When Andrew was younger everyone said he looked exactly like his father but this wasn’t necessarily true. Sure, he shared his Dad’s general build, his impressively wide shoulders, but now at eighteen it was increasingly evident that he got the lion’s share of his looks from his mother, In particular her eyes and high cheek bones. This very thought occurred to him as he was flicking through some vacation photos before bed.
His finger lingered over one photo in particular. He’d walked out of their hotel room and caught Katie, his mother in a moment of deep contemplation. He’d been momentarily stunned by her beauty and felt compelled to snap the picture. In the picture she was leaning against a palm tree, looking forlornly out at the rising tide. She’d been wearing a yellow sundress and her shapely figure was bathed in the golden light of the dying sun. How could they be so much alike but see the world so differently? His mother had everything going for her, looks, brains, the whole package, but she always played it safe, never taking any chances in life. Andrew, on the other hand, was always looking for the next big challenge.
He touched the screen, zooming in closer on her face. Her dark eyes, delicate chin, and rosy red lips took up the entire screen. There was an undefinable quality in her expression that made her look beautiful but troubled, like a goddess in contemplation or a woman with a wounded soul.
He heard the creaking of hall floorboards. Smiling to himself, he tossed his tablet onto the nearby nightstand, snugged up his boxers, and adjusted his angle on the bed so that his back was against the headboard.
“Hey got a second slugger?” his mother whispered, tiptoeing into his room.
Andrew’s face lit up when he realized she had just taken a shower, her usually straight shoulder length hair framing her heart shaped face in damp blond curls. He liked the wet look.
“Sure Mom, No Problem!”
She shushed him, and pulled the door shut behind her.
She was dressed for bed, sporting a simple nightshirt over a pair of white cotton panties. At 5’3″, 129 lbs. his thirty-eight year old Mother’s clothing choice did little to mask the curve appeal of her petite frame. If anything it accentuated them. As she moved to squat by his side her shirt rode up at her waist, causing the top to billow out, affording Andrew the perfect view of her cleavage.
“Why are we whispering?” he asks, fairly certain he already knew at least part of the answer.
“Your Dad’s watching TV, and I thought it was a good time for us to have a talk.”
“About?” Andrew asked raising an eyebrow. He was trying to play it cool even though he was tense with anticipation he kept his body relaxed. He felt like his heart was going explode out of his chest any second.
“About what you asked me earlier,” she blushed. “I should have given you an answer, not walked off in a huff. You caught me by surprise.” She said in a calm soothing voice as she took his hand in a practiced motherly manner and continued; “We can’t do that. I’m sorry. I know there’s been a strange uhm… energy between us lately, but no. Just no, Honey”