Four hours later, I pull up to my mom’s house and see Zeek’s bike already parked in the drive. Zeek and I don’t get along. He’s was my father’s pride and joy, running the Sin City Outlaws in Vegas, carrying on the DeLuca title. I said ‘fuck you both’ and turned my back on them. My uncle is just like my father, and I want nothing to do with any of them. They shoot now and ask later; family is of no importance to them. They care about leverage, rank, and money—nothing else.
“Phillip!” my mother cheers, rushing out of the front door. Her brown hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she has on a Levi shirt with gray sweats chopped off mid-leg.
“Sup, Ma?” I climb off my bike and head toward her, enveloping her small bony frame into mine.
“My boy, it’s been too long,” she cries into the crook of my neck.
“Mom, it’s only been a few weeks,” I laugh.
“Yeah, well, I get lonely.” She pulls back and slaps at my shoulder. “Your brother is inside setting the table now.”
I look at the two-story house, the house that was my mother’s starting over chip. She moved here after my father was killed. I came with her and found Devil’s Dust shortly after. Ever since Zeek and I moved out, Ma has tried to get us to come over for dinner at least once a month. When I was in jail, she would visit at least once a month. Zeek never came, and I didn’t expect him to.
I step inside the house and see pictures of Zeek and me as kids. Mom has them hung all over the living room walls like a fucking shrine. It’s humiliating. I can see it now: if I brought Cherry here, my mother would whip out the pictures and laugh at my expense. My mother knows about her, but that’s about it. She’s asked to meet Cherry, but it’s just not the right time.
The smell of pot roast takes my eyes off the wall and toward the kitchen.
“Smells good, Ma.” I inhale deeply and walk toward the mouthwatering smell.
“Zeek,” I greet, my tone dry.
“Brother,” Zeek responds, sitting at the dining table. His dark brown hair is pulled into a small ponytail at the top, the rest of his head shaved. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt with rosary beads around his neck, and has his boots kicked up on one of Ma’s chairs.
“Sup?” I tug the chair that his feet rest in, making them drop to the floor with a ‘thud’.
Sitting in the chair, I feel him staring at me.
“What?” I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s rubbing his chin, a fucking smirk crossing his face.
“You ever talk to your president about letting us in on some business. I told you we got much better drugs than you’re getting, bet money on it,” he states, his tone holding a high volume of confidence.
“No, I didn’t. I think it’s best if you keep your fucking skunk weed in Vegas and out of my affairs, brother,” I retort.
Zeek’s face falls, the veins in his neck protruding suddenly. “My shit is the best in Vegas, I’ll have you know. You can pussy foot around the DeLuca family business all you want, but you will be involved one way or another. I can promise you that, brother,” he threatens. He swears on our father’s dead body that he’ll make me a Sin City Outlaw one day.
“Yeah, I’m sure your weed is that fucking fantastic that you can’t find a buyer, so you’re going to try and hustle me here at Ma’s dinner table.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. I shake my head and smirk at his flustered face.
“Boys, no business talk at the dinner table. I’ve told you that,” Mother scolds, striding into the dining room. She has blue mittens on each hand, carrying the crock-pot to the table.
“Hey, Ma, just trying to help Lip out.” Zeek leans back in his chair, his face back to its normal cocky appearance. He shrugs and smirks. “But Lip never was any good at knowing what was good for him.” I narrow my brows. I’m getting really tired of this back and forth bullshit.
“Zeek!” my mother hisses.
Zeek trails his eyes from me to her.
“Sorry, Ma,” he mutters. He’s not sorry, but he’s about to be. I grab the knife next to my plate; it’s intended for cutting meat, but I’m about to cut into my brother’s neck if he doesn’t shut the fuck up.
Ma sits down and stirs the pot roast.
“So, Lip, when are you going to bring this girl of yours over here for dinner?” My stomach falls. I knew she was going to ask—she does every time I fucking talk to her. I really just need to clear the way between Cherry and me but now I feel like it’s gone on too long. When it is revealed, when I reveal my omission to Cherry, it’ll go badly. I’m not sure Cherry will stick around, and I don’t want to go filling Ma’s head with fairytale shit of me running off into the sunset with some chick, so I keep Cherry away.
“Cherry? Not anytime soon, Ma,” I reply, dipping the ladle into the pot. Ma would love Cherry, and that doesn’t make things easier on me. It’s for the best. Things are already more blurred than I can comprehend as it is, so I don’t need to make it worse by mixing both families together.