Thankfully, Yanni found something else to do and left me alone on the deck. And after spending the rest of the day reading up on the disease I thought my mother had, I couldn't help but wonder where the hell she was. 

Sure, I'd been avoiding her after the embarrassment of the other night, but still . . . it wasn't like her to just disappear for an entire day. Besides, Yanni was right. We needed to talk.

I gathered all the books I picked up from the store and headed inside. As I was searching for my cell phone to call my mother, I heard a car door close in front of the house. I went over to the window, and shook my head. There was my mother, leaning inside Sheldon's car window. What. the. fuck? Yeah, that would be the first thing we discussed.

I watched her as she walked up to the front door, both hands filled with shopping bags, and a huge smile plastered across her face. "Where have you been?" I asked, opening the door for her.

"Excuse me?" Her smile disappeared.

"Where have you been?" I repeated slowly, watching Sheldon drive away. "And why were you with him?"

My mother walked past me to the living room and placed her bags on the couch. She took a deep breath before addressing me. 

"Jackson," she began, "do you remember the other night when you and your 'roommate' were in this very spot, doing what I'll assume came naturally to you both?"

I cringed before lowering my head. "What does that have to do—"

She cut me off. "Do you remember that?" she said slowly, mocking me.

"Of course I do," I mumbled.

"And do you realize that for the past few days, you've done everything in your power to avoid talking to me—hell, looking at me—because you just knew that I was going to ask you about it? Do you realize that?"

"Yeah," I mumbled again, nervously rubbing my head.

"Because it was your business," she said, flopping down on the couch. She looked exhausted, like she'd just run a marathon. Like she was having a hard time just getting the words out of her mouth. That didn't stop her from continuing, though.

"And as a guest in your house, I recognized that I needed to shake it off and let it go. That's why I never brought it up." She paused, looking out of breath. "You know what that's called, Jackson?"

"What?"

"Respect. I respect you, and you will respect me. And you will not ask where I've been. You got that?"

I walked toward the couch. "Are you OK?"

"Stop!" she said, pointing at me. "Do you understand?" she said, between labored breaths.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now do me a favor and help me take off these shoes. My feet are killing me. Lord knows you're used to removing articles of clothing in this room."

I bit my tongue and let that one go, bending down to help her with her shoes. "Mom, can I ask you a question?"

"I was shopping, Jackson."

"With my 'uncle' Sheldon, I see."

"He's a friend."

"What kind of friend?"

"Jackson, stop. Not now."

"I'm just asking."

"Shall I start asking some questions?"

"No."

"Good. Now go get me some water. All this talking has got me thirsty." 

All I could do was shake my head as I placed her shoes by the foyer and headed to the kitchen. I laughed as I poured the water, realizing that I was definitely my mother's son. Private. Defiant. Calculating. 

When I got back to the living room, she was fast asleep. I put the glass on a coaster and placed it on the coffee table in case she woke up thirsty. I stared down at her for a minute before grabbing one of my books and heading upstairs, realizing that there was no question I could ask that she'd answer until she was good and ready. 

Great.