reassured him.
“No, I want you to come in,” he stepped closer to me. “If we are going to be together, I want you to see the other side of me. The other side of my life, no secrets. You will know everything about me, then you can decide if I am someone you truly want in your life,”
“Vice,” I looked him in the eyes. “No matter what your mother has done, or will do with her life, she gave you to me and I respect her for that. You are a good person and I want you no matter what your past is, okay?” And I had officially died for the third time in one day. He kissed me softly, then pulled away with a smile.
“Okay,” he led the way. “Let’s go meet my mom,”
We walked up the creaky steps to the door. “This is my next project,” he joked.
“Hey, it gives the place character,” I added watching my step.
“My mom is plenty character for this place, trust me,” he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it slow.
When he opened the door, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke choked me. Not that I wasn’t used to the smell working in a casino, but in his mothers trailer with no ventilation system, it was overwhelming. I held back a cough as we walked inside. I could hear his mother crying.
“Who is that, Vice?” her raspy voice exhaled, releasing the drag of cigarette.
“This is Harlow, mom,” he stepped out from in front of me. Sitting at the kitchen table was a swollen eyed, petite woman with dyed black hair, and tan skin. A box of the cheapest wine sat upon the table that was connected to the trailer wall, her glass half full. She picked it up and placed it to her thin lips, drinking the entire contents.
“Mom, that’s enough, please,” he took the glass and the box from the table setting them on the counter away from her.
“Fancy meeting you,” she said politely with a little warning in her eyes. Vice had the same eyes as his mother. Besides the premature aging that alcohol, smoking, and God only knows what else caused, Vice looked just like her.
“Nice to meet you, Miss. Jackson,” I reached my hand out to shake hers, she just stared at me. I reluctantly pulled my hand back, confused at her rude nature. Vice was nothing like her.
“Don’t be rude,” he sat at the table and pulled a chair out for me to sit next to him. “She is a good person, mom,”
I took the seat next to him, his mom staring at me the entire time. She eyed me up and down closely.
“She’s pretty, Vice,” she looked over at her son, then actually smiled.
“She is beautiful,” he agreed. I grabbed Vice’s hand then squeezed it for reassurance that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“So what’s up?” he tried to grab her hand. She pulled her shaking hand away to grab her pack of cigarettes. She quickly held one to her lips and lit it.
“They want more money, Vice,” she blew her smoke into the air around us.
“Who?” he asked.
“Four Sons got bought out last week, the new bastards raised the lot space and rent,” she brought her shaky hand to her lips, then took another drag of her cigarette.
“Mom, I just paid over a thousand two weeks ago and that-”
“I know, son,” she exhaled. “They came to my door with a pay or quit notice this morning. They said pay another five hundred or I leave,” she shrugged, starting to cry.
“That is bullshit, mom. Fifteen hundred for this place!?” Vice pounded his fist on the table. “We are not paying fifteen hundred dollars a month. No way, I refuse to,” he shook his head vigorously. “I will move you to a nice apartment for that price mom,”
“This is my home, Vice,” she cried.
“I will find you a new home, one that doesn’t smell like mold, drugs, and cigarette smoke. One where those dirty bastard men you know can’t find you,” Vice was becoming angry.
“My home. This is my home,” she cried, placing her cigarette to her lips then pulling a drag.
“With all do respect Miss. Jackson, I understand what you are going
“No, I want you to come in,” he stepped closer to me. “If we are going to be together, I want you to see the other side of me. The other side of my life, no secrets. You will know everything about me, then you can decide if I am someone you truly want in your life,”
“Vice,” I looked him in the eyes. “No matter what your mother has done, or will do with her life, she gave you to me and I respect her for that. You are a good person and I want you no matter what your past is, okay?” And I had officially died for the third time in one day. He kissed me softly, then pulled away with a smile.
“Okay,” he led the way. “Let’s go meet my mom,”
We walked up the creaky steps to the door. “This is my next project,” he joked.
“Hey, it gives the place character,” I added watching my step.
“My mom is plenty character for this place, trust me,” he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it slow.
When he opened the door, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke choked me. Not that I wasn’t used to the smell working in a casino, but in his mothers trailer with no ventilation system, it was overwhelming. I held back a cough as we walked inside. I could hear his mother crying.
“Who is that, Vice?” her raspy voice exhaled, releasing the drag of cigarette.
“This is Harlow, mom,” he stepped out from in front of me. Sitting at the kitchen table was a swollen eyed, petite woman with dyed black hair, and tan skin. A box of the cheapest wine sat upon the table that was connected to the trailer wall, her glass half full. She picked it up and placed it to her thin lips, drinking the entire contents.
“Mom, that’s enough, please,” he took the glass and the box from the table setting them on the counter away from her.
“Fancy meeting you,” she said politely with a little warning in her eyes. Vice had the same eyes as his mother. Besides the premature aging that alcohol, smoking, and God only knows what else caused, Vice looked just like her.
“Nice to meet you, Miss. Jackson,” I reached my hand out to shake hers, she just stared at me. I reluctantly pulled my hand back, confused at her rude nature. Vice was nothing like her.
“Don’t be rude,” he sat at the table and pulled a chair out for me to sit next to him. “She is a good person, mom,”
I took the seat next to him, his mom staring at me the entire time. She eyed me up and down closely.
“She’s pretty, Vice,” she looked over at her son, then actually smiled.
“She is beautiful,” he agreed. I grabbed Vice’s hand then squeezed it for reassurance that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“So what’s up?” he tried to grab her hand. She pulled her shaking hand away to grab her pack of cigarettes. She quickly held one to her lips and lit it.
“They want more money, Vice,” she blew her smoke into the air around us.
“Who?” he asked.
“Four Sons got bought out last week, the new bastards raised the lot space and rent,” she brought her shaky hand to her lips, then took another drag of her cigarette.
“Mom, I just paid over a thousand two weeks ago and that-”
“I know, son,” she exhaled. “They came to my door with a pay or quit notice this morning. They said pay another five hundred or I leave,” she shrugged, starting to cry.
“That is bullshit, mom. Fifteen hundred for this place!?” Vice pounded his fist on the table. “We are not paying fifteen hundred dollars a month. No way, I refuse to,” he shook his head vigorously. “I will move you to a nice apartment for that price mom,”
“This is my home, Vice,” she cried.
“I will find you a new home, one that doesn’t smell like mold, drugs, and cigarette smoke. One where those dirty bastard men you know can’t find you,” Vice was becoming angry.
“My home. This is my home,” she cried, placing her cigarette to her lips then pulling a drag.
“With all do respect Miss. Jackson, I understand what you are going
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