His eyes briefly darted to the half naked woman in the living room, not letting it slow him down from continuing his walk into the kitchen. He thought about how his mother got her amusement from comparing him to his father, digging an invisible knife into his chest whenever he screwed up. PJ didn’t dig much into the cause of their divorce, figuring that the absence of his sister was the downfall of it all, but maybe he was missing something bigger — the real reason why she’d make him sleep outside on the front porch when she sensed the glaze over his eyes. It sucked when his father left, nine months wasn’t long enough before tearing another page out of the book that made up their family and it left Percy there to pick up all of the pieces.
He went for the fridge, pulling out a beer and twisting off the cap before turning his attention to Dawson quickly walking after him. “Pop, Dad — Dawson…” He chimed in before bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long sip. “Didn’t you hear the harmonica? Who else do you know that still plays on of those?” He shrugged. “Of course she knows, but she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Percy scanned the room, his eyes falling back on the young woman that seemed to be watching their every move. “How long has the maid staff been hiring so young? Could I of skipped college altogether and just become a maid instead? Seems like it has some perks.”
The scene in front of her was complete chaos: Dawson yelling after the younger guy, PJ as he just paced around the entire living room, making himself at home. The moment that it clicked exactly who this guy was, she had a million different things going through her mind. Jesus Christ, it dawned on her that she was a stepmother, technically. Her face scrunched at the thought of it. She had completely pushed his kids out of her mind because he didn’t speak to his son and his daughter was, sadly, gone. She rubbed her temples as she let everything sink in, the sound of the harmonica was imprinted on her brain.
Yes, they were married, but it was a spur of the moment thing and that meant they didn’t know every little detail about each other and she was fine with it, until right now. The moment the word maid left his mouth, she saw red and grabbed the closest thing, which happened to be a vase in the shape of the bust of David, and hurled it across the room. It shattered in front of the little shit, “maid? I have a fucking master’s,” she glared at the two men. She didn’t even care that she was pantsless anymore, “but thanks for basically calling me a whore, really appreciate that.” Letting out a sigh, “are you going to tell him, Dawson? Or should I?”
His body seemed to move slower than he anticipated, a twist that made his chest ache and his stomach churn tugging at the center of it all. How many years had it been since he’d seen Percy, and how long had it been that he was keeping Alara a secret? Part of his motivation for their jump off the deep end had been how distant he had become with his family and aside from the need for a thrill, he had finally taken his own advice that he threw over and over again in NA meeting to take the leap and start a new. Standing still is just as bad as taking a step back. Dawson had forced himself to change the pattern by opening a new door all together, but he had yet to consider just how he was going to tell his son. His ex-wife had known first, some courtesy to all their time together, but he didn’t expect much with how old and departed from his affairs Percy had been to tell him much yet.
He watched him crack open the beer, the smoke that lifted from under its lid making him uneasy. He had never told Percy or Andy about his past or his struggle in fear they would only try and learn from it in all the wrong ways. The best way, he thought, had been to shield them from it all together. He had taught them to not drink, and when Dawson ever did, it was limited to a special occasion toast and only if his week has been blissful as to not chase the resolve a sip could be provide. He had never struggled with alcohol, but he knew how desperate an escape was. He had the marks on his arm to prove it.
At the crash of the ceramic, Dawson was reminded of a time where this flare for the dramatics was something he used to relish. It used to be a reaction, a jolt of life, that meant his mother was still vivid and kicking. It had taken him some time to move past that, to not seek out even the worst of acknowledgements just to know he was being seen after living so long as a speck in her euphoric haze. However, it seemed that it came from more than his circumstances as Percy’s arrival, down to the way he shifted on his feet, mimicked Dawson’s sway.
He moved between them, a small change in his body language that was reserved for certain matters. Percy would know it well. Dawson had never raised his voice at his children, and never to any of those he did his best to help in empty conference rooms with smell of stale coffee. He took them both by the wrist, though there was a motive behind standing between them in the case one wanted to retaliate once more. Two fingers wrapped around bangle and leather bracelet, any tug done gently but never letting go until they were seated in one of the chairs that faced the couch. He stood there, looking out to the room before settling on to the couch. The silence buzzed in his ears, and Dawson adjusted himself on the white canvas where his boots were on the seat cushions and his back against the wall. He accommodated his discomfort until he could feel himself settle back in his skin.
“For one, there’s no yelling in this house,” He started. “You know that, PJ, and Alara, you’ll catch up soon. I’ve never raised my voice once to either one of you and I expect the same between you to, especially since you’re my kid and this is my wife. I won’t act like it won’t be hard. You’re both glutton’s for getting what you want, whatever the means, and you may have met your match. I’m no fool, though. It’s a two way street to respect each other, but it’s one house.”
He paused. It wasn’t the introduction he anticipated, but it would have to do.
“PJ, this is Alara Osman… and we’re working on Dawson,” He said. “She’s not a maid. Far from it. She’s my wife. Alara, this is my son. Though, I’m not exactly sure where he’s been or what he’s been up to since we’ve been… distant to say the least. Shit happens when your kids leave the nest. PJ, what happened in Seattle?”
