Forgetting Mother’s Day

Jason stumbled down the stairs, bleary-eyed and yawning, barely registering the scent of bacon sizzling from the kitchen. His mom, Diane, stood at the stove in her robe, humming softly as she stirred a pan of eggs. She looked peaceful, content even—but there was a kind of expectant stillness in the room, like she was waiting for something.

He mumbled a half-hearted, “Morning,” and plopped down at the table, already thumbing through his phone. Diane didn’t respond right away. She just plated the food quietly, placing it in front of him with a small, polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. As he started eating, the silence grew a little heavier. She wasn’t making small talk like she usually did. Her humming had stopped.

That’s when his phone lit up with a cheery graphic: “Happy Mother’s Day to all the amazing moms out there!”

Oh. Shit. No card. No flowers. Not even a “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”

He looked up slowly. Diane was at the sink now, rinsing the pan with just a bit more force than necessary. Her shoulders were tight. Still quiet. Still waiting.

“Uh… Happy Mother’s Day,” he mumbled, forcing a sheepish smile. “So, um—as a gift, I guess—I’ll do anything you want today… whatever you feel like doing.”

She paused, her expression shifting—just a faint lift at the corners of her mouth, a hint of brightness in her eyes. “Anything?”

Jason let out a breath of relief, eager to make it right. “Yeah, totally! Whatever you want.”

Her lips curled into a slow, thoughtful smile. “Good.”

She didn’t say anything else—just took him by the wrist and led him out to the car. Jason, still in his hoodie and joggers, blinked in confusion as they pulled into the lot of a sleek, ultra-feminine salon.

“W-what… what are we doing here?” Jason asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at the salon.

Diane didn’t even look at him. She was already opening her car door. “Getting my daughter ready for the day,” she said breezily.

The rest was a blur. Jason barely had time to react before a stylist took his hoodie and joggers, replacing them with a silky pink robe and ushering him to the back. Diane gave him a little wave and stepped out with a smile, leaving him alone with the salon staff. Then came the waxing: quick, practiced, and everywhere. His brows were shaped into soft little arches, his arms and legs left silky-smooth. And his hair—now a pale, girlish blonde—was blown out and styled into a glossy, face-framing bob that swished with every nervous turn of his head.

A makeup artist took over next, cooing over how “pretty” his cheekbones were, how “feminine” his eyes could look with the right liner. By the time the soft pink gloss was patted on his lips, Jason barely recognized the reflection staring back at him.

Diane reappeared just as he was stepping down from the salon chair, still dazed and wrapped in the silky robe. She held up two shopping bags like trophies, and from them emerged twin dresses: one a soft rose pink, the other a minty pastel. Matching wide-brimmed hats. Nude block heels.

Jason didn’t even protest. His face burned too much, and he was too overwhelmed to fight. The salon staff giggled and gushed as he was dressed like a porcelain doll and handed a tiny purse.

And then, click-click-click, down the street they went. Diane walking with perfect poise and a smug smile. Jason trailing behind, trembling in his heels, every step echoing his humiliation. Strands of hair kept tickling his cheeks. His arms were bare. His legs looked so… smooth. The breeze slipped under his skirt and made him shiver. He swore everyone was staring.

They settled at a small table outside the café, sunlight glinting off the floral centerpiece as Jason smoothed his skirt and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. The wrought iron chair felt strange beneath him—too open, too exposed.

Diane didn’t miss a beat. “You really are the cutest little thing,” she said sweetly, reaching out to adjust his hat. “I’m so happy my daughter could spend Mother’s Day with me.”

Jason glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to be paying attention—at least, not that he could tell.

Diane just smiled, eyes full of mischief. “Now, what should we do after this, hmm? We totally need to get our nails done—something fun and girly. And maybe after that, we can go lingerie shopping… find you a cute little bra that actually fits those delicate shoulders.” She kept going, casually listing off one feminine errand after another as if it were the most normal thing in the world, her voice light and amused.

Jason just stared into his lemonade, cheeks burning hotter with every word. He didn’t dare interrupt. He just sat there, nodding faintly, silently cursing himself for forgetting Mother’s Day in the first place.