I Might Treat You Differently

The movie played on. The flickering light of the TV cast shadows across the room. For a while, the atmosphere was calm. Almost peaceful. My mother, though still subtly flustered from earlier, had mostly regained her composure.

She sat with her arms crossed, pretending to focus on the screen. But the occasional glance in my direction betrayed her lingering thoughts.

I broke the silence out of nowhere; my voice was calm yet deliberate. "By the way..." I began, keeping my eyes on the screen as if the words I was about to say were casual. "Don't freak out if I start acting…differently, Mom."

"Differently? What do you mean?" Her head turned toward me, her brows furrowed in confusion.

I turned slightly to meet her gaze, my expression relaxed but purposeful. "I mean..." I said slowly. "You shouldn't be surprised if I stop treating you the way I used to."

Her confusion deepened, and her lips parted as if to ask another question. But I continued before she could interrupt. "You know. The way a son treats his mother. Like asking for advice, arguing over silly things, or getting scolded and just brushing it off...That kind of dynamic."

"Okay...And what exactly are you getting at?" She tilted her head, clearly not following.

I leaned back, letting a sly smile play on my lips. "What I'm saying is, now that we've got this bet going. You might notice me treating you...differently, like a woman, and you shouldn't freak out when you see me do so."

The room fell into stunned silence; her eyes widened in disbelief. "Excuse me?" She asked, her tone sharp, like she wasn't sure if she'd misheard me.

I turned to fully face her, my expression calm yet purposeful. "You heard me. I'm not saying it'll happen all the time, but there will be moments when I stop treating you like a mother and start treating you like any other woman out there."

She tilted her head, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Oh really? And how, exactly, are you going to treat me like 'any other woman' that's supposed to throw me off, hmm?" Her voice carried a light, amused tone, as if she was humouring me more than taking my words seriously.

I raised an eyebrow, watching as she continued, her grin widening.

"What are you going to do, Luca? Start opening doors for me and pulling out my chair like some old-fashioned gentleman? Maybe shower me with cheesy compliments? Or wait—" She gasped mockingly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Are you planning to serenade me under the moonlight? Oh, no! The horror!"

She laughed, the sound bubbling up naturally, filling the room with warmth.

"Come on, Luca. What exactly do you think you're going to do that's going to fluster me? I've seen you at your worst. I've scolded you, cleaned up after you, and dealt with every tantrum and bad decision you've ever made. There's no way anything you do could faze me...You'll always just be my son."

Her words were playful, yet there was an underlying confidence in her tone that seemed to say she was completely certain of her stance. She leaned back, crossing her arms with a smirk.

"So go ahead, show me your so-called charm. I'm ready for it."

Her smirk lingered for a moment as she watched me, clearly expecting some kind of witty comeback or an over-the-top proclamation of my so-called "charm."

But when I didn't say anything, her amusement wavered slightly.

And instead of responding, I simply leaned back, my gaze focused downward, and my expression remained unreadable.

At first, she didn't notice. She tilted her head, waiting, her arms still crossed. "Well?" She prompted, but I didn't answer. My eyes remained fixed on something below, and her brows furrowed as curiosity began to creep into her expression.

"What are you…" She started, trailing off as she followed my gaze downward to where her bountiful breasts were.

It took a second, but when realisation hit, her entire demeanour shifted.

Her eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "Luca!" She yelped, instinctively clutching her arms over her chest. "Are you—are you seriously staring at my chest?!"

She stopped mid-sentence, unable to even say the word. Her face burnt red, a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and sheer outrage swirling together.

But instead of immediately reacting, she hesitated, almost as if she needed confirmation that this wasn't just some horrible misunderstanding.

She shifted slightly to her left, then back to her right, her movements slow and deliberate, testing the waters. Her chest moved ever so slightly with her, and to her utter disbelief, my eyes followed the motion, almost like they were magnetically drawn.

"No way." She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "He's not actually…"

She moved again, this time more exaggeratedly, leaning to one side and then the other, as her bouncy breasts that were outlined by the sweater swayed along with her.

My gaze also tracked every motion with precision, my face completely composed, as though I wasn't even aware of what I was doing.

And finally, she exploded. "LUCA!" She screeched, throwing a couch pillow at my face with all the force she could muster. "What in the world are you doing?!"

But to her dismay, I caught the pillow effortlessly, my reflexes as sharp as ever, and smiled at her. "Whoa, what's with the sudden violence?" I asked, holding the pillow up as though inspecting it for damage. "Did I do something to deserve this sort of domestic abuse?"

"You know exactly what you did!" She snapped, her face flushed with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and her glare could've burnt through steel. "I-I mean...W-Why exactly were you staring at my c-chest?!" She stammered as she could barely say what I was doing out loud because of how ridiculous it was.

But I didn't panic when I saw her shouting at me, and I simply sat back on the couch, still holding the pillow in one hand, a mischievous smile spreading across my face.

"Well..." I began, shrugging. "You told me to show you how I'd look at you as a woman, right? I was just...giving an example."

My mother's jaw dropped, her face turning an even deeper shade of red as she heard my absurd reasoning.

"An example?!" She exclaimed in response when she saw how obnoxiously her son was behaving. "Are you seriously telling me that staring at a woman's chest is your idea of treating her differently than your mother?!"

"I mean, it kind of is, since it's not like any son out there is going at his mother's chest." I chuckled, enjoying how flustered she was getting.

Her mouth opened and closed, clearly at a loss for words. Finally, she pointed a finger at me accusingly. "Don't you dare tell me that's how you interact with women, young man! You're saying you walk around, staring at every girl's chest like some kind of pervert?"

I raised an eyebrow, my smirk widening as she inched closer, clearly ready to discipline me. And before she could, I quickly said to calm her down, "Oh, come on, Mom. You really think I'm some creep who peeks through a hole in the newspaper or something?"

"Then what is this?!" She demanded, her hand shooting out towards my ear, her classic motherly punishment for bad behaviour.

But I was faster. I grabbed her wrist mid-air, gently holding it before she could land her infamous 'ear pinch.'

"Relax, will you?" I said, my voice calm but amused. "I'm not a pervert. I don't blatantly ogle every woman that walks by...I was just giving you a straightforward example of the difference in how a son and a man might look at you."

She eyed me warily, her other arm still wrapped protectively around her chest. "You'd better not be lying to me, Luca. You've always been cheeky, but this is a new level."

I let out a laugh, loosening my grip on her wrist as I leaned back into the sofa. "I swear, Mom. You've raised me better than that."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. But then, as if a second thought struck her, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Wait a minute." She said slowly. "You said, 'don't blatantly'. What does that mean?"