I stand outside my mom's apartment door, running my hand through my long brunette locks before raising my hand to knock just as the door suddenly swings open.

"Evie!" Mom screams giddily, immediately pulling me into a tight hug. "Come in, come in! Oh my god, look at you! Did you just make it in?"

I laugh and hug her back just as enthusiastically. It's been months since I've seen her in person.  

"Yep, drove straight here from school," I say as Mom ushers me inside. 

"Let me look at you," she says, holding me at arm's length. "Just as gorgeous as ever."

I smile, looking down at my own body. I suppose she’s right. At twenty-one, I've grown more confident in myself and my body. My simple white t-shirt hangs loosely, but my yellow cotton shorts hug my toned legs. At twenty-one, I've definitely filled out from my once gangly frame. I stopped dance classes in college but picked up a weightlifting habit that has really paid off. My arms and legs are muscular yet still feminine. I know I look good.

As Mom looks me up and down approvingly, I can't help but return her gaze. At forty-eight, she is as youthful and radiant as she’s ever been. Her blonde hair is pulled up in her signature messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. She wears black yoga pants and an unbuttoned cardigan over a fitted tank top that shows off her toned figure.

"You look great too, Mom," I say sincerely.

Mom waves her hand dismissively, "Oh shush, I'm a mess!" She sighs and looks around the room. "Kinda like this place. Sorry, the movers literally just came by today, and I haven’t had time to unpack.”  

I look around her new apartment. It’s in a state of controlled chaos, with stacks of cardboard boxes everywhere overflowing with the contents of her old life.

“Nah, it’s fine. Are you relieved to be moved in finally?"

“I’ll be more relieved when I’m actually fully moved in. One of the moving trucks broke down, can you believe it? They're delivering the rest of the boxes tomorrow."

"No way, that sucks!" I say. I gaze around at the stacks of boxes filling the space, some in various states of being unpacked. A half-filled bookshelf sits in the living room area, a box labeled “Books” next to it. The kitchen cabinets are in various stages of being filled. A few stacks of dishes are lined up on the kitchen counter, some still wrapped in newspaper.

"I know it's a disaster right now, but we have the essentials!" she says, gesturing to the TV and couch in the living room, “I'm just so excited for our movie night! Oh my gosh, it's been what, three years since we've had a proper Mom and Eva night?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, I think so. Probably not since before I left for college."  

A fond warmth fills me as memories from those long-ago evenings come flooding back — our laughter and inside jokes, animated conversations, and — those subtle, confusing undercurrents that neither of us had ever dared acknowledge aloud.

"Want something to drink?” she says, walking into the kitchen. “I've got water, soda…and wine," she says, holding up a bottle of Pinot Noir with a conspiratorial wink. 

“Wine, huh? Oh my, are you trying to ply your dear daughter with alcohol, Lady Amy?” I say with feigned indignity. It's so easy to lapse back into our familiar ridiculous banter. It's like putting on an old, comfy pair of sweatpants. 

My mother laughs, then pauses, smiling softly. “Well, Lady Eva, you are twenty-and-one years of age now. I should think you are of an appropriate age to partake in libations with your lady mother if it should please you.” 

She breaks character briefly and adds with a touch of nostalgic sadness, “And I never did get to have that first drink with you.”

"Well, then," I say, walking into the living room and collapsing onto the plush leather couch, “Wine would be amazing; it's been a long drive." 

I take in my surroundings. It's a small place, but modern. Much nicer than the dreary suburban house I grew up in. The big windows in the living room overlook the city, and the evening light streaming through them gives the room a warm, cozy glow. The apartment is laid out shotgun-style, with the living room leading into the kitchen. A hallway in the back leads to what I presume is the bathroom and bedroom. 

“Mom, seriously, I love this place!” 

“Well, thank you,” Mom says as she grabs two wine glasses from a box in the kitchen. “I like it too. It’s close enough to the university that I can walk every day. Oh, and there’s this coffee shop down the street. They have cats roaming around inside that are available for adoption. It’s the cutest thing ever. We’ll have to check it out before you leave tomorrow morning.” 

“Aw, cute! Let’s do it!” I agree, kicking off my shoes and stretching my long, toned legs out on the couch. 

"I see you packed light," she says with a raised eyebrow, noting my lack of bags.  

"Yeah, I was in such a rush to get here I just hopped in the car with nothing. I meant to bring a bag with clothes and stuff to do laundry while I was here. But in typical Eva fashion, I forgot it all."

"Ah, well, that's ok," Mom says, waving her hand as she uncorks the bottle. "You can borrow some clothes from me."

She comes over with two brimming glasses of wine and sits close beside me on the couch, tucking her legs under her.  

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the air seems to crackle between us. A flush rises in my cheeks as I hold her gaze, neither of us speaking. The tension hangs thick in the silence. 

Oh boy, I think. I wasn’t expecting to feel this tension right off the bat. Is this the first time in three years we’ve been alone together? I rack my brain, but I can’t remember.

I finally clear my throat and lift my wine glass. "To, uh...to new beginnings."

Mom blinks rapidly and smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes. To new beginnings." 

We clink our glasses together, and both take eager sips. 

"Really though, Mom, this place is gorgeous. I'm so happy for you."

Mom smiles genuinely this time, her eyes crinkling. "Thanks, sweetie. It just feels so freeing, you know? Like I can finally start living life on my terms."

"Well, cheers to that!" I say brightly. I know she had been unhappy for a long time in her stale marriage with Dad. They had grown apart years ago but stayed together for my sake. But now, with me less than a year away from graduating college, Mom is embracing this new phase. I admire her courage.

"So, what movie are we watching tonight?" I ask curiously, taking another sip of my wine.

Mom grins mischievously. "Well, I was thinking maybe Lady Chatterley's Lover." 

I nearly spit out my wine. "Mom! That movie is so risque. Are you trying to corrupt your sweet, innocent daughter?" I exclaim, clutching the invisible pearls on my chest.

Mom laughs. "Oh please, don't even try to play the sweet and innocent card with me. I know my daughter better than that." 

I blush slightly. She's not wrong — I lost my innocence a long time ago. Still, the idea of watching such an erotic film with her…

"I just thought it could be something fun and different for our girls' night," Mom continued, with a twinkle in her eye. "Unless it would make you uncomfortable?"

"No, no, it's totally fine," I say casually, taking a large gulp of wine to steel my nerves. "I mean, I'm a twenty-first-century modern woman. I can handle a little cinematic romance."

Mom grabs the remote to queue up the movie on Netflix. While she busies herself with that, I sit, my brain going into overdrive. 

Why did she pick that particular movie?

Don’t read too much into it, Eva, I tell myself. It’s just a movie. This isn’t like three years ago, no matter how much you want it to be.

My mind turns to our special Wednesday night rituals when I still lived at home with my folks and how the final instance had ended three years ago. That strange, heated moment between us across the kitchen counter. Her delicate finger trailing up my bare arm, our faces just inches apart before…the kitchen timer shattered the spell we were under, and Mom and I picked up as if nothing had happened.

We never acknowledged what happened that night. Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding, some kind of accident. I eventually chalked it up as such when we abruptly stopped our tradition with no explanation. I was just too busy with senior year stuff, and Mom was too busy with work to dedicate a whole evening to hanging out. That’s what I told myself, at least. 

But now, sitting here on the couch with Mom after three long years, I feel that simmering tension rising between us again. A thrill of excitement and apprehension courses through me.

Does she feel it, too? Does she think about that night like I do, late at night when I’m naked under the covers, my fingers between my legs?

Mom's voice interrupts my reverie. "So, how's Maya?" she asks. "You two still going strong?"

I quickly take a large gulp of wine and smile, burying the thoughts back down. "Oh! Uh, yeah, things with Maya are great!" 

In truth, we broke up weeks ago. But I haven't told Mom yet, not wanting to mar our special night and her excitement over this new chapter post-divorce. 

I'll tell her soon, just – not tonight.

The movie starts, and we jump into our familiar banter as we playfully mock the dramatic characters and their florid dialogue. Just like old times. 

"Oh, Lady Chatterley, how utterly scandalous!" I proclaim in an exaggerated posh accent. "Engaging in an affair with the groundskeeper? Simply unthinkable!"

Mom giggles, topping off our wine glasses.  "Now, now, Lady Eva, no need for judgment. Listen to your heart!"

I grasp my chest dramatically. "But think of the family name! The shame she brings upon their household!"

We dissolve into laughter. Already, I can feel my cheeks flushing from the wine. As the movie progresses, I feel myself relaxing. 

This is nice – it feels just like old times. My worries from earlier melt away as we joke and chatter over the movie. 

Then it happens. 

Lady Chatterley and her lover share an on-screen kiss. “Ah, finally!” I exclaim, sweeping my arm enthusiastically to punctuate a point, not realizing I’m still holding my wine glass.

The glass tips over right into my lap, drenching my shorts in crimson liquid. 

"Oh shit," I gasp as the wine seeps through the yellow cotton, leaving a large purple wet patch over my thighs and crotch. 

Mom pauses the movie and springs up from the couch. "Oh shoot, hang on!" She hurries over to a box labeled 'Linens' and rummages around before returning with a kitchen towel.

“Eva, the klutz strikes again,” I say. “Sorry, I think some got on the couch.”

“It’s leather, it’ll wipe off,” she says. "Here, let me see your shorts. I don’t want the stain to set."

“Oh, don’t worry about…” I start, but before I can stop her, she’s kneeling on the floor in front of me, gently dabbing at the wet patches on my thighs.  

I blush, suddenly aware of how close her face is to my private area. 

Just like that, the tension has returned ten-fold. 

Get it together, I scold myself, hyper-aware of her delicate fingers brushing along my inner thighs.  It's just an innocent spill. Stop overthinking it.  

After a minute, she pulls back and looks up at me hesitantly. "Um, this stain isn't coming out well. We should probably throw these in the wash." 

I shift awkwardly from one foot to the other, not arguing against her point. 

She stands up. "Here, uh, I'll grab you a pair of sweatpants or something to change into."

I smile gratefully, trying to ignore the lingering heat simmering in my core from her touch. "Yeah, sure, that would be great."

As she disappears into the other room, I stand up, looking at the mottled purple and yellow shorts.  I consider wandering down the hall to find the bathroom to change in before opting to take them off right here in the living room. I peel the soaked shorts down my toned legs to my ankles, stepping out of them. 

As I pick them up, I whisper aloud, What the hell was that, Eva? 

I didn’t do it on purpose, and yet, there’s a part of me that is secretly thrilled as I sit back down in just my t-shirt and underwear, holding the stained shorts in my lap awkwardly.

I wait for a few minutes before Mom emerges from the bedroom looking sheepish. 

"Oh shoot, Eves, I guess my clothes boxes are in the other truck. Let’s just get you a towel or something to sit on and…" She stops short when she sees me. 

“You…already took them off,” she says softly. 

I look down at my tanned bare thighs and the bunched-up yellow fabric clutched in my hands.

“Yeah, no big deal," I murmur. I stand up and awkwardly hold out the soiled garment. "Might as well still wash them, right?" 

“R-right.” She sounds unsure, but she steps forward anyway and takes the shorts from me, her eyes involuntarily trailing down my nearly naked body for a split second before snapping back up to meet my gaze.

As I stand there, I catch another whiff of the spilled wine. I lift the hem of my T-shirt. 

“Oh, man…” I say, a blush creeping across my cheeks as I realize the little pale pink cotton panties I’m wearing are also soaked through with wine. 

Mom’s eyes travel down my body once more to note the large stain between my legs, her expression unreadable. She lets out a small “ah” sound, a slight intake of breath. I drop my shirt hem quickly, my face flushing red.

What I do next, I can’t explain. I feel like I’m being pulled by a force greater than my own will – the energy in the room propelling me forward before my mind can catch up. 

Without consciously deciding to, I find my thumbs hooking under the elastic waistband of my panties. 

“Here, um...why don’t you just throw these in with the shorts.” I hear the words come out of my mouth, but it sounds like someone else is speaking them. My hands act on their own accord as they slowly draw my soiled panties down my legs.

Mom holds up her hand to stop me. “No, don’t worry about that now, you don’t need to...” she protests but trails off as I step out of the sodden undergarment and hand it to her wordlessly.

I stand bare before my mother except for my t-shirt, acutely aware of her gaze on me. In my haste to drive over here, I hadn’t even thrown a bra on, and I can feel my nipples hardening under the thin fabric. I’m not sure if it’s the cool air dancing over my bare skin or my mother’s eyes doing the same that causes me to shiver slightly. 

A tense silence falls over us. Neither of us knows what to do or say next.

Finally, Mom clears her throat awkwardly. “Uh, right…well…I’ll just...go throw these in the wash then!”  She turns and hurries out of the room, my stained clothes bundled in her arms.

I’m left standing alone, completely naked from the waist down. I let out a shaky exhale. 

What am I doing?

I scold myself. Stop trying to recreate what happened three years ago, Eva. That was just a weird, fleeting moment; it wasn't real. 

But even as I tell myself that, my mind drifts back to that night.

We sat at the kitchen table, casually bottomless like I am now. We were chatting about mundane school and work drama at first. Then, the conversation turned more intimate. Mom asked if I touched myself, and then she admitted to using the showerhead to masturbate. 

I was so turned on hearing her talk about pleasuring herself. She described how she would take her time, building up the sensations by touching her hips and under her breasts, describing how any part of the body could be an erogenous zone. 

And when she reached across and touched my arm so lightly, it sent sparks through my whole body. My heart began to pound as she slowly dragged her finger down my ribs and hip and onto my bare thigh, caressing the sensitive skin.  Her feather-light touch was electrifying in a way I had never experienced before. 

I've been with a few different partners, both guys and girls, since starting college, but none of them had ever made me feel the way my mother did in that moment.

I hear the faint hum of the washing machine starting up down the hall. Mom will be back any minute. Yet still, I stand frozen in place, looking down at my bare flesh.

At Maya's suggestion, I started getting laser hair removal down there. I'm completely bald except for a thin little brunette landing strip I leave neat and trim. Everything else is silky smooth. 

I feel exposed standing here like this. Vulnerable. My womanhood exposed so brazenly, right here in my mother's living room. I rub my thighs together, feeling my inner lips slide against each other, and realize I'm already getting wet.

Before I can think better of it, I reach down tentatively and part my lower lips with two fingers, revealing the pink, engorged bud. I let out a soft gasp at how swollen and sensitive it is, peeking out from beneath its hood. It looks like a ripe little berry begging to be plucked. 

I trail my fingers down, and they...