"I don't hate you so much.”
"Get the hell out or shall I remove you personally? Dearest mother, you wouldn't prefer that..."
"All right,” she whispered, and, without further recourse, she relinquished leaving the living room for her bedroom down the hall behind the staircase. She entered quietly, locking the door, and falling against it, she sobbed uncontrollably into her hands.
"Wretched bitch!" Abel muttered through gritted teeth pulling his fingers through his hair that he tangled into a mess. As always, he was disgusted by his mother's appearance and any discussion of her favorite son, Ahab, pushed him over the edge. Never had they taken his side and was incessantly scheming means to his bank account through every Dick, Tom and Harry. He hated them both, wishing them straight to hell if the place would even have them. He took a deep breath and started to make another martini, to hell with sobriety, when he heard the front door bang open downstairs.
Footsteps pounded, rushing up.
"Darling, I’m home," came the boy's breathless voice from in the doorway.
His boy had come safely home. He would not complain or question him about his day away from him. Besides, he had argued long enough with Zelta, his scraggly mother, about Ahab and those god-damn cats. That had exhausted him. "Well, don't just stand there,” he said squirting club soda into a glass. "Come in my boy."