"You say you love your children, but actions speak louder than words; stand up and be a father to your sons and daughters. Fathers of the fatherless children, open your eyes and know your presence is very critical. Be your son's hero and let him know he can conquer the world."

Chris Omar Vaughn

My mother was running all around the house trying to prepare for her husband's return. Her name's Mary. She's a saint. How — why— they stayed married after all this time? I had no idea.

"Help me set the table?" She asked, swatting my feet off the chair.

I rolled my eyes. "Can you relax, he's not that special."

She ignored my first comment.

"Okay. What else? Oh," she snapped her fingers. "napkins. We need napkins."

Her husband, Carter, was returning from rehab in wherever the fuck, I didn't care. He'd been in and out since I was a kid.
For a while, I was actually proud of Mary because she separated from him for some time. You can imagine my disappointment when she took the drunk back.

The first time I remember him leaving, I was around ten, maybe. Him and my mother got in a huge fight about his drinking and he stormed off. We didn't see him for a week.

He had never stopped drinking but would consume less right after they made up.
When I was twelve, he ruined my birthday party, pissed in the kiddy pool. All the kids went screaming and their parents said he should've been put on the sex offender list. Since my mother was so well-known, though, and basically the sweetest person ever, she convinced them all he just wasn't himself.

From fourteen to sixteen my parents legally separated as I mentioned. He went to another city to "get his mind right." I guess it worked, but not for long.

Seventeen, I graduated high school and he came to that but got drunk at my celebration. That time he wasn't falling over or embarrassing anyone but himself, though.

At eighteen I just stopped giving a fuck. Since I was technically an adult, my mother stopped forcing him on me. Although, she'd always nag me saying "he's still your father." Blah blah, Mary.

While Carter was away, his childhood best friend would come to check on my mother and I. Uncle MJ - Malcolm Jameson. He made a name for himself growing weed on a plant in Denver. Later, that one location expanded now he's some hot shot who does business across a couple states.
The crazy thing is, he didn't even smoke weed anymore. Yeah, I remember getting high one night with a bunch of kids my age and he caught me. He scared them all away and then drove me home in silence. Once at the house, he told me that if I was gonna be like him and take over the business, since he had no kids of his own, I had to not get high on my own supply. I thought that only went for coke and shit, but I listened anyway. Before he said that, I didn't even want to take over his business, but it clicked in that moment. He was like a father to me, so why not? I just wanted to make him proud because he cared so much about me and I wasn't used to that.
And anyway, I never smoked my own supply. I got weed from my Indigenous friend, Adriel. His parents owned the local pharmacy/gift shop and café. We went to high school together then I went away to college in Florida. The only reason I came back was for my mother and because Malcolm said I'd do a lot better at his company with a degree now.

I mean, before all the arguing and me having to drive my father home from bars, he wasn't all bad. We actually had a strong bond. That all changed when I saw what a mess he really was.

My mother would always cry, going on that addiction — alcoholism— is a mental issue but I didn't even want to cut Carter that much slack. Just stop fucking drinking.

Malcom showed me the ropes, nothing crazy. Just because he was in the weed business didn't mean he encouraged it. Actually, he said most pot smokers were dumb and he hated how they claimed to not have an addiction when clearly, they were addicted.
Waking up, smoking, smoking on their lunch breaks, not being able to eat without smoking, and having to smoke in order to go to sleep. Addiction.

I just don't fucking get it.

Me? I'm not addicted to anything, I've seen too much to end up like that.
I like to think I'm smarter than most, at least a little bit. And it's not that I'm better than anybody— well, maybe.

My mother clapped her hands in my face as I sat on her counter.

I snapped out of my head and pulled the green apple from between my teeth.

"Can you be a helpful son and, you know, help?" She snarked.

I jumped onto the heated floor and repositioned myself on a barstool.

"Uh, no?" I scoffed. "Why would I help you do anything for him, he left you?"

"Christopher, that's enough!" She tried raising her little voice and then got upset that she did.

Ding-dong!

I walked across the floor to answer the door.

Looking back at my mom I smiled big.

She rolled her hazel eyes.

"You're so adorable when you try and discipline me," I joked with her.

She laughed and threw a dish towel at my back.

It was only Sherry and Alvin Jones, Adriel's parents. They were always there for me, as well. My mom, somewhat of a hippie, liked to think she was pretty spiritual so she connected with them on that level.
Alvin always told corny dad jokes while Sherry was like Mother Theresa, just so wholesome.
Whenever I was sick growing up, they'd first offer natural healing remedies and surprisingly, they worked. I don't mean surprisingly as in they're full of shit, but you'd think everyone would just use natural remedies like that rather than paying the doctors an arm and a leg.

Sherry offered apple pie while her husband handed me freshly caught fish.

My mother walked up behind me at the door and asked "who's there" before she could see.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with these?" I asked, mugging the two Brown Trout.

Mom slapped me, not liking the disgusted look on my face.

"I mean... thank you, Mr.Jones," my voice trailed off as I led Adriel to the kitchen.

He watched me drop the naked fish in the sink and wash my hands.

"You nervous?" He asked me, taking up a barstool.

My face curled as I dried my hands. "Nervous for what?"

"To see Mr.V?"

"Don't give him that much credit," I snarled, checking the notifications on my phone.

A text from Malcolm said he was on his way. I just hoped he arrived before his best friend.

Just like that, there was a pound on the door. Judging by how heavy it is and the way the room went into an uproar, it knew it was my uncle (Godfather.)

I left Adriel in the middle of his sentence to go greet him.

He stepped out of my mother's embrace to dap me up.

"My boy," he growled in my ear.

I smirked, happy to see the man.

"You look good," he said. "Look at your quads, you been in the gym?"

He slapped my hand again and then gave me a noogie that I was far too old for.

"He's twenty-five, not twelve, Malcolm. Enough horseplay, humans, let's gather in the kitchen!" My mother bossed, corralling the crowd into her kitchen.

I sat next to Malcolm who Adriel didn't want to admit he was jealous of, but he sat on the other side of me.

Malcolm started telling me about his trip to Cuba which I was so envious of. He said I didn't deserve to go because he caught me with some girl and she stole some weed off me. Obviously I didn't fucking know, I didn't even know she smoked. Malcolm got it back though, some way. I didn't ask questions, I know he's serious about his shit.

The women had just brought out dessert when the door opened.

"Hello!" A voice boomed from the entry.

My chewing suddenly slowed.

Knowing it was Carter, I went stiff, sitting hard against the chair.

"Be cool," Malcolm warned me in my ear.

Adriel looked at me and then read the room.

This wasn't a Kodak moment or something I was proud of. I didn't even wanna be in the same room as my supposed father.

My mother was far too excited to reunite with this guy, it almost made me sick.

Everyone took turns giving him hugs and compliments but he wasn't getting that from me.

I stood and the whole room shot looks at me.

"Son," he said, dropping his bags to the floor in the shoes-off home.

I looked around to see who he was talking to 'cause it couldn't be me.

The fucked up part is I looked just like him, there was no denying it. If I turned out like him though I'd have to off myself.

My fist balled almost like an instinct. Like my brain told them to.

"What's up, Dad?" I emphasized, my jaw clenching.

I swallowed, looking anywhere but at his face.

He stepped closer with open arms. "Ya look good."

I shook my head. "That's bullshit."

"Chris," My mother sniped.

Malcolm put his hand up to her so she could let us have this moment, and she obeyed.

"I know I haven't been there for you but I-"

Red was all I saw. I punched him square in the face. When he stumbled back, landing on his ass, everyone gasped. The women screamed, wondering how could I.

Seeing the devastated look on my mother's face, I grabbed my shit and left the dinner.

"Wait up!" Adriel followed me out.

I was already in my blacked out Dodge Durango R/T when he came to my window.

"What?" I grumbled, ready to go.

"Can I get a ride into town, I rode here with my parents?"

He made me laugh. "Get in, jackass."

~~~

"—This some good shit," he gave his compliments to my uncle's weed.

He passed me back the joint.

Just as I put it to my lips, somebody had the nerve to tap on my freshly tinted window.

I rolled the window down, watching the smoke roll out, with my face curled.

It was just Malcolm.

He bobbed his head away, signaling me to get out.

Sighing, I passed Adriel the joint and got out.

"What, man?" I spoke dry.

Malcolm looked slightly up at me as he was a few inches shorter than my six-foot-two.

"Don't 'what, man' me. What was that?" He asked, lighting a cigarette.

My head just shook.

"I wasn't ready to see him, I told her that."

"Still, you didn't have to punch him."

For a guy who has roughed people up for way less, I surprised he didn't understand why I resorted to violence.

I held up the brick wall outside of the bar.

"Well I did," I mumbled, "can't take it back now."

"No you can't," he said, blowing smoke my direction. "But you can move on. Look, Chris, he did some dumb shit — we all do— but-"

"I really don't wanna hear that right now," I let out, pushing off the wall.

Malcolm's eyebrow popped. He put his fingers in my chest and stared me down.

"You're getting smart with me?"

I sucked my teeth, pushing his fingers from my body.

"No," I growled.

Seeing I wasn't in the mood for another fight, my uncle let up.

"Fine. You're grown, do what you want. But I talked to 'em and he misses you. I know it sounds like a crock of shit, but you need your father, man."

"I got you," I said, stroking Malcolm's ego. He always said I was the son he always wanted.

He cackled, giving me my lighter back.

"You just be up tomorrow to help me out, alright, pretty boy?" He talked, pushing my head in. I hated that.

"Love you," he said, slapping his palm against mine before walking around the corner to do business.

Adriel put the window down and I heard him choking.
"Dude, would you happen to have an inhaler?"

I smacked my lips at him. No I didn't have a fucking inhaler, I'm not asthmatic.

Before I walked back to the truck, two brunettes caught my eye.

The one with blonde streaks in the front looked back at me and smiled.

Since there was two of them, I waved for Adriel (AKA AJ) to get out of the car and he quickly obliged, grabbing my keys.

"Hey," she said softly once I caught up.

"What's your name?" I asked.

Adriel joined us, walking alongside the friend.

"I'm Whitney, this is my cousin, Sierra," said giggled.

"I'm John, this is Dave," I made up.

Throwing my arm over her, I said, "So where we going tonight?"