Minho held the shopping basket for his mother as they walked through isles at the grocery store. It was one of the bigger shopping trips where they had to travel further for a big chain store in town. Of course Minho went without protest when his mother asked for his help. She looked over a list, muttering softly and gentle dropping things they needed into the big basket Minho carried beside her. It actually grew heavy enough to be an irritation to Minho’s body. He wouldn’t complain though.

It was a busy shopping weekend, with pushing crowds and loud voices though the large store. Minho kept at an unusually close distance to his mother, trying to ignore everything going on around him. The store almost seemed new, as if he’d never been there though he had shopped at this store since he was young. Some places just felt different. This store happened to be one of them.

Minho grabbed a box from a shelf, asking, “Do we need this too?”

Mom nodded and Minho dropped it into the nearly full basket. 

Minho was fairly sure his mother had picked up on his behavior that accrued while he went out some days. He felt the sting of embarrassment when his tiny mother held his hand and guided them through the close crowds to pay for their shopping.

The car ride come was silence but for Minho getting his hands on the radio a few times. Nothing felt right, so he gave up listening to it.

Later that day, Minho stood in the kitchen with a loose apron on as he helped his mother prepare supper for the family. She had asked for the help again and Minho couldn’t say no. She deserved more than he could offer anyway. It was a simplified meal to prepare at least. Soft music played from a radio sitting on a counter in the kitchen, volume low. Minho zoned out a bit listing and getting into the rhythm of his slicing of vegetables over the cutting board, sleeved arm lifting a few times to brush long hair from his face.

Minho stiffened, hand slowing his cutting to a stop as he felt small arms wrap warmly around his middle from behind. His mother’s cheek pressed to his back and he was sure she murmured, “I love you,” always more emotionally open than the men in the family.

Either way, she was soon peeking around his shoulder with a smile, asking, “How’s the chopping going? I have more to be done.”

Minho nodded with a small smile. He relaxed as arms loosened around him. “I’ll cut whatever you need, mom. It’s fine.”

She spoke quietly, mind already elsewhere. “This pretty hair of yours.. it keeps reminding me…”

In seconds mother smiled against Minho, telling again that story Minho had heard since he was much younger. “You know, I always wanted a little girl. I was sure you were the one...” From behind, soft fingers combed through Minho’s hair that had grown fairly long again months after another cut, and he slowly continued chopping, listening to the story told all over again. “I was going to show you off to all the old ladies in town with little dresses and bows I was planning to make myself. I had even bought fabrics..” She sighed with a pouty voice and Minho grinned, head lowering in slight embarrassment at his mother’s words. The story confused him as a child, then annoyed him as he got older, but now he didn’t really care much. It he told his mother how it had possible shaped his self-esteem from a young age, though, that would be another problem.

She didn’t mean any harm, Minho was sure. He still loved his mom. He couldn’t fault her for wanting a girl after already having a boy. Minho had wondered since a younger age if his life would have been easier, less pressure next to his brother, if he had been born a girl. He just generally wondered more than he should about being the opposite gender. He wondered that a lot more these days, and the reminder caused him to falter, gaze down at a body that sometimes told him he’s wrong somehow. 

Mother squeezed Minho in a warm hug again, voice a smile, soothing the unset of a possible panic attack set on by something as odd as being confused by his gender. “But in the end I had tall boys, and I wouldn’t change a thing now.” She laughed shortly, “I’m proud of the boys I have raised. Hm.”

Mother continued cooing as she pulled away, speaking of raising her sons right. Minho’s cutting grew even sloppier. He was quickly smiling and teasing his mom back though, cutting faster and with little thought or caution. If an accident happened, a slip of the knife and red was spilled again, he wouldn't mind, not at all – it was welcome. Minho pushed his thoughts away as he prepared the side dishes for supper and set the table before his brother and father got home. Mother stepped back to work on the rice, still appearing in a good mood.

Why did the thought of mother being proud she had all boys upset him. It’s not like he was a girl-

“Minho-ya~.”

Minho inwardly groaned once the radio was turned up, old music blasting through the house. He couldn’t help but smile behind his hand when his small mother, in her cute apron and slippers, sauntered up to him in a dance with the current song playing loudly. She smiled widely up at him, dark curls bouncing and hands reaching for Minho’s. “Minho-ya~,” she sang, pulling her son’s hands up to swing them with her, “Let’s dance~.” 

Mother sang loudly again with the song, vibrato quite pronounced, and Minho went along with it, allowing his mother to pull him along to an old, folksy dance to match the music. He laughed happily, enjoying time with just his mom, reminded of when he was younger and home alone with her all afternoon some days.

A mother’s warmth and comfort really was different from all others.