Impregnating My Mom の小説・ストーリー

I ask, going in for a quick hug. Her chestnut brown hair has streaks of grey now, but it still smells just the same, pumpkins mixed with the smell of fall. I sigh as my quick hug turns into a long squeeze. My nose buries into my mother's hair, and she begins to stroke my back just like she did when I was a kid. My body instantly relaxes, and a strong sense of home floods my system. "I've lost her mom," I whisper, and her arms tighten. "I'll fix it, baby. That's why I'm here...to fix it," she whispers back before releasing me.

I didn't want this stranger's sympathy. I didn't want him in my restaurant, fixing things like he had any right to be here."You can leave now," I said."I'm not finished.""I don't care."He studied me for a long moment, and I got the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing more than I wanted him to see. "The funeral is at three tomorrow. Your mother wanted it small.""How would you know what my mother wanted?" "Because she told me." He picked up his wrench again, turning back to his work like I hadn't just dismissed him. "She talked about you constantly and how proud she was that you went to Milan to chase your dreams."

Just not to Mom. I went on a shopping spree, making a show of splurging. After dropping tens of thousands of dollars on bags without a second thought, I dined at a place where it cost more than a thousand dollars a meal as if it were nothing. On the flip side, Mom was living a miserable life. Christy made a split-screen comparison. On one side, I was walking into luxury stores, spending money like it was water. On the other side, Mom was digging through trash cans by the street.

“Mom, you don’t need to be so humble! “You raised me all these years. I’d be an ungrateful daughter if I allowed an outsider to offend you! “Between getting married and doing what’s right, which one do you think is more important to me?” Emerald’s heart skipped a beat, but she could not force a smile.

I could see every capillary, every uneven pulse of the vein at her throat. “My mom was a pancake masochist,” I said, filling the silence as I worked the clasp with two fingers. “But my dad would eat them every time and say they were perfect, even when they tasted like regret and drywall.” The bra came loose, straps hanging off her shoulders for a second before I slipped them off.

He came back a minute later and grabbed his tea from the table. “I’m going into watch television. Lizard Lick Towing is on.” “He’s obsessed with the show,” Mom explained at my shocked look. “I think he has a crush on that Amy girl. She’s badass, she is.” My fifty-two-year-old mother should not say badass. Mind you, my eighty-year-old Nana probably shouldn’t swear like a drunken sailor either, but there we go. “Mother, are you going to shut your eyes for half an hour before your medication?”

Mom informs " So???" I ask nonchalantly " She is genephobic" She informs " I know that, and I don't care" I yell, and I can vividly see the shock on her face " What did this witch do to you? This is not the son. Did she use some kind of vodou on you, that's making you act like this?" Mom questions annoyed " She made me better" I informed

she exclaimed, crossing the room in quick strides to envelop me in a warm embrace. I returned her hug, the familiar scent of her perfume mingling with the musty smell of the old house. Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, the simple act of being in my mother's arms brought a measure of comfort, a fleeting respite from the chaos swirling around me. "It's been too long since you last visited, Damien," Ava chided gently, her voice tinged with reproach. "You should come by more often." I forced a smile, the weight of guilt settling heavily on my shoulders. "I know, Mom," I replied, my voice tinged with regret. "I've just been so busy with work lately."

"You're barely older than me!" "And yet I'm your mother. Funny how that works." I leaned back, enjoying his fury. "Perhaps if you showed some respect, I might bring you something nice. Extra pillows. Better food." "I don't want anything from you." "Then you'll just lie here in pain for a month." I shrugged. "Your choice." His hands fisted in the sheets. "Why are you really here?" he demanded. "I told you. I came to check on my stepson's injuries." I smiled sweetly. "A good mother worries about her children."

I muttered, desperately attempting to comfort myself. "There certainly are, yet it appears you haven't managed to secure a single one of them," Mom countered sarcastically, locking her sharp gaze onto mine. I felt instantly insulted. Her words blatantly implied that I was entirely undesirable. "Are you trying to say that I am completely unmarketable, Mom?!" Mom immediately wrapped her arms around me, attempting to neutralize the rising tension. "Sweetheart, don't take it to heart. I didn't mean it in that manner at all."