Back to the Garden (5 page)

“Don’t you want to put hotels on!?” Chloe nudged her aunt under the table, making a face. “You’re not paying attention!”

Damn. Caught. Leila bought four houses, arranging the green plastic pieces on the board, glancing at the clock. Her sister should be back soon to pick up Chloe, anyway. There was no way they were going to finish this game.

Rich made fake punches in his seat, watching the fight. “Oh, man, he opened himself up for the leg sweep!”

“Boardwalk!” Chloe squealed, bouncing in her seat and waving an orange five-hundred dollar bill. “Gimme, gimme!”

Leila, as banker, gave over the property and a hundred dollars in change.

“Dude!” Rich yelled, jumped up in his seat. “Fucking choked him out!”

“Rich!” Leila warned, nodding her dark head toward Chloe.

“Whoops.” He walked toward the kitchen table. “Sorry, punk.” He ruffled Chloe’s hair as he went by, heading for the refrigerator. “Nothing you haven’t heard before, right?”

“Not the point.” Leila watched him standing in front of the open door, the light casting a glow over his strong jaw. Sometimes, like now, he looked so much like his father it made her heart hurt.

He grabbed a Heineken, screwing the lid off and tossing it on the counter. She watched him down half of it, still standing in front of the open door, her eyes watching his throat working as he swallowed.

“Hey, that better not be the last,” Leila said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Shutting the fridge door, he came to sit at the table between them. “Plenty left, Ma. So, who’s winning?”

“Me!” Chloe piped up, fanning out her properties for him.

He raised his eyebrows, smiling around the rim of his beer. “Regular Donald Trump, aren’tcha?”

“Not so fast.” Leila flashed Baltic and Mediterranean. “Technically, I’ve got the only Monopoly here!”

Chloe snorted, flipping her brown ponytail over her shoulder. “Well, I’ve got all four railroads and both utilities!”

The front door opened and Tanya breezed in, carrying dinner—her payment for Leila’s babysitting services.

“It better not be sushi again,” Rich muttered, trying to see around his mother to peer at the bags his aunt was carrying.

“I heard that, mister.” Tanya set the bags on the table, breathless. “Boston Market—a normal chicken dinner, I’ll have you know. Nothing raw—even the veggies are cooked.”

“Did you get everything you needed?” Leila asked, raising her eyebrows at her sister. Tanya had gone Christmas shopping for Chloe.

Her sister nodded. “Almost.”

“Mom, I’m winning!” Chloe jumped up and grabbed her mother’s waist.

Tanya continued unpacking the bags around her daughter. “Good, sweetie.”

“Actually, you won.” Leila started to sweep the board. Rich helped her put away the pieces and she smiled a thank you.

“Can’t we finish?” Chloe begged, watching the money and properties disappear into the rectangular box.

“Sorry, babe.” Tanya crumpled up the empty bags. “We gotta get home.”

“Aren’t you staying to eat?” Leila handed the box top to Rich, watching him put the rest of the game away.

“Can’t,” Tanya replied. “Bill’s coming over tonight.”

Leila raised her eyebrows, glancing at Chloe. “On a school night?”

Tanya rolled her eyes. “At least I’m actually seeing someone and not pining away for some...”

Tanya stopped, glancing at Rich, whose eyes moved between his mother and his aunt.

Leila snorted, standing up and going to the cupboard to get plates. “I don’t know if ‘seeing’ is the word I’d use.”

“Come on, Chloe.” Tanya held out her hand to her daughter. “Time to go.”

“See ya, punk,” Rich said to Chloe, who flashed him a shiny metal smile as he opened one of the plastic containers of chicken.

“Thanks for watching her, Li.” Tanya pulled Chloe toward the door.

Leila shrugged, putting the plates on the table. “Sure. Thanks for dinner.”

When they were alone, Rich went and got himself another beer, putting one in front of his mother. She thanked him, giving him a warm smile.

“So, you’re pining, huh?” he asked through a mouthful of chicken.

Leila choked on her beer. “No.”

“So how come you don’t date?”

She watched him licking his greasy fingers and handed him a napkin. “I date.”

“I think she’s right,” he went on, spooning up mashed potatoes. “You miss him.”

Leila took another drink of her beer, her chest tight. “Yeah. Of course I miss him. He was the only man I ever loved.”

Rich stopped, putting his chicken leg down. “You never said that.”

“I know.” She gave him a small smile, picking at her carrots.

He chewed thoughtfully, frowning. “Well, wherever he is, I hope his life with what’s-her-name is a living hell.”

Leila shook her head, clearing her barely touched plate. “I don’t wish that. I hope he’s happy.”

Staring at her over his beer, he sighed. “You’re too generous, Mother.”

Washing her hands at the sink, she watched him shoveling the rest of his potatoes in, turning the spoon upside down to get them all, just like Frank always did. How could you inherit things like that, she wondered. The way he ran his hand through his hair, or hitched at his pants, or cleared his throat when he was nervous. Frank had done that, too.

“Wanna watch a movie with your ole Ma tonight?” Leila flicked water at him before grabbing a dish towel.

“No freaking
Terms of Endearment
,” he warned, wiping his hands on the napkin.

“Awww, come on,” she grinned. “You cry—every single time...”

He grabbed a carrot off his plate and threw it at her. “I do not!”

She loved the way his ears got red when he was angry or embarrassed—or turned-on. She hadn’t known that little fact until this morning, of course. Watching him clear his plate, she remembered seeing him sitting on the toilet, his cock—my God, she hadn’t seen him naked since he was ten!—seemed enormous to her as he pumped it in his fist.

It was his fault for leaving the door open, she reminded herself. He was away so much at school now that having him home was sometimes an afterthought. She had done a load of laundry and figured he was still asleep in his bedroom—until she walked by the basement bathroom and saw him. It wasn’t until just this moment that she realized he must have gone down there so as not to be disturbed. Yet she had discovered him, anyway.

“How about
It’s a Wonderful Life
? That’s a holiday classic,” she said as he moved behind her with his plate. The presence of a man in the house again was intoxicating to her and she let herself revel in it for a moment as he clattered his dishes into the sink. She wished she could stop thinking about this morning. “I’ll clean up and you make popcorn?”

“Deal.” He gave her a peck on the cheek as he passed.

Leila pulled a blanket up around her as they started the movie and noticed it was snowing outside. The little table top tree in the corner of the room was the only light, other than monochrome glow of the television.

“Are you cold?” Rich asked, still stretched out in his boxers, his feet up on the coffee table.

“Always.” She smiled at him, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

“Well, come here, then.” He frowned, holding out his arm, and she snuggled up.

It wasn’t the first time they’d sat like this and watched movies—he was a living furnace, like his father, and she always needed a blanket—but after this morning, things felt different to her. She knew he was sexually active, and they had gone through all the teenage angst about girls and wet dreams and Playboys stashed in his room. But he wasn’t a little boy, or even a kid anymore—he was a man.

“Comfy?” he murmured, breathing deep as he squeezed an arm around her shoulder. Leila swallowed. She could have sworn he was smelling her hair.

“Very,” she replied, although it wasn’t entirely true—or, maybe, she was too comfortable.

The movie started, the familiar music like opening a door. It brought back instant memories of Christmases, she and Frank snuggled together like this with Rich tucked between them, watching the old angel try to get his wings. She found herself lost in them, drifting, her eyes even closing a little as she listened to her son’s heartbeat against her ear.

“You always remind me of her,” Rich said softly.

“Me?” Leila opened her eyes, looking at Donna Reed on the screen. She was about to lose her robe and end up in the hydrangea bushes. “Why, because we’re both light brunettes?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “No, because you both always set your sights so high.”

Leila glanced from him to the screen. His eyes were soft when they met hers, questioning even. They made her feel warm all over.

Rich started doing his Jimmy Stewart impression, which was actually quite good, stutter and all: “What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”

“I’ll take it,” Leila quoted, reaching her arm across his belly and giving him a quick squeeze. She found her hand still resting lightly on his stomach, and she couldn’t help noticing how tight and hard it was.

Rich nudged the blanket aside. Her blouse had pulled open slightly, exposing her neck and a little shoulder and his fingers moved lightly over her skin, making her shiver.

“I wish I could give it to you, Mom,” he whispered, and she felt his lips touch her forehead. Everything inside of her went silent.

“You’re very sweet,” she replied, her voice trembling and slightly hoarse.

She didn’t move her hand and he didn’t move his and they watched as George Bailey delivered his own line about moons and lassos and then ran away into the night, leaving poor Mary deserted. But he came back, Leila reminded herself, dipping her finger into her son’s navel and hearing his sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” she whispered, looking down at the dark line of hair that started at his belly button and trailed down under the elastic band of his boxers. She grazed it lightly with her fingertip and found herself thinking about what lay beneath the navy blue material.

He shrugged. “I should have closed the door.”

“Why didn’t you?” She closed her eyes as his fingers moved lightly over her collarbone.

He swallowed. “I don’t know. I guess I forgot.”

Leila was trying hard to just keep breathing, to ignore the sweet sensation of his fingers on her skin, how it made her nipples tingle and harden. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that she was getting wet, the gentle pulse between her legs turning into a throb.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she murmured, teasing the waistband of his boxers with her fingertip. “It looked like you were...pretty close to finishing.”

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Yeah.”

“Did you?” she asked after a moment, seeing what she was sure was a slow rise under his boxers as he shifted again.

“Mom...” he breathed as she snuggled a little closer, pressing her full breasts into his side.

“Did you come?” she whispered, seeing a definite tenting in his shorts now.

He swallowed and whispered, “Yeah.”

“Good,” she purred, feeling his hand slipping a little lower in her blouse. She knew she should stop him, stop herself, but she didn’t seem to be able to. “I’m glad I didn’t spoil it for you.”

“You didn’t,” he assured her, moving his hips slightly, like he was trying to get comfortable.

“I haven’t seen you naked since you were a little boy.” He gasped when she slid one finger under the elastic waistband, tugging it up and letting it snap back. “It was kind of a shock.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice lower, his breath warm and his lips almost touching her ear. “For me, too.”

Slowly, she let her whole hand move underneath his shorts, reaching toward heaven or hell, she wasn’t sure which, but she found she didn’t want to stop.

“Mom!” he cried when she found him, just as thick and hard as he had been this morning.

She turned her face up to his. The kiss was sudden, their lips melding together, a slick heat between them as they both moaned in unison. Her hand tightened on his cock, making him gasp against her mouth.

“Oh God, Mom,” he murmured as she squeezed and tugged between his legs. Leila watched his face, saw the pleasure there, and moved her hand a little bit faster, making him groan out loud.

She leaned in to kiss him again. His tongue found hers as she stroked his shaft, his hips beginning to match her rhythm. Moving her blanket aside, he slipped his hand under her blouse, his fingers sliding over her bra, cupping the fullness of her breast as he kissed her back.

What am I doing, she thought, rubbing her finger over the spongy head of his cock. The thought took precedence for a moment and then his thumb found her nipple, making it harden against the material and sending delicious waves of pleasure trembling through her. It had been so long...
so long
…

On the screen, George Bailey was ranting to Mr. Potter about sitting around and spinning webs. Neither of them were paying attention anymore, all pretenses dropped as they pressed against each other, their hands fumbling, their tongues twining together, lost in their lust as they rolled on the sofa.

“You’re so hard,” Leila murmured as she slid to the floor between his thighs, tugging at his boxers while he lifted his hips. She gasped when his cock sprang free, pointing toward the ceiling. “Oh baby...you’ve got such a beautiful cock...”

He moaned as she took him in her hand and slid her tongue around the tip, watching his face as she began to suck him. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, the way he looked at her, like he was lost in a dream and couldn’t quite believe this was happening. She couldn’t either—but it felt so good. His cock was steel heat in her throat. It had been ages since she had done this, but she remembered it, and savored it, making soft noises in her throat as she swallowed as much of his shaft as she could.

Watching her through half-closed eyes, he reached down to touch her breast through her blouse, sending immediate heat flooding through her chest when he found and rubbed her nipple. She squirmed between his thighs, sucking him harder, licking all around the head before going back down on him.