BEN

“I hope you don’t plan on being on your phone this entire trip.” My mom gives me one of her classic chiding stares she used all through my childhood.

When I was a kid, they’d fill me with guilt, but now, I just give her my most innocent grin.

“Who me? I was just checking the time.”

“That’s what watches are for.” She reaches across the table to tap my wrist.

I’ve got on the chunky silver one my parents gave me for my last birthday. It’s probably expensive. Mom said something about it being Swiss-made when I pulled it out of the box, but I’ve never looked it up. The thing that makes it priceless to me is the inscription on the back side.

Our best times are with you. Love, Mom & Dad

“Oh, right! Watches tell time. Totally forgot.”

She shakes her head at me, but I notice the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Told you we should have spanked him as a child. Then, he wouldn’t have such a smart mouth.” This comment comes from my dad as he returns from the bar, carrying glasses of water for my mom and me and a measure of scotch for himself.

He’s not a big drinker, but flying makes him nervous. Over his shoulder, a window looks out on the tarmac. In the distance, I can see a plane gracefully lifting off the runway.

“You might be right, honey. We were too soft on him.” She continues to fight a smile as she takes a sip of water.

“Spank me? Can’t believe you even considered it. I mean, just imagine the effect that would’ve had on my ass.” Dad snorts into his scotch, but I keep going, targets set on my mom, “Probably flattened it right out. Then, how’d you expect me to get a girlfriend? The minute I turned around, she’d see I had nothing to grab on to and kick me out the door. Kick me right on my flat ass.”

Mom’s teeth bite into her lower lip, and she glares at me, but I can see her just about to crack. So, I turn around and glance over my shoulder, and with the most horrified expression I can muster, I grandly gesture at my butt.

That does it. She slams her glass on the table and uses both her hands to cover her face as she lets out the most ridiculous-sounding laughter that ever existed. It’s like a donkey with hiccups, braying and snorting so loud that people at other tables glance toward us, probably concerned we’re murdering an innocent farm animal.

Dad raises his drink to me, a silent cheers to my success. My mom hates her laugh, but the two of us love it. We constantly try to make her break.

“You are the devil!” She wipes at her eyes with a napkin and tries to glare at me as chuckles continue to sneak out.