I resisted the urge to throw the plastic remote at the flat screen TV that dad got himself for Christmas. I had nothing against the TV. In fact, I loved the thing- it was us brothers' lifeline. The day Mac, Vince, and I found out we were getting a flat screen, we went ahead, raided our college savings and bought ourselves an XBOX 360.
Dad didn't give a crap as long as we didn't break anything. He understood us that way. Mom, well, she was definitely a mom. I blamed her for the irritating "please confirm password" notifications whenever I played Call of Duty. Her childhood precautionary measures for Lucy made it impossible for me to hack off human heads peacefully.
Apparently, seeing her older brother murder bad guys was something Lucinda May was not ready for. If only she could witness my skills, she'd praise me like a god.
Speaking of Lucy, she caused my bad mood in the first place. Specifically, her TV show selection made me want to barf. I laid back down on the couch, witnessing her enthusiasm for Dora. Her stubby little fingers clapped to the rhythm of the opening song. Giggling, she motioned for me to join her. Her smile widened as I stood up from the couch, expecting me to take a seat on the floor next to her.
Yeah, right, like I would risk ruining my pride.
I wanted to laugh. If she wasn't five, I would've but her little mind was too fragile for my kind of humor. Besides, if I made her cry again mom would have my head. Instead, I shook my head and patted her softly on the head as I walked over to the kitchen. She pouted, sticking her bottom lip out, but returned to the TV screen once I was no longer in her line of sight.
I smirked to myself.
"Hey mom," I said, sauntering through the hallway and to the kitchen. When her eyes met mine, she relaxed but the dark circles under her eyes were still pretty obvious.
"Good morning, sweetie."
I felt the need to point out that it was nearly two but I stopped myself before saying anything. The last thing mom needed was a reminder of how old she was. She did, however, need to take some sort of vacation. Ever since Lucy came around, she's been attending to the tiny goblin's every want and need.
More of wants than needs, in truth.
She'd even quit her job. Once, she told me that she felt guilty about never being there for the three of us, never watched us grow up. She said she didn't want to make the same mistake again by missing out on Lucy and the rest of us as we became men. I figured she'd add something like that at the end. Mom was a sentimental person.
Opening the fridge, I debated between cold pizza and a half-eaten donut. Cheesy goodness or glazed perfection? Tough one. Vince would probably want the donut later so I opted for the pizza. I took it out from its bag, placed it inside the toaster, and waited, drumming my fingers on the counter.
Mom was chopping some onions, tearing up a little. Suddenly, Lucy came running into the kitchen, a monkey stuffed toy in tow. She was angry with something, I could tell by the clenched fist at her side. After all, that was my habit way before it was hers.
"Mommy, Macky and Vince are home. They stole the TV," she whined. Mom sighed, placing down the knife she was using to chop with. She picked Lucy up, carrying her up the stairs.
Soon enough, I heard the familiar ting of the toaster. "And that's my cue," I say while hurriedly grabbing the pizza and placing it on a plate. I was about to leave when mom called after me.
"Not so fast, mister."
Damn. I swear that woman had some sort of psychic ability. She smiled at Lucy, kissing her on the cheek. "Why don't you take a nap for a little while. I'll see what Jared can do about the TV for you, okay?"
Lucy nodded in approval, convinced that I would side with her when it came to matters of television. She couldn't be anymore wrong. I wasn't saying that out loud, though. Together, they climbed up the stairs, mom still laboring for Lucy in spite of her complaints. I waited for her in the kitchen, snacking on the crust of my pizza.
"Aren't you going to ask me to convince Mac and Vince to leave the XBOX?"
She wiped her hands on her apron, packing away the utensils.
"Contrary to my motherly instincts, no. Your dad wants to give you guys a break. The Television and the XBOX are all yours for the summer." It took me a few seconds to realize what she was saying. When I finally came to my senses, I let out a whoop of joy, fist pumping into the air.
"Heck yeah!" I hugged her tightly, thanking her repeatedly. When I let go, she stared at me, confused at first then her lips soon formed an amused smirk.
"Go on. I already told Mac and Vince this morning before they left. Mind you, the millisecond school starts all you boys loose you rights."
"Yeah," I said, pecking her on the cheek, "I got it, mom."
She smiled, ruffling my hair as I turned to leave. Then, I remembered something she said. "Wait," I spun around, "You told Mac and Vince but not me?" I feigned a betrayed look.
"It was eight in the morning. You were still asleep," she explained.
"You could've woken me," I muttered.
She shook her head, mumbling under her breath. "I don't understand you boys. A week ago, you tell me never, under any circumstances, should I disturb you while you are sleeping. Now, you're complaining because I did exactly what you asked?"
"Mom, I didn't mean that." I shot her a pointed expression. "If the house caught fire, I'm pretty sure I'd want to be woken up." The sarcasm oozed out of my words. Mom hated sarcasm or any kind of irony for the matter. I don't blame her. Dad, well, he loved irony. He probably used it once every two seconds. Believe me, it wasn't an understatement. To this very day, I still have no clue as to how they ended up getting married.
They hated each other when they'd met in college from what I knew. Dad was the cocky ass that he was and mom was the uptight goody-goody. The ultimate cliche. Whatever. The point was that they did get married, had three sons and a goblin.
Oops. I meant, a daughter.
Mom's scolding interrupted my thoughts. "Don't you dare talk smart with me, James," she threatened with a hard stare. As much as she tried, mom would never look menacing like she wanted. She could hardly keep her face straight during Adam Sandler comedies, much less during acts of punishment.
"Ma, I told you. It's Jared not James." I said, recalling who started calling me Jared in the first place. My guess was Mac.
"Your birth certificate says otherwise. You were born James Redly."
I turned away and followed with a flat look. "My birth certificate has nothing to do with this. It's a damn nickname."
"Language control."
I was about to push another snarky remark when Mac burst in, shirtless, only in his boxers. Laughing to myself, I didn't know whether to thank him or to wish him luck. He was a dead man. His face twisted in horror when he saw mom. Her jaw dropped, fury evident on her face.
"Mackintosh Steele!" she yelled, "I will have no son of mine parading around this house half-naked!"
Mac rolled his eyes but mom was having none of it. She took him by his ear, and dragged him up the steps "Put on a shirt this instant!" I could hear more arguing from upstairs and some curses directed at Vince.
I darted my way out of the kitchen into the living room where Vince lie lazily on the couch in practically the same outfit as Mac.
"So, you guys have fun at the beach?"
Vince cocked his left brow, pausing Halo 4 on the XBOX. "Lauren was being a bitch."
Lauren was Mac's secondhand Honda. It was originally tomato red but Mac and I decided to give it a paint job a couple of years back. The color we picked wasn't much better, though. It was a dull green color, almost grey. I'd told Mac to sell her instead and buy himself a motorbike but he loved her too much. It looked like sentimental ran in the family.
"I told you guys she needed a trip the the mechanic."
"Nah," he swatted my comment away, "Mac and I handled it."
"Handled it how exactly?" I asked, stealing the controller away from him and picking up where he left off on the level.
"We pushed the damn thing," A grin found its way to his face, both maniacal and knowing, "Then some hot chicks saw us and asked for our numbers. Score."
I shook my head at his attempted display of sexy faces. Yeah, they weren't working for him. Vince was only fifteen, after all, two years younger than me. "You should've gone, man. There was this really cute blonde named Lyssa. I think you would've liked her."
"Blondes aren't my type, Vince."
"Bullshit," he fires, shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth.
"Your face is bullshit," I fired back.
All of a sudden, the TV screen turns pitch black and I throw the controller to the floor. I was about to destroy my old record, dammit. When I look back, Vince remains lazily draped on the couch.
"Wasn't my fault," he said.
"Nope," I looked up and saw dad. "It was mine."