Disrespectful.
Trying to sound cultured, but mocking.
“Tu n’es qu’un invité dans cette maison.”Remember whose house you are in, son in-law.”
Ares didn’t hesitate. “Your broken French sucks, old man.”
A couple of my uncles shifted awkwardly.
My father frowned.
Then his attention snapped back to me.
“Let’s talk business,” he said.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Let’s.”
We stepped closer.
The tension between us already boiling.
“You been moving money without clearance,” I said.
“I don’t need clearance in my own house.”
“This ain’t just yo’ house.”
“Oh yeah?” he challenged.
“Yeah,” I replied, not backing down.
“What’s up with you coming into my house and putting your hands on my wife?”
“So? That was last month and you just now saying something? Typical you.” I crossed my arms.
“So, don’t put your hands on my wife again. She raised you.”
“She runs you, not me. She sent a voodoo doll to my house.”
“He’s lying,” my stepmother finally said. But my father put his hand up. “I got this.”
“Nah, you ain't got shit. The only thing you should have is my money that you owe me.”
“This again? I told you that you would get your money. We’re merged with this nigga,” He pointed at Ares. “Money should start rolling in, so I can pay your crybaby ass. You always been sensitive.”
“My nigga, run my bread or shit won’t end right for you.”
“I’m tired of you disrespecting me,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
He swung at me next.
The old man still had some strength.
But I wasn’t a kid anymore.
I took the hit but gave it back.
Harder.
