Leaning against the doorway to the kitchen stood Angela. Still in her golden dress and high heels.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Is that my good bottle?”
Scottie looked at his hands, then back up to Angela.
He spit out the cork.
“Is it?” he said.
Angela sighed, then waved her hand in resignation.
“Fuck it, pour me a glass will you?” she said as she sauntered into the living room and sank into the loveseat.
Scottie set down the glasses, then poured one for his mother. He walked into the living room, handing it to her as she rubbed her neck with her eyes closed.
“Here you go,” he said as he handed her the glass.
“Thank you, Baby,” she said as she opened her eyes and took the glass.
His gaze suddenly darted to the floor next to her where Hannah’s dress sat in a bundle with his shirt right on top. Quickly taking a knee in front of her, he grabbed her foot.
“Here,” he said, taking her pumps off, “Your feet must be killing you with all that dancing.” Cautiously, quietly, he pushed the pile of clothes under the couch with his other hand.
“They are, but you don’t have to-“
“I insist,” he said as he began to massage and knead her soles.
“Ohhh, that does feel nice,” Angela said, settling back into the seat. She took a big, heavy sip from her glass. “Mmmmm thank you, sweetie.”
Scottie’s hands expertly squeezed and massaged. Fingers were sliding and pushing into the muscle, wrapping around her ankle, heel, and toes. He knew he needed to break away. His thoughts switched back to Hannah who waited for him upstairs… in his parents’ room.
“I thought you were still at the gala,” he said.
“Ugh,” Angela said in a groan of frustration. “We ended up leaving right after you.” Her finger traced the rim of the glass as she watched her son tend to her.
“Really? Last I saw you were both out dancing.” He switched to the other foot, thumbs pressing into the arch of the sole.
Her eyes began to feel heavy. “Mmmmmm,” Angela said, closing her eyes, basking in the care she was receiving. “We were, but your father may have had a little too much to drink. He ended up spilling wine on his shirt, and you know how he is about stains in public.”
Scottie looked around. “Where is Dad?”
“Mmmm,” Angela said, drifting off.
“Mom,” Scottie said, setting her foot down. “Mom, where is Dad?”
She jostled, pushing sleep to the side but didn’t open her eyes. “Upstairs to change.”
Holy fucking shit balls.
Scottie rose and started to head upstairs. He had to get to Hannah but he knew it was too late.
“Are you done?” his mother asked from the loveseat, voice heavy with sleep.
“I’ll be back, Mom! I promise,” he said as he rushed upstairs.
“M’Kay,” she said before she settled back down and let sleep take over.
Scottie was like a lemur jumping up the stairs effortlessly as he raced to his parents’ room. He could already hear the voices as he approached, knowing he was too late. He slowed, trying to mask his footsteps which he feared already had alerted them to his presence.
At the end of the darkened hall, their door stood partially open. Slowly, Scottie tip-toed on bare feet until he could hear the voices clearly. His father’s deep timbre was unmistakable.