Mom surprised me by scootching closer to me on the couch and putting her arm around me. I didn’t really have it in me to resist at that point. She hugged me in my awkward, half-turned position until I gave in further and turned toward her, allowing her to pull me deeper into her embrace.
I leaned my head against her shoulder and allowed myself to be held like a child. It was slightly pathetic to be comforted by my mother this way, but somehow it actually helped. The longer she held me, the more my feelings of bitterness and resentment seemed to fade away. I gradually relaxed enough to stop worrying about how embarrassing the situation was.
Mom started gently rocking me while making barely audible shushing noises. At some point my childhood instincts took over and let me enjoy the moment without over-analyzing it. I didn’t care that I was being treated as younger than I was, or that I could feel Mom’s breasts pressed against my chest, or even that a few tears had leaked from my eyes. I felt safe and loved.
“I’ll have to disown you if you ever tell anyone about this,” I said quietly.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “Mothers may enjoy embarrassing their children, but we also understand the value of discretion. Besides, there’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about.”
“If you say so.”
“Really. I mean it. It’s kind of my responsibility to look after you, you know. You needed someone to make you feel better, and that’s all I did.”
“I guess. Promise you won’t ever mention this again?”
“Promise.”
We sat together for a while until I started getting hungry. Mom made us supper, then I went off to my room for a while. I had to admit my mood had improved substantially thanks to my mother, even if her methods were questionable.
****
I was getting ready to go to bed that night when I heard the TV. I walked down to the living room in my t-shirt and boxers to make sure it hadn’t accidentally been left on. Mom was curled up on the couch in her nightie watching a movie.
“Is the TV too loud?” she asked.
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “I just thought it might have gotten left on accidentally.”
“Okay. Are you going to bed?”
“I was going to. How much is left in your movie?”
“Um… probably about half an hour, give or take.”
I nodded and glanced back toward my room. Going to bed would have been the responsible thing to do. On the other hand, it was only half an hour. I walked over and sat beside Mom to watch the rest of the movie with her.
After a few minutes Mom leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder. I didn’t mind her doing that, except that it meant I could see down the front of her nightie. I tried to ignore how much visible cleavage she was displaying, but I didn’t have much success. Drawing her attention to the problem would have only made it more uncomfortable for both of us.
I had to remind myself that I only looked because there were breasts in my line of sight. It had nothing whatsoever to do with who they belonged to. As long as I did my best to keep my eyes averted, it was unfair to blame myself too harshly for the occasional peek. I couldn’t fight my instincts.