Setting: The stairs, Quentin sits so that we can see his head and upper torso. Woman is obviously tending to Quentin, bent over, facing him, we only see the back half of her as she is mostly obscured by a bookshelf at the bottom of the stairs.
Quentin: Hurry up... hurry up... Debbie's gonna be here any minute... make sure it's a good one... it's gotta last the whole date... I don't know what I'd do if that problem popped up again... ahhh... that's it! That looks great!
Woman: (standing up with a sigh) Quentin, you're going to have to learn to do that by yourself.
Quentin: (standing up, tucking in his shirt) But it's so much better when you do it, Mom!
Woman: You'll be eighteen tomorrow! I refuse to do that for you any longer!
Woman: No! Most boys have been doing it by themselves for years by the time they reach your age.
Quentin: How's that even possible, Mom?
Woman: They practice; they learn.
Quentin: But it's so messy!
Woman: I don't care, Quentin; the time is right. I'm done with it.
Quentin: (defiant, but nervous) Then I'll get Debbie to do it!
Woman: (cold) You don't have the guts!
Quentin: Yes... I'll do it!
Woman: Go ahead, but I can guarantee you she'll either laugh in your face or slap it!
Quentin: No she won't. She cares about me; she'd do anything for me! Even... that.
Woman: (turning away) Go right ahead, Quentin.........(quieter) it'll never be the same as your mother, though.
(doorbell rings, they turn to each other, cold stares, long pause)
Woman: Heading out, Quentin? She might care about you, but she probably doesn't want to wait in the cold too long.
Quentin: I'm going.... (pause, he looks down, looks at his Mom with panic in his eyes) Uhh.. Mom.... it... um... it happened... again.... Can you please...
Woman: (overlapping) No!
Woman: No, no, no...
Quentin: One last time...
Woman: No, no...
Woman: No, Quentin!
Quentin: Do it! Or.. or... I'll tell Dad you've been doing it all these years!
Woman: (long pause, slowly walks over to Quentin, kneels in front of him, and begins to retie one of his shoelaces) Damn blackmailer.
Quentin: (dashing off stage toward the door) Thanks, Mom!
Woman: (gets up off her knees, big sigh) Never should have let him wear Velcro ones for so long...