Mom spent some time preparing her breakfast at the kitchen island, cutting various fruits as her robe opened a little more, baring more of her breasts, but never as much as I hoped or feared. My heartbeat sped up with every flutter of her clothing, its thin silk sliding over her body, clinging here, gripping there, and rolling like waves with dips and rises as she continued with her task.

She never looked at me, only at Dad, and the one time his paper crinkled as he lowered it, Mom reached up with her left hand and pinched her robe shut. Dad didn't look at her, he was sipping his...