange, dizzying mix of validation and a new wave of humiliation.

"Good," she said, standing up abruptly. "I'm going for a walk. A very, very long walk."