Peter Goodman has never been in love. He disregards other's emotions including his own. He lives his life being a wingman, with no attachments and meaningless sex. It's a tiring life, until one day he decides that maybe instead of sleeping with the...
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"What do you think they're going on about?" Alec waited outside the house with me. He sat on the steps while I leaned on a wall. I couldn't help but find myself completely anxious. I'd never had issues with my mother scaring away someone I cared about because before her there was no one.
"Beats me, just want them to finish. It shouldn't be taking so long." It's been almost an hour, at first I saw it as a good sign, now I was starting to worry, were they arguing? I began to pace up and down the steps of the house with clenched fists. If my mother did anything to ruin what we had I would never forgive her.
"Calm down, Sandra isn't a pushover." He was right, but after everything that she's been through, she was fragile.
"I'm going in, I don't care." I expected to see them as I burst through the door, instead, I found myself facing an empty living room. I thought Alec would help me find them, but the prick decided to look for his younger brother. If I wasn't so fixated in Sandra's whereabouts I would've stopped him.
Had she taken her to the kitchen? As I began to search for them I recognized a stifled giggle. Though it relieved me to hear Sandra giggle, my pace didn't falter.
Running up the stairs I noticed my mother's office open. "Sandra?" I could hear her whispering, then her head popped out of the threshold. She was smiling and crazy enough so was my mother. Had I traveled to a parallel universe? My mother rarely smiled.
"Hey, Pete, your mom was just showing me some of your baby pictures." My relief was gone, Sandra had seen me at my worst. Those fucking pictures would make me turn into a joke.
"I didn't know you used to be a blonde, look at those ringlets," she pointed to an old film of me when I was three. I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks as she cooed. I didn't want her to see how much of a mamma's boy I was. My mother had always wanted a girl, so she had no problem making me play dress up. Being young and naive, I went along with it. It wasn't until I turned five that I began to find the clothes too feminine.
