Susan leaned against the glass display of men’s watches, her fingers thumping a restless rhythm against the counter. The store buzzed irritatingly around her, tinny sounding Christmas carols droning in the background, people shambling up and down the aisles with full baskets, fighting over items they had passed over without a second thought the week before. It was all too much. Her chest constricted. Her vision narrowed. She began gasping on the edge of a panic attack.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered in anguish, voice swallowed by the din. She closed her eyes and counted, forcing herself to take slow breaths in and out, trying to ground herself. After a count of thirty she opened her eyes. She stared at her reflection in the glass. She inspected herself, her tired eyes, mouth a thin, tight line, hair in disarray from running her fingers through it too many times. Desperate. She looked desperate.
Pushing past her feelings, she leaned in, focusing past her reflection at the watches, as if inspecting them more closely would reveal the perfect one. But none of them seemed right. They were all either too large or too small, had too many bells and whistles or were too simple. Nothing fit. Nothing felt right.
She thought of the computer she had ordered for him. A custom gaming PC, something he would use for years while away at college. She had spent the past few months researching, asking friends and coworkers for advice, reading lists of component comparisons that might as well have been written in ancient Greek. She had even paid extra to make sure it would arrive in time for Christmas. And now? Now it was on backorder, delayed until January or February. She clenched her jaw. Her head throbbed and her chest ached.
She groaned as she straightened, wiping the tears from her eyes. This was his last Christmas before he flew the nest in the fall. She had wanted to make it special. Her heart ached at the thought of him going. He was her only child, her everything, her reason to get up in the mornings. She couldn’t imagine life without him. Yet, here she was, unable to find him a gift to make his last Christmas living at home special.
“Ugh, men are the worst to shop for, aren’t they?”
The voice made her jump, startling her out of her thoughts. A woman about her stood age beside her, looking in the watches case, a smirk tugging at her mouth. Susan blinked, but then forced a small laugh. “Tell me about it. My son’s leaving for college next fall, and the gift I bought him is on backorder. I just… I wanted to make this Christmas special.” Her voice cracked at the end, and she looked away, blinking rapidly to clear the tears. One fell anyway, coursing down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away.
The woman's smirk disappeared and her face softened with sympathy. “Oh honey. My daughter just left for school this fall, and let me tell you, it’s not easy.” She placed a comforting hand on Susan’s arm. “But you'll pull through. And some fancy gift won't make this Christmas special. You already gave him the best gift of all. The best gift is yourself. It'll be special because you're together.”
Susan swallowed, trying to clear the tightness in her throat. “Thank you. That actually helps a little."
The woman laughed, her smirk returning. "Good. I'm glad. I was starting to think reading all those Hallmark cards had finally driven me crazy."
Susan returned the smirk. "Well, it did sound a little cheesy, but I didn't want to be rude."
The woman giggled. “Well, I hope it works out for you. It's too bad it's your son. There is one thing that’s always guaranteed to make any man happy.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling. “You could always wrap yourself up, put a bow on your–”
Susan’s eyes widened, and she burst into unexpected laughter, the kind that came out sharp and sudden, cutting through the store’s noise. “Oh my god! Could you imagine! He'd drop dead on the spot!”
The woman laughed along. “Only from your killer looks. Every son should be so lucky!"
Susan giggled. "I can't believe I am having this conversation with a complete stranger! If only it were that easy!"
"Hey, if it works, it works, right?” the woman said, grinning ear to ear. She patted Susan’s arm one last time before turning to leave, still giggling. “Good luck, hon. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
"Thank you!"
The woman waved in reply as she walked away. Susan gazed after her, still softly giggling to herself. She sighed and brought her mind back on task, running a hand through her hair as she stepped away from the counter. Though the idea lingered in her mind, like a moth fluttering around her head, randomly intruding on her thoughts. It was ridiculous, of course. Absurd. But she found herself repeating the odd conversation as she continued her hunt.
The store was a maze of glittering displays and bustling bodies now, each aisle more crowded than the last. She wandered aimlessly, her mind racing with thoughts of Peter. He was her everything, her heart and soul, the only real man in her life for years, since before he was born really. The thought of him leaving was unbearable. He’s only eighteen, she thought, her stomach twisting, and already flying the nest. She knew this day would come, but she had somehow hoped it would be years later. And now it was less than a year away. She wanted to give him something meaningful, something that would remind him of home, of her, when he was miles away.
But as the hours dragged, on her search proved fruitless. She turned toward the electronics section. Maybe she could find something else, a tablet, a gaming console, anything that might come close to replacing the PC she’d ordered. But as she scanned the shelves, her eyes fell on a row of video game controllers. They looked so small, so insignificant compared to the custom rig she’d planned for him. She picked one up, turning it over in her hands, but it felt hollow, empty. A placeholder. Not a gift. Not something special.
“No,” she muttered, setting it down and moving on.
The clothing section was next. She rifled through racks of hoodies and jeans, searching for something that might fit Peter. His size wasn’t hard to guess, she knew every inch of his frame, but nothing felt right. The colors were too bright, the cuts too trendy. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t her son. She pulled out a dark gray sweater, holding it up against herself, imagining him wearing it. But even that felt wrong. It was just… cloth. Fabric. Not a memory. Not a connection.
“This is hopeless,” she whispered, dropping the sweater back onto the rack.
She moved deeper into the store, the crowds thinning as she entered the book section. She ran her fingers along the shelves, looking for something, anything that might be suitable. A cookbook? No, he didn’t cook. A novel? He barely had time to read for fun anymore. A journal? Maybe. But it felt too impersonal, too generic. She pulled one off the shelf, flipping through it, but decided the gift would be as empty as the pages.
What could she give him that would mean as much to him as the PC would have?
“Nothing,” she answered herself aloud, closing the journal and putting it back.
Eventually, she returned to the jewelry counter, her head throbbing with a dull ache, now even more desperate. The watches had been bad enough, but the rings and necklaces felt even more ridiculous. Who gave their son a necklace for Christmas? She put her head down on the glass. Her breath fogged the surface. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of the cool glass soothing the pounding in her temples.
“You can do this,” she told herself.
She stood up and stepped away from the counter resolutely and headed for the exit. She needed to clear her head. On her way out she grabbed a candy cane from a Salvation Army volunteer near the door, dropping a few dollar bills into the bin. The ringing bell resonated with her headache. She put the end of the candy cane in her mouth, focusing on the peppermint sensation, running her tongue around and over it to maximize the flavor. The cold air hit her, and she used the sensation to ground herself more. Slowly her heart rate returned to normal, her breathing coming easier.
How could she let this Christmas slip through her fingers? She needed it to be special, for Peter, to give him a last magical Christmas morning at home. How could she make it magical for him?
Back inside, she wandered into the toy section, half-heartedly scanning for something that might appeal to an eighteen-year-old boy. Action figures? Too childish. Nerf guns? Too messy, she had always been finding the bullets all over the house and yard when Peter was younger. Board games? Too, well, boring. She stopped in front of a display of remote-control cars. They reminded her of simpler times, when he was younger, when gifts had been easier. Back then, it had been so much easier to make him smile. He was an adult now, his wants and needs were much more complex. She needed to give him adult gifts, adult experiences.
The thought reminded her of that silly woman by the watches. “Ok, maybe not that adult,” she laughed, though she allowed herself to imagine the shock on his face. She shook her head to dismiss the naughty amusement that bubbled up.
The day wore on, each failed attempt chipping away at her resolve. By mid-afternoon, she found herself back at the watch counter, staring at the same lifeless displays she’d dismissed hours ago. Her reflection stared back at her, tired and defeated. She looked like someone who’d given up, and maybe she had. Maybe she was just chasing after something that didn’t exist.
The thought returned, unbidden and insistent, like a song stuck on repeat in her mind: Wrap yourself up. Put a bow on yourself. It was ridiculous. Absurd. And yet, the more she replayed it, the more it seemed… possible. It made her pulse quicken, made her cheeks flush. What if she could give him something more than a material object? What if she could give him a memory, something intimate and personal, a final gesture of love before he left? Her breath deepened as the idea caught like a spark in dry tinder, spreading like wildfire through her mind. She tried to push it away, tried to focus on something, anything, else, but she couldn't dislodge it. The image of Peter walking in to see her, offering herself up completely to him, his shock turning into a big, greedy grin played itself over and over in her mind.
“Stop it,” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling. It was taboo. Wrong, even. “You’re his mother. You can’t-… you shouldn’t-…” But the words felt hollow, powerless against the growing excitement bubbling beneath her skin. The idea was becoming an obsession, filling her with an unbidden, illicit desire.
Ten minutes before closing, she found herself standing in front of a display of bows and wrapping paper, her fingers brushing against the glossy sheets. The store was nearly empty now, the hum of Christmas carols fading into the background as the staff prepared to lock up for the night. She lingered there, her reflection staring back at her from the shiny paper, eyes wide and uncertain. Her heart pounded in her chest as she imagined it: herself, waiting under the tree for him to discover her. The thought sent shivers down her spine, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through her veins.
“Is this really what you want?” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “Is this how you want to say goodbye?”
Her mind tumbled with desires and doubts and anticipation. She pictured Peter walking into the living room the next morning, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, only to find her there, waiting for him. His expression would shift from confusion to shock, then to something softer, something warmer. Would he laugh? Would he blush? Would he understand what she was doing, why she was doing it? Or would he be horrified, disgusted even? The uncertainty ate at her, but beneath it all was a thrill, a giddy sort of anticipation that she couldn’t ignore.
It was like some switch in her brain had been flipped. She had never once thought of Peter in a sexual way before, but now, suddenly, it was all she could think about. Had this always been inside of her, just waiting for some stranger to say something that opened some hidden door inside of her? It felt like a beast had been let loose, some animalistic side of herself. And the beast was in heat.
She reached out, her fingers trembling as she selected a roll of red velvet ribbon. The color seemed fitting, festive yet elegant, like something out of a dream. She clutched it to her chest, her breath shallow, as she headed for the checkout line. Her hands shook as she paid, the cashier barely glancing up from their phone. By the time she got back to her car, the idea was cemented in her mind, undeniable and irresistible.
This is crazy, she thought, gripping the steering wheel tightly. You’re his mother. You can’t… you shouldn’t…
And yet, as she drove home, the plan began to take shape. The streets were quiet, the houses glowing softly with holiday lights, their windows casting warm reflections on the snow-dusted sidewalks. She rolled down her window slightly, letting the cold air rush in, hoping it would clear her head. But it didn’t. If anything, the chill only heightened her senses, sharpening her resolve. She glanced at the bag on the passenger seat, the ribbon peeking out like a tease, and her stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves and excitement.
What would Peter think? What would he feel? Would he see this as a gift, or a burden? A final act of love, or an awkward mistake? She didn’t know. She wanted to give him something unforgettable, something no store could ever provide. Something that would stay with him long after he left for college, something that would remind him of her, of home.
By the time she pulled into the driveway, her resolve was firm, though her hands still trembled slightly as she turned off the engine. The house was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the living room. She stood there for a moment, staring at the front door, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence felt heavy, oppressive, as if the house itself were holding its breath, waiting to see what she would do.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the tree in the living room. She set the bag down on the counter, her fingers brushing against the ribbon again, and closed her eyes. The image of Peter finding her under the tree flashed through her mind once more, vivid and impossible to shake.
“You’re sure about this?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. “You’re really going to do this?”
There was no answer, only the sound of her own breathing, steady and determined. Hungry. She opened her eyes, picked up the bag, and walked toward the upstairs to hide it in her room, her heart pounding with anticipation.
She changed out of her tired old mom clothes and instead chose a low-cut silk blouse and push-up bra and a small black skirt that only went to just above the knee and had a slit up the side. She wore no panties.
This was it. This was her gift to him, her final act of love before he flew the nest. And as much as she doubted herself, as much as she questioned whether this was right or wrong, there was no turning back now.
Susan returned to the kitchen, her heart still racing. She busied herself with preparing a Christmas Eve dinner, her hands moving deftly as she chopped vegetables and stirred sauces. The air filled with the rich aromas of roast beef, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh-baked bread. She set the table with care, placing candles in the center and dimming the lights to create a cozy, intimate atmosphere.
“Peter! Dinner’s ready!” she called up the stairs, her voice warm but tinged with nervous energy.
Moments later, Peter appeared at the bottom of the staircase, his hair slightly disheveled from where he’d been leaning against the headboard of his bed, headphones on, immersed in an online game with his friends. He took one look at the dinner spread and whistled softly.
“Wow, Mom, this looks amazing,” he said, pulling out his chair. His eyes sparkled with genuine surprise and appreciation.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she replied, smiling softly as she took her seat across from him. Her heart fluttered as she watched him settle in, every detail of his appearance imprinting itself on her mind, his strong jawline, the curve of his lips, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. They ate quietly at first, the soft crackle of the fireplace and the gentle flicker of candlelight filling the space between them. Susan couldn’t help but glance at him often, her mind drifting to the following morning. What would he think when he found her under the tree? Would he see it as a gift or something else entirely?
She reached for her wine glass, her fingers brushing the stem as she leaned forward just enough to let the neckline of her blouse dip invitingly. Peter’s gaze flickered down for a moment before he quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing faintly. Susan pretended not to notice, though a small thrill shot through her. She cleared her throat and asked, “So, how’s school going? Any new friends? Crushes?”
Peter chuckled, rubbing...
