Whiskey Sour (800 words)

    The moonlight burned holes through clouds that tried to hide its shine. The air was as crisp on my skin as a cold beer, a slight breeze blew through my curly hair.  The scent of weed floated on the wind, reminding me of my own to indulge. I didn’t care where it was coming from. I was merely sitting on my fire escape enjoying a cool night with a cigar. My own marijuana waited for me to finish with my addiction so it could amplify the nicotine buzz. Or was it the other way around?

    I heard my rice cooker’s button pop as I entered my apartment. My nostrils now enjoyed a smell from childhood, when my mom would make rice and eggs, or rice and ham, chicken, or steak. My mouth watered – cooking rice. 

    It was especially tasty with the pork short ribs I made. I coated it in too much sauce which was too spicy, both things my mother would say. I’d only impressed her with my cooking once. My girlfriend, kids, friends, ex-wife, and co-workers all seemed to like this recipe. 

    I wasn’t having any of them over that night. I was eating for one on a Tuesday night, in the dark, my face illuminated by my laptop screen as I furiously typed code. Pure logic poured out of my fingers, taking breaks to take bites and sip on my whiskey sour. It was my second one that night. My first was before the fire-escape, and I drank it like water. I planned on deliberately enjoying the new glass.

    Knock knock on the door. Who in the hell? I grabbed my gun. A woman peeked back at me through the cracked open entrance. 

    “It’s me, Silas,” she said.

    Gwen? how… “How the hell did you find me?”

    Boom! The door smacked me in the face hard and I stumbled back. She rushed in and kicked at me, but I dodged and backhanded her in the face. She spun and kicked me in the ribs with her shin and punched me in the jaw. I stumbled again. Gwen lunged at me, but I caught her with a perfectly placed cross to the chest, then swept her feet from under her. My fist hit the floor where her head had been and she was on my back in a flash, choking me. I jumped back and slammed through the glass coffee table. She let go.

    “Okay, Okay. Truce, Little Brother,” she said.

    I extended my hand to help her up. “How and why did you find me?”

    “It wasn’t easy,” she walked to my makeshift bar, “may I?”

    “Please.”

    She poured a whiskey neat, with a lime in it. Same old Gwen. “Dad died, Silas.”

    “I told you guys a long time ago. I want nothing to do with the family.”

    “You’ve been running for a long time, Silas. From us and our enemies now that you’re not under our protection,” She poured me a drink.

    I took a sip, “I do fine.”

    “Si, listen to me. You need to come back. I know you want to pay your respects. Even if you feel the way you do.”

    “How do I feel, Gwen? Abandoned? Rejected? Shit on all my fuckin’ life?”

    She shuffled, “Yes.”

    “He caused all that. Why should I give a shit?” I walked to the window and gulped the rest of my drink.

    “Mom needs you, Si. She’s sick. You’re now the oldest living male.”

    “I’m not going back.”

    “Si,” she grasped my hand, “it’s cancer.  She doesn’t have long to live. You know you never stopped loving mom. You’re her baby.”

    Mom…Memories of her rocking me, playing with me in the yard, teaching me to cook, teaching me to ballroom dance, and how to shoot a gun flooded my mind. “You can run the company, Gwennie.”

    “You know I can’t.”

    “Yes.  Bylaws.  Great grandfather wrote those. They can be undone.”

    “Only by the oldest living male.”

    I paced a moment.  Then, “you’re serious about mom’s cancer? It’s not a ploy?”

    “You know I wouldn’t do that, Si.”

    “I’ll come back. But I’m rewriting the laws. You’re in charge now. I want out.”

    She slapped me, hard. “No you don’t!”

    “Girl, I swear to hell, if you slap me again -”

    “We need you, Si. The whole family.” She grabbed my hand. “I need you, Little Brother.”

    More memories.  Gwen was running in front of me in a field. Then, chasing me through a house with tickles, then teaching me to throw a punch. 

    “You can’t keep running from everyone,” she said.

    I sighed deeply and cleared my throat. My hands shook. “What were his last words?”

    “Find my son,” Gwennie answered.

    A tear fell from my eye. “Okay,” I kissed her on the forehead, “Let’s go.”