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It was a surprise when, unprompted, mom asked me a question with no trace of a connection to anything we had talked about to that point during our lunch. " The question popped out of mom's mouth with no warning. My mouth was full of squash soup, which I had to work hard to stop from spitting up. I swallowed it, with some effort, and I looked up at my mom. Mom took a moment to marshal her thoughts before answering me. Mom wore a sleeveless white top and a cornflower blue pleated skirt that stopped a few inches above her knee. Her legs were bare and tanned, and she wore blue pumps that matched her skirt.
I also wore well-shined black loafers that had spent the entire summer in the closet.
She looked at me intently, with eyes wide and searching and her lips pressed tightly against each other. "It's just -- everything we've done together recently.
Randy, you've seen me in a way that sons don't usually see their mothers. She hadn't said anything like this in the days after our last encounter in the shower. "I don't think of you that way and I would never call you that.
I was aware of mom's thumb moving across her phone screen, but I couldn't look at it.
"How about if I give you the chance to do what you wanted to do with dad? "I mean, mom, with me you can do what you wanted to do with dad," I said. I'll help you do that." Mom didn't reply immediately, but she arched her brows, and the corners of her mouth twisted in a wry expression. If you do that they're going to see it." She furrowed her brow, and I thought it looked cute. We had done so much already that the shock threshold had moved a lot. "You take the photo with your phone, and text it to me." She opened her mouth slowly as though she was forming the words to refuse, and I interrupted her. I held my phone up to my face, eagerly awaiting mom's text. The soft skin, the delicate petal-like lips, even the hint of dew inside the depths between them -- all were on display in the photo.