This choice: You decide to raid the liquor cabinet to make things less awkward. • Go Back...Chapter #6You decide to raid the liquor cabinet to make t... by: Wassel   "Well, uh... how about I get us both a drink instead then?" Randall suggested, seemingly having had a bright idea. Your mother's face now wearing an approximation of his usual expression. Which was very odd to say the least.
"How'd you mean?" you asked him. Curious if this was him suddenly decided to take on your mother's duties around the house (which the doctors had told him he'd have to do). Though the wiser part of your brain was obviously telling you, Surely not. Randall was even lazier than you were, and you'd only just returned from the hospital. Surely he wasn't going to start doing that so soon.
Which indeed proved to be the case. Your best friend having a far different scenario in mind. Informing you that, "Look, I know and you know that this is really, really fucked up. Me being your mom. And Christ knows how we're going to deal with it going forward. But, as I'm an adult now and can legally do what the fuck I want... AND seeing how we both need a little something to take the edge off this crazy-ass situation... how about we raid the liquor cabinet, just like we always joked about?" His eyes peering towards the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. Which, other than when your mother was having some kind of social gathering, had always remained locked. "I honestly can't think of a better time to do it than now."
"The liquor cabinet?" you questioned. This coming seemingly out of nowhere. "Are... Are you serious? You want us to get drunk?"
"Well not drunk, no," he replied. "Just... I dunno, I think it'll help is all. I mean look at you, dude. You've been staring at me weirdly ever since the hospital and... and neither of us having a fucking clue what we're supposed to do." Which was certainly true. Despite assuring one another that you were still "ConDavis Bros for life", it was hard to look at him without still seeing your mom and feeling the sadness associated with her passing. And as for the day-to-day reality of actually living as mother and son, you hadn't even discussed that at all. You were simply assuming that it would all somehow work itself out. How though you really had no idea.
Randall posing then that this idea might help to "break the ice, you know. Help us to get a little more comfortable with this body and our new situation."
Alcohol admittedly making people feel so much more relaxed. Which neither of you were. And not just because of your auntie's presence either. Your best friend was now in the body of your mother. There was literally nothing more awkward than that.
"And besides you've wanted the opportunity to drink booze just as much as I have," he then continued. "And I'm not talking about a shitty little sip of beer at my Uncle's." Which was pretty much all you'd experienced up to this point. Despite your many discussions about how cool it would be to get a fake IDs. "I'm talking about the proper shit. The stuff your mom kept locked away."
Your best friend reaching for your mother's purse, which was on the coffee table, as he smiled, "Well, now it just so happens that I have the key. Or... At least I think it's in here somewhere..." Rummaging through its contents for a moment, which was a little unsettling to witness. Seeing him going through your mother's things like that. Just as it was knowing that he was now wearing her clothes. There being something so inherently wrong about it all. But then, you had to remind yourself, I guess technically he is Mom. That stuff, like it or not, belongs to him now. Which was something you were just going to have to get used to.
"Ah-ha!" he announced loudly after about thirty or forty seconds of this. "Here it is." Pulling out the key and holding it up for your inspection. As if he was holding aloft some grand prize or trophy. Which, for two 16 year old kids who'd never had the opportunity to really drink before, you guessed it kind of was.
"So what do you say?" he asked. "You ready to get our drink on?" Seeing the look of indecision and reluctance on your face and adding, "Trust me... It'll help."
Which, in the end, did admittedly sway you. Needing something to take the pain and the shock of everything that had happened away. Answering, "I... I guess so."
And with that he was back up on his feet. Making his way towards the liquor cabinet and rather eagerly unlocking it. Revealing inside a vast collection of wines and spirits of almost every kind. Looking through them all and asking what you wanted to try. Having no real knowledge of alcohol to be honest and so you shrugged and let him decide. Which resulted in him picking up a bottle of vodka and telling you to go get some soda. Figuring that he'd "try this on for size". Pouring you both a hefty measure and adding a dash of coke once you'd returned. Handing you one of the glasses and toasting, "To your mom. She was an awesome lady and I'll miss her a lot. I just hope that I can do her body justice."
To which you responded, "To Mom." Taking a moment to contemplate her absence and what it would now mean before copying your friend. Putting the glass to your lips and taking a big swig. Both of your reactions to which was, "Fuck me!" and "Holy shit!". The alcohol being a hell of a strong and not particularly pleasant.
"Okay, I... I think I might have used a little too much vodka," Randall spluttered. Screwing up your mother's face as he did.
"You think?" Having in all honesty never tasted anything quite so disgusting in your life.
Randall quickly rectifying this and adding a lot more coke to both glasses. Making the next swig a hell of a lot more enjoyable. The both of you sitting then with your feet up on the coffee table (which was something your mother always told you off for doing) watching TV. Aware of course how unnatural this picture was, but then, that was what the vodka was for. Hoping that the more you drank the more natural it might see. Or at least the less you would care.
"So... What do you think?" Randall asked after a minute and another couple of sips, "It's not bad is it, the vodka?"
Agreeing, "Yeah, it's okay."
"And how jealous do you think Danny and Chris would be if they could see us now?"
Danny and Chris being two of your other friends at school. They, like you, having never had much experience with alcohol before. Though looking over at Randall sitting there, with his shoulder length blonde hair and feminine features, you had to reply, "With you, looking like that...? I honestly have no idea." They'd probably be just as freaked out as you were.
"Oh, I don't know..." he chuckled meanwhile. "I think there's one or two things they'd be particularly jealous of." Wiggling your mother's eyebrows suggestively as he gazed down at his chest.
Well aware of what he was insinuating. Hell, he'd already blurted it out back at the hospital. Which you did your very best to ignore. Even as you felt your face flush a little red. This possibly being the most uncomfortable thing to have to deal with; Randall actually having access to your mother's 'parts'. Parts that he'd previously been fascinated with. Having said it himself that he thought your mom was hot. Which for you was super creepy. Taking another larger gulp from your glass and trying to shake this thought from your head. Searching for something else to talk about instead.
"Anyway, it's not like you'll get the opportunity to see either of them anymore. What with you no longer having to go to school." Reminding him once again of this fact.
"Yeah. That is going to be pretty sweet," Randall grinned. Having never been high school's biggest fan (nor the most academic either). "Though I guess I'm going to have to find a hobby or some shit to take up in the meantime. Or... I could just hang around here and play video games all day long."
Yeah right! you thought. "Is that before or after you do all of the housework and my mom's chores. Remember them?" It being his responsibility now.
"Yeah, but I mean... They can't take all that much time can they?"
"I dunno about that. My mom was always complaining about how much she had to do." And how you never helped out as much as she wanted. Seeming to always be cooking, cleaning, washing or mending something. Which you knew damn well wasn't at all in Randall's wheelhouse.
He simply shrugged this off however. Certain that somehow he'd be able to wing it. That the whole subconscious thing the doctors had told him about would come into play, leaving him plenty of time to goof off. Which, while you weren't entirely convinced by this (the whole having parts of your mother's memory still freaking you out), you didn't try to challenge him. Instead letting the alcohol do its work and finding that the more you drunk the less awkward it became. Having a real buzz going on after only a half hour. And after an hour you were growing quite giddy indeed. Giddy enough not to still be taken aback by seeing your mom cursing and swearing and acting like the goofball that Randall was, no, but at least you were now able to laugh about it. Telling him how "freaking weird this all is, dude. You're my freaking Mom!"
"I know. It's crazy."
"And you're going to have to learn all that woman shit and stuff too. How to put on makeup. How to do her hair. You're even going to have to wear her dresses and skirts and stuff. As well as her heels." Not being able to imagine him dressed like that it all. Nor it seemed could he.
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