“You’re staying ‘til the end, asshole,” he catches up and warns close to my ear. I don’t correct him. He’s my big brother and thinks he has some control over me, but he’s wrong. I’ll leave if and when my dad turns into an asshole.
“Hello?” I call out as I enter my family home.
“Jesse,” my mom’s excited voice calls me to the kitchen. I kick my boots off, remembering my mother’s rules and walk through my family home. I fucking hate coming back here. Hate being in the same room as my father, but my mother, I can never say no to my mom.
“Hey, Mom.” I lean down and give her a tight hug. She brings her arms around me as I lift her off her feet. She’s short, five foot one, and ever since my brothers and I hit puberty, tall men have surrounded her.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers in my ear before I place her back on her feet.
“It’s only been three weeks, plus I’ve been busy. The club has been crazy.” I take a seat on the stool across from her. She smiles her warm ‘mom’ smile. She looks different today. The soft lines that I’m used to seeing around her eyes seem deeper and her short blonde hair is pushed back like she ran out of time. Or she couldn’t be bothered.
“Too busy to see your mom? I thought I taught you better, son.” My father’s voice comes from behind me, stopping me from asking if everything is okay. I keep my expression blank, trying not to let him rile me.
“You taught me a lot of lessons, Sir.” I stand, turn and address him. For a second, I see an old man, a sad old man. His graying short-buzz cut is kept tidy, not a hair out of place. His dress shirt and pants pressed nicely, the picture-perfect husband. If only it were true. He holds my stare for a moment, both of us eyeing each other. It’s like this every time I come here. I don’t know what it is about me that rubs him wrong, but it’s been like this since I can remember.
“You’re still running around with your gang, so looks like you need some reminding of some of those lessons.” He motions to my cut. My fist clenches by my side. His dig at my club is the usual blow he delivers, so I block it out. I didn’t come to fight tonight. I came here to help Bell.
“Dad.” Jackson moves into my view. “We should check the grill. Meet me out there.” He nods to the back deck, trying to defuse the situation before it blows. Colonel Carter nods at me, his eyes telling me this isn’t over before turning to follow Jackson outside to the grill.
“Well, looks like things haven’t changed.” I turn back to my mother and catch a flicker of sadness in her eyes.
“He’s trying, Jesse.” Her voice is soft, but holds a bite to it. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d try and shake some sense into her.
“Yeah, I can tell.” My sarcasm is evident but she doesn’t comment.
“He stopped drinking last month.” She goes back to making the salad. I try not to let the news of my father being sober affect me. I always thought the alcohol was to blame for the intense hate he has always shown me and my brothers, but hearing the news that he’s been sober for over a month, sober today, rules out that assumption.
“Wow, is that the longest he’s been?” I finally acknowledge the news of my father’s sobriety.
“He’s really trying, Jesse.” She looks up and I can see the trust she has for him in her eyes. She honestly believes he has changed, and I’m happy for her, but for me, a month of sobriety does nothing to squash the deep hatred I’ve had growing for my father over the last thirty-four years.
“So, where’s Jay?” I change the subject and ask about my younger brother. The last thing I need is to get into it with my mother.
“He’s away, some police conference in the city.” She fluffs her hand about, not really understanding my brother’s job. Jay works undercover, only a select few know his real job; my mother is not one of them. I’m not close with Jay. Being seven years older than him, there was never really a time when we clicked. By the time he was old enough to be even remotely able to hang out, I was long gone. I couldn’t wait to get out of this place. Out of my father’s control.
I look around at my old kitchen. Memories are etched into the walls, reminding me of the shit I used to get up to. I fucking hated it. Always have. I don’t even know how Jackson comes here every week. I’ve never been like him. Maybe that’s my problem. Some call it middle-child syndrome, and maybe a deep-seated part of me agrees. I’ve always lived in the shadow of Jackson my whole life. Perhaps it’s what my issue is.
“So it’s just Jackson and me?” I ask, leaving the past behind. There’s no point asking questions when no one wants to answer.
“Just us.” She looks up from her carrots.
“This is going to be fun.” I remark knowing without Jay here, the Colonel will lay it on thicker with me.
“It’s going to be fine, Jesse. Just don’t push him.” She continues cutting up the carrots. I try not to let her comment piss me off, but it does. Everyone knows he’s the issue. Yet the more everyone steps around it, the more he continues to be an asshole.
“Steaks up,” Jackson calls from the deck.
“Can you help me with the plates?” Mom asks, rushing around the kitchen.
“Yep.” I move to grab them, but before I do she reaches for my forearm and looks up at me.
“Promise me, Jesse, don’t push him.” I could give it to her straight. Tell her it wouldn’t mater if I pushed him or not. The man is an asshole. But I know it wouldn’t matter what I say. She wants me to be the bigger person. Whatever.
“Fine,” I agree, hating myself for it. I’d do anything for my mom, even deal with my asshole father for her.
“You just gonna stand there boy, or you gonna help around here?” My father breaks the moment throwing me straight back to hating the asshole.
“That’s why I come here, isn’t it? A nice cooked meal from Mom?” I wink at my mother and brush past my father. He mumbles under his breath, ‘Good for nothing,’ but I don’t bite back. The night has only just started.
And going by the first five minutes, it’s going to be a long one.
“I call bullshit,” my father shouts, breaking his record for the longest time he doesn’t lose his shit.
“John dear, maybe we could play another game.” Mom tries to calm the situation between my attitude and my father’s temper, but I don’t think there’s any going back. Once again, I have managed to piss him off.
“No, Catherine, I’m not playing another round until Jesse admits he’s wrong,” he huffs. It’s almost laughable that a sixty-year-old former Marine is sulking like a three-year-old, but we are talking about John Carter, the man who doesn’t like to lose.
“I’m not wrong.” I laugh, not giving in. I want to point out the rules are clearly written in the instructions, if the asshole just read them, but that would only push him deeper into anger. This right here is where I differ from my brothers. Where they will concede to keep the peace, I don’t give a fuck. The man dictated our whole lives. I refuse to allow him to have any control over me as an adult.
“I think we should play a round of Pictionary,” my mother tries again, but like always, it just pushes my father more.
“I’m not playing no damn Pictionary.” He sweeps his hand across the table, knocking off all the pieces of the board game.
“And that’s my cue,” I say, knowing when it’s time to leave. A few years ago, I would’ve stayed, engaged in this drawn-out argument, but it wouldn’t matter; my father is a stubborn man. There’s no telling him.
“Jesse, please.” Mom stands, frustrated at the outcome. I don’t know why she’s so shocked. It’s how we always end one of these nights.
My father blowing up, then me leaving.
“I really do need to go, Mom. Got shit I need to tend to.”
“Watch your language, son.” My father stands, pushing his chair back in anger.
“Goddamn it, Dad.” I turn to him. My patience is wearing thin. The old man cusses all the time, but because I do it, it’s wrong. Fuck me. I never win.