Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.

Chapter Nine: Mama's Boy

Who's the mama's boy?

The spring afternoon was all blue sky and shouts of boys.

Ethan kept his head down, his steps clipped and steady. The brown paper bag thumped lightly against his leg as he passed two boys in a front yard tossing a baseball. One of them--twelve year old Marcus Epperson--grinned and lifted his glove.

“Hey, Ethan! Wanna play catch?”

Ethan didn’t break stride. “Can’t. I have to go home. My mother’s expecting me.”

He could feel them watching his retreat. One of them muttered something. The other snorted.

“See? Told you. Mama’s boy.”

Ethan’s ears burned, but he didn’t turn around. He simply walked faster.

A block later, he passed two more boys crouched over a muddy puddle. “Hey Ethan! Wanna see a dead frog?”

He glanced over. A pale little shape floated between reeds and mud.

“Maybe later,” he said softly, and walked on. “My mom--”

He caught himself, but it was too late. Laughter, then the inevitable:

“--Mama’s boy.”

Past the firehouse, where the doors were open and a couple of firemen washed the truck. Past the ice cream shop, where the bell jingled behind laughing girls with cones. Past the video arcade, all buzzing lights and digital explosions. He didn’t even look.

When he finally reached the house, it was still and quiet. His mother’s car wasn’t in the driveway. He let himself in, locked the door, and went into the kitchen. There he put away his purchases, butter, a can of condensed milk, a box of baking soda and a bag of lemons.

He then climbed the stairs quickly--almost guiltily. He stood before the mirror over his dresser and stared at himself for a moment. The words still echoed in his head--

“Mama’s boy…”

He sighed and continued on with his task. Undress down to his birthday suit. Fold his clothes neatly. And then dash into the bathroom.

Wash face and underarms. Brush teeth. Comb hair. He even trimmed the stray hair sticking out over his left ear.

At the top of the stairs he pause, then called out cautiously:

“Mom? Aunt DeeDee?” Pause. “Dani?”

Satisfied he was alone--it wouldn’t do if anyone, especially his cousin, saw what he was up to--he padded barefoot and bare bottom naked downstairs to the sewing room.

It smelled like perfume and starch and something warm--something hers.

Ethan dug into a specific drawer and pulled out a small piece of delicate yellow cloth. He pursed his lips and stepped into the lace trimmed panties one foot at time. He pulled them up his legs and over his thighs, snapping the elastic around his waist with a familiar and--foreboding--sense of satisfaction.

He stood in the middle of the room for a long time, arms folded, staring at the rack of garments. Most were too big, or too frilly. But one… the blue floral one… that one they’d finished together just last night.

He bit his lip. Remembered how she’d smiled at him in it. Remembered her saying, “You could wear this one to the theater or on a picnic or a birthday party. It’s so fresh and sweet on you, baby.”

He reached for it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Colleen stepped through the front door, her arms full of groceries and a crick in her neck from traffic.

She heard the hum before she even set the bags down. Not the television. Not music.

Vacuuming?

What in the world?

She followed the sound into the parlor--and stopped.

There, maneuvering the vacuum with a serene, almost dreamy look on his face, was her son.

In the blue floral dress. With white knee socks. And Mary Janes. And--dear Lord--a blue and white bow clipped into his brushed, dark brown hair.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

“Ethan?”

He didn’t hear. The vacuum roared on.

She raised her voice. “Ethan!”

He jumped, then quickly turned it off. “Oh! Hello, Mother.” He looked almost startled to see her. “How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” she said cautiously. “You didn’t have to dress up today, sweetie. We finished that one last night, remember?”

“Oh, I know,” he said quickly. “I just thought it might be a good idea to, you know… test it out. Make sure it fits. And the seams are okay. And stuff.”

“…So you decided to vacuum in it?”

He blinked. “Was that wrong?”

“No, darling. No. I was just surprised.” She smiled slowly. “You ... it ... looks so… pretty.”

He shrugged, adjusting the shoulder strap slightly. “I think so, too.”

Ethan then pulled a little pink and red tube from a pocket in his dress; he popped the cap, put it between his fingers and expertly put a coat of balm over his lips. He smacked them together as he put the tube away and--seeing his mother watching--gave her a shy smile. Then he turned the vacuum back on and went right back to work--sweeping calmly between the chairs as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Colleen just stood there for a moment, hand still on her shopping bag, heart full of something soft and strange.

Something was happening. Something small, and quiet, and important.

And she would not be the one to interrupt it.

* * *

The brass bell over the pharmacy door jingled as Colleen waited her turn in line, Ethan standing behind her. Prescott’s was cool and quiet, the air smelling faintly of floor wax, cough drops, and the lilac perfume Mrs. Callahan always wore. Ethan hovered near the counter while his mother stopped to speak with Mr. Callahan in a low, quiet murmur.

He held her purse as she had handed it to him--a bright, colorful thing in a red and yellow rose print with a gold clasp--the strap hooked neatly in the crook of his elbow, his hand dangling at the wrist. He hadn’t even thought about it until he glanced down and realized he was carrying it the way Colleen had trained him: not gripped in his fist like a grocery bag, but hanging properly by his hip, the way ladies carried them.

His other hand held the pharmacy basket. He frowned at its contents: tampons, pads, a douche kit, a box of Midol, a little jar of cold cream… a bottle of Girl Crazy: Strawberry Jam Red nail polish. All very ordinary things for a woman or even a girl his age to buy. For a boy in jeans and a video game logo printed on his T-shirt, however…

He clenched his jaw. Compared to the indignities of the past few weeks--scrubbing away in gingham dresses and frilly aprons, secretly working as a model and maid named “Emily”--this was supposed to be easy. Almost a relief.

Almost.

The bell rang again. Ethan glanced up--and his stomach dropped.

Tara Winston and Maddy Franks. Of all people.

They breezed in with typical preteen girl arrogance, like they owned the place, Maddy swishing her ponytail, Tara already picking up the latest fashion magazine from the rack. Ethan tried to look busy, shifting the basket in his hand, adjusting the purse strap… doing his best to appear small, hidden. Maybe they wouldn’t notice--

“Oh, well, well, look who it is.” Tara’s sing-song voice was unmistakable. She looked at him over the top of the latest issue of Teen Vogue.

“See, Maddy? It’s Ethan!”

His throat tightened. Don’t look nervous. Just say hi. Act normal for once. You are normal, aren’t you? No? Okay, just pretend….

“Hi, Ethan,” Maddy crooned. “Shopping with your mother? How sweet.”

“I, um… er… yeah, I guess… so….”

They drifted closer, all bangles and bracelets, crop tops and smooth bare legs. The combined fragrance of their colognes tickled Ethan's nostrils. Tara’s eyes, sharp as a predator’s, landed on the purse hooked over his elbow.

“Love the handbag,” she said, head cocked. “Not really your style, though. Unless--” she gave a sly glance at Maddy “--you mean her style.”

Maddy grinned. “Emily’s.”

Heat crawled up Ethan’s neck. They noticed. Of course they noticed. I could hold a stick of gum and they’d find a way to laugh at it.

He shifted the purse hanging off his arm, trying to make it look casual, masculine even, but the harder he tried, the sillier he felt.

Then Tara leaned over his basket. “Ohhh, what have we here?” She plucked the box of tampons as if she’d struck gold. “Tampons? Really, Ethan? Since when do you need these?”

Maddy burst out laughing. “I’m more curious how he uses them.”

Tara picked up a pink and purple box. “Are you douching now, too, Ethan? Really?”

Both girls giggled so loud the other customers took notice. Including Colleen. Ethan shot his mother a desperate stare, his expression crying out: Please help! She smirked and resumed talking with the pharmacist.

Sighing, he turned to the two preteens and blurted, “They’re not mine, they’re for--”

“For Emily?” Tara cut in, eyes glittering.

Maddy snorted. “That sounds about right!”

“No, not me--my mother!” His voice cracked. Why can’t I ever sound calm? Why do I always sound guilty when I’m not?

“Ooooh,” Maddy dragged out the syllable. “So mama’s boy is out buying tampons and douche kits for Mommy.”

“How sweet!” Tara smirked. “Just like a mama’s boy.”

Ethan cringed. There it was again: Mama’s boy. He’d been hearing that a lot lately.

Mama’s boy.

Just the sound of it was enough to send a cold chill down his spine… and make his blood boil. And now two more of his classmates--the worst pair of gossips at Lincoln Middle School--were bandying it about… directly at him.

Mama’s boy.

“Is that what you are, Ethan?” Maddy cooed as she tickled his arm with a well-manicured pink fingernail. “Are you a… mama’s boy?” She stretched the words out like she was singing them.

“Ooo, look at him blush!” Tara crowed. “I think he actually likes being a mama’s boy. Almost as much as he likes being Emily.”

This time their laughter echoed throughout the store, attracting even more attention.

“Hey Ethan,” Maddy added slyly, “speaking of Emily, we had such a great time at Claire’s little party. You really put on a show.”

“Yeah,” Tara giggled. “Best maid service ever. Ten out of ten.”

Ethan’s arm squeezed against the purse strap. He couldn’t meet their eyes. Why did I ever agree to that? Why did I curtsy? Why did I play along?

“Um… thanks, I guess.”

“You’re really cute in that maid’s costume.” Tara leaned in close, her breath the scent of cinnamon chewing gum. “You could go into business--Maid For Hire!”

“Emily For Hire!” Maddy added excitedly. “Parties hosted, curtsying lessons, shopping assistant…”

“Ooo, shopping assistant! I really like that,” Tara said, not so kindly. “You could make a fortune on tampons alone.”

Laughter bubbled between them. More eyes stared in his direction. Ethan felt his stomach knot. If only his mother would finish talking, come to his rescue--

“So, who are your friends, sweetheart?”

His heart leapt--and then plummeted. Colleen’s voice, warm and amused, floated over from the counter. She was smiling, eyes twinkling. She wasn’t swooping in to save him; she was curious, eager to participate. Which meant trouble. For him.

Ethan swallowed. “Uh--these are--they’re um--”

“Mrs. Martin, hi!” Tara stepped forward, suddenly bright and respectful. “I’m Tara, and this is Maddy. We were in Ethan's seventh grade class, hope to be with him in eighth grade. We're just talking about Claire’s party. Your son was… hilarious.”

Maddy covered her mouth, giggling. “He’s such a natural. You should’ve seen him, Mrs. Martin. You’d have been proud, I’m sure. His ‘Emily’ costume was amazing! He was just adorable in it.”

Ethan shut his eyes. Please, no. Not this. Don’t--

“Oh, I wished I’d been there,” Colleen said, eyes twinkling, voice brimming with delight. “And yes, he does look cute when he dresses up as ‘Emily.’ Did he entertain you? Did you and the other girls have fun?”

“Absolutely,” Tara said, thrilled to have an adult ally. “We actually have pictures. Want to see?”

“Ooo, you do?” Colleen leaned closer, almost conspiratorial. “Yes, please.”

Maddy had her phone out in a flash, swiping through photos. “Here--look at this one, Mrs. Martin. Isn’t he the cutest little maid?”

“Here’s one of him curtsying,” Tara offered. "And another... and another... and another--"

Ethan groaned. “Tara… Mother--”

“Oh, don’t be like that, darling.” Colleen laughed, genuine and musical. “We’re just having a little fun.” She went from one phone to the other, slowly scrolling through the collection, pausing to consider each, a perpetual smirk plastered on her face.

“Mercy sakes, this is adorable!” She held up Maddy’s phone for Ethan to see: it was a selfie of him--in that silly maid costume--with Tara and Maddy, arms wrapped around his waist, each doing bunny ears behind his head.

How did I ever let this happen? he thought. Next thing she’ll do is--

“Would you mind sending me some of these?” She handed the phone back, shooting a mischievous side-long glance toward her son. “I can’t wait to show them to the rest of the family.”

“Of course!” Tara said eagerly. She took Colleen’s number and--whoosh!--the deed was done. Maddy quickly did the same. “Happy to be of service!” the two sang in chorus.

Traitors, Ethan thought, cheeks burning. Even Mother. Especially Mother.

Colleen slipped an arm around his shoulders, giving him a little squeeze. “Now, I couldn’t help overhearing--you girls called Ethan a mama’s boy.”

Tara hesitated. “We... we were just teasing…”

“Oh, I know that,” Colleen said sweetly. “The thing is, you’re not wrong. He is a mama’s boy. But he’s my mama’s boy.” She kissed the crown of Ethan's head, ignoring his squirm. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He doesn’t just help me with my shopping… he does the housework and laundry, plus he’s learned to sew.” She gave him another kiss, this time on the cheek. “He’s such a good mama’s boy!”

The two girls looked at one another, sneering and giggling. This was gold as far as they were concerned.

“He sews, too?” Tara cooed, her face beaming. “Wow, he is so talented. Who knew?”

Colleen grinned. “He's the best seamstress ever. You should see the apron he just made. It’s as good as anything I've ever done.”

Maddy gloated over this news. “You made an apron, Ethan? All by yourself? Wow, you should be really proud of yourself.”

Ethan squirmed. “Yeah, well… it’s not much to look at... really.”

“Are you kidding me?” Colleen pulled out her phone and scrolled through her gallery. “Here girls, see for yourself. Didn’t he do a good job? Tell me that’s not the work of a professional seamstress.”

The photo showed Ethan wearing a floral print pinafore-style apron with ruffled sleeves and trim; heart-shaped pockets on either side gave it a cute, domestic flair. Underneath he wore a pink gingham frock with a Peter Pan collar and puffed sleeves, a pink satin holding back his hair. Tara and Maddy stared at the image, then at each other. Their glee was obvious, even to Colleen, though she pretended not to notice.

“It is very nice, Mrs. Martin.” Tara bit her lip, pretending to be serious. “Ethan, are you wearing a dress under that apron? It’s so cute!”

Maddy put her hand over her mouth in a weak attempt to hide her delight. “It is cute. Did you make that, too?”

The blushing boy shook his head. “No, that’s, um… one my mom… made… for me.”

“Oh, that old thing?” Colleen chuckled. “That’s one of Ethan’s housewife dresses. I made a few for him to do his chores in. You know, like a little housewife? He looks so sweet in it, doesn't he?”

“His housewife dress? I love that!” Tara nodded, nearly bursting with laughter. “And you're right, he does look sweet in it.”

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me one bit.” Maddy’s voice oozed with sarcasm. “I could tell just by looking at him--he’s definitely a mama’s boy. You're one lucky mama, Mrs. Martin.” She stared right at Ethan, her smug face triumphant.

Ethan was so embarrassed he felt dizzy. “Please, Mother--”

Colleen gave the girls a wink. “Oh yes, he's a mama's boy, all right--” She reached over and tapped his nose playfully. “You could even say that we’re best friends. Isn’t that right, my love?”

“Oh, that’s just great, Mrs. Martin.” Tara grinned. “I always heard a boy’s best friend should be his mother.”

“And you make such a cute couple!” Maddy declared, biting her lip so hard she might have drawn blood. “See ya, mama’s boy!”

“Yeah, bye-bye, mama’s boy!” Tara sneered.

The girls wandered toward cosmetics, already whispering, plotting how they’d tell Claire and the others. Ethan stood stiff, mortified, his mother’s arm still around him.

“Nice girls,” she cooed. “Pretty, too. They seem like a lot of fun.”

Ethan nodded, then shrugged. “I guess so--”

How can she smile like that? She knows what she just did. But she made it sound… almost nice?

“Here, darling,” Colleen said gently, adjusting the purse strap in the crook of his arm, “hold it properly. We’re going to check out now.”

The brass bell jingled as Tara and Maddy left, their laughter trailing out onto Main Street.

Ethan exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath. His mother gave his shoulder one last squeeze before steering him toward the cashier, humming softly to herself, entirely at ease.

Maybe that’s the worst part, Ethan thought miserably. She doesn’t mind at all. She actually likes it. And I… I can’t even tell if I hate it anymore.

* * *

The kitchen was hushed except for the faint clink of dishes and the rush of warm water over porcelain. Afternoon light slanted through the window above the sink, gilding the row of glasses on the drying rack. Ethan stood there in his little yellow gingham housewife dress, sleeves rolled neatly, the hem brushing against his knees each time he shifted from one slippered foot to the other. A scarf tied snugly around his hair, knotted into a rabbit-ear bow on top, kept stray wisps from his face. The whole get-up made him feel both silly and--though he would never say it aloud--comfortably tucked into his role.

The dishwater smelled faintly of lemon. He liked that smell--almost as much as he liked the taste of the cherry chapstick on his lips. It felt clean, bright, as though even he were being scrubbed fresh along with the plates. His hands moved in practiced rhythm: rinse, soap, scrub, rinse again, stack. The apron tied snugly at his waist was already damp with little splashes, but he didn’t mind. They were his splashes, his apron, his sink. The thought carried a tiny glow of ownership he hadn’t expected.

He hummed under his breath, half a tune he couldn’t quite place, and let the rhythm carry him. It wasn’t glamorous, wasn’t exciting, but the order of it soothed him: dirty to clean, chaos to tidiness, one thing made better with every turn of his wrist.

This is almost as fun as a video game, he thought wryly. Almost.

Beyond the windowpane, the real world played on. Children dashed across the yards, their shouts carrying through the open screen like bursts of freedom. A neighborhood baseball game, by the sound of it--someone calling for the ball, another swearing he was safe at second, laughter spilling into the late summer air. Ethan paused with a plate half-submerged in the suds. He could picture it perfectly: dust kicked up by sneakers, the sharp crack of the bat, the thrill of racing for home.

Once upon a time, he might have been out there with them. He missed it, in a way--the carefree laughter, the sun on his face, the clumsy joy of belonging to the game even if he wasn’t much good at it. But when he looked down at his yellow dress, at the foamy water swirling between his fingers, the strange comfort of the scarf tied tight on his head, he felt… different. Not relief exactly, not pride, but a steady sense of being where he was meant to be, even if it wasn’t where the other boys were.

Then a thought struck him, sour and sharp. What if Marcus Epperson, or Benji Thompson--or worse, Benji's younger sister, Lucy--barged through the back door right now? What if they needed a third baseman and decided to fetch him, only to find him like this--gingham dress, hairbow, apron damp, sleeves rolled while he scrubbed away like some little housewife? He imagined the stunned silence, the sudden laughter, the cruel nicknames that would follow him forever.

Mama’s boy, mama’s boy, Ethan is a sissssyyyyyy!

Mama’s boy, mama’s boy, Ethan is a sissssyyyyyy!

His cheeks burned hot at the thought, his chest tightening with dread. His life would be ruined. He’d never be able to step outside of the house again. They would know, everyone would know… the entire school, the whole world would know what he was. And he’d never be able to go back and fix it.

Mama’s boy, mama’s boy, Ethan is a sissssyyyyyy!

Mama’s boy! Mama’s boy! Ethan is a--

The back door banged open.

The dish slipped from his hands back into the sink, clattering. His breath caught. This was it--his nightmare come true.

He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the worst.

This is it--they’re gonna see me and everybody’s gonna know the truth and I’m gonna have to move to Australia…

But instead of jeering voices, there came the rustle of paper sacks and the bright chatter of familiar tones. His mother stepped in first, arms full of bulging grocery bags from the farmer’s market. Auntie Penelope followed close behind, her wide basket brimming with corn still in husk, tomatoes shining red, peaches glowing in the afternoon light.

“Well, well,” Colleen said, eyes sparkling as she took in the sight before her. “What a sight to come home to. Our little homemaker, busy at his sink.”

Penelope set down her basket with a sigh of satisfaction and peered over Ethan’s shoulder. “And not a spot to be seen! Look at that shine, Colleen. I declare, he does better work than either of us ever managed at his age. A regular Cinderella, our boy.”

Ethan’s face flamed scarlet. He ducked his head and reached for another plate, trying to focus on the familiar rhythm: rinse, soap, scrub. “I was just… finishing up.”

Colleen brushed past, the scent of peaches following her, and bent to kiss the top of his scarfed head. “Mmm, lemon soap and dishwater. A proper domestic perfume,” she teased.

Penelope chuckled, eyes alight with mischief. “You look almost happy, my dear. Don’t tell me you’ve discovered you enjoy this?”

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I--I don’t mind it,” he admitted softly. The admission only deepened his blush.

“Oh, Colleen,” Penelope said warmly, “did you hear that? He doesn’t mind it. And judging by that blush, I’d say he even likes it.”

Colleen laughed gently, setting her groceries down on the counter. “Yes, look at him--doesn’t he look radiant?”

Penelope giggled. “He does, indeed!”

“Mother…” Ethan bristled. “That word--”

“Oh, I’m just teasing, darling. Seriously, you look happier than I’ve seen you in weeks.” Colleen laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Who would have thought such a thing?”

“I have to say, you are the luckiest woman I know.” Penelope wrapped her arms around Ethan’s shoulders, kissing him on the neck and the side of his face. “You’ve got yourself the best little mama’s boy!”

"Auntie, please... you're tickling me!"

"I know." The old woman giggled. "Isn't it fun?"

Ethan swallowed hard, ears burning, but as he slid the gleaming plate into the drying rack, a secret smile tugged at his lips.

Yes, he was a mama’s boy, he conceded. Even if he would never admit it out loud.

Next up: A Day in Daisies