Two brothers give their mother a unique holiday present

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Curt had always felt a little odd thinking of his mother in such terms, but even throughout high school and college, he’d heard “your Mom is hot” often enough from his friends that he’d finally acknowledged it himself.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Donna said, drawing him into a hug. She wore snug jeans and a red sweater with a low scoop neck that showed off a considerable amount of cleavage, and Curt found himself self-consciously aware of her breasts pressing against him as she hugged him.

“Hi, Mom,” he said.

Donna pulled back and kissed him on the lips, a habit she’d never broken no matter how much either of them had begged growing up. Most mothers settled for a peck on the cheek. Not theirs.

“You cut your hair,” Curt said, reaching out to touch her curly brown locks. Once long and flowing down to her waist, her hair was shorter now, falling just past her shoulders. “It looks nice.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Donna said with a bright smile.

“Hi, Mom,” Tyler said, and stepped in for his own hug and kiss. She pressed herself against him with equal abandon, planting a big kiss on his lips afterward.

“Speaking of haircuts, I see someone’s in need of one,” she said, tousling Tyler’s shaggy head of hair. He squirmed away a little and grinned.

“You know me, I have to preserve my bad-boy image,” he said.

“That’s you, all right,” Donna said, and touched his cheek. “You’ll always be my bad boy.”

# # #

Never straying from her motherly instincts, Donna ordered them to take off their boots and coats and stow their luggage in the guest rooms. The house, though small, had three fairly generous bedrooms, and she had kept both the boys’ rooms unchanged. Curt returned to his old room to find his posters still on the wall, his books still on the shelf, and his bed made. It was as if he’d never left.

After putting away their things, Curt and Tyler emerged with a small handful of presents, which they stowed under the meager plastic Christmas tree their mother had set up in the living room. A small pile of them already lay stuffed underneath the tiny tree, tags showing both their names in their mother’s precise lettering.

“Something sure smells good,” Tyler said as he wandered into the kitchen, where Donna was preparing dinner.

“I told you I’d give you boys a nice Christmas dinner, and I meant it,” she said, taking a sip of wine as she stood at the stove. Curt smiled at the familiar memory. Whenever she cooked, Mom always had a glass of wine on hand. Something about it made him feel grounded.

Tyler stepped in behind Donna and hugged her from behind, putting both arms around her stomach and squeezing tight. Donna made a pleased sound and reached back to touch his hair. In the back of his mind, Curt thought that perhaps the two of them lingered on the hug just a tad too long, but then decided not to worry about it.

“My goodness,” she said. “What did I do to earn all this affection?”

“I’ve just missed you, that’s all.” He kissed her on the cheek.

“Well, I guess we know who gets the biggest helping of potatoes at dinner,” Donna said. “You hear that, Curt? I guess you better step up your game.”

“I guess I’d better,” Curt said. “Do you have any more of that wine? Now that we’re old enough to legally drink it.”

She laughed. “In the pantry, son of mine. Break out a bottle or two. We’ll make a night of it.”

# # #

Christmas dinner was indeed glorious; smoked ham, potatoes and gravy, cranberries, stuffing. Curt hadn’t eaten that well since he’d started his office job — in fact, he was pretty certain he hadn’t eaten that well since the last time he’d been home.

Donna watched with satisfaction as her sons scarfed down the meal, nursing her wine.

“My hungry boys,” she said fondly. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have men around the house to eat up all the food.”

“Have you been dating at all?” Curt asked, twirling his potatoes with his fork. He’d gobbled down his first plateful and now felt himself slowing down.

She laughed, and Curt thought he detected a note of bitterness in her voice. “I have, a little bit. I even opened up an account on one of those dating sites. But most of those men are such creeps. You would not believe the pukes I’ve had to deal with.” She drained her wine glass and held it out to Curt. “Would you be a dear?”

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