As I ate, I noticed that while the caterers just maintained the buffet, there were also waiters keeping people’s glasses topped up. I had soda, of course, but as one of the servers refilled my glass, I noticed that I’d been given champagne by mistake. As she passed me again, I quietly asked her:
“Excuse me, could I have some soda instead, please?”
“Certainly, Sir.” she said with a smile and took my glass, returning soon after with a new one and placing two glass bottles of soda in front of me.
The girl kept moving around, filling up people’s glasses, and I returned to my meal. It was delicious. The wings were perfectly spiced, the potato salad had just the right consistency and the bread was simply divine. Some cook had really put their heart and soul into this. Mom was enjoying it too, I noticed.
Then I noticed that she was also enjoying her drinks. A slight nervous tingle went down my spine. She probably wasn’t going to get all wild and hammered here at our family party, but my thoughts nonetheless went back to those times when she’d come home drunk… This time, I got to witness the whole process. Mom drank glass after glass of champagne, and while she didn’t seem to get all messed up like a prom queen at a frat party, I did start to notice a few things.
First of all, she started getting a bit more… physical. She would hug people more, touch them, kiss their cheeks… Again, nothing crazy, just a little bit more interested in physical contact. To the people around her, I’m sure she seemed like her normal kind-hearted self, but I definitely noticed this little change.
She also laughed more, even if people told bad jokes. The next thing was the way she talked. She became a bit more direct. Just a touch, but noticeable if, like me, you were paying attention. Instead of dressing something up or sugar-coating it, she would go straight to the point. When talking to a relative who was slightly unhappy with her husband’s mood of late, mom didn’t beat around the bush and say something like: “maybe he could make a bit more of an effort in the relationship”… Instead, she just called him a “jackass who should work harder to please his woman”.
Nobody else seemed to notice these little things. Maybe because other people were drinking too… or maybe because her antics did fit with the mood and the conversation, but I still took note of how she gradually changed as she was served more wine. The way she talked, the way she laughed… Then there was the way she moved.
When she swayed her hips, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. That lovely body of hers – neither too thin nor too fat… she’d squeezed it into a tight-fitting dress that ended just above the knees. As she walked across the room to mingle with our relatives, it clung to her hips like plastic wrap. When she turned and bent down a bit to talk to one of the kids, I could see the contours of her wonderfully round medium-sized breasts. The cleavage wasn’t too deep – this was a family party, after all – but I could still see a patch of naked skin between her breasts. I had to force myself to stop staring after a while.