A blinding brightness is the first thing that welcomes me back into consciousness. My curtains have been parted and sunlight streams directly onto my face, offering a kind of warm feeling that goes no deeper than the surface, not that I had expected it to. Beneath my skin my bones are frigid, the type of cold that can only be remedied with a scolding bath and dryer fresh clothes. I shudder slightly before burying myself deeper into my covers, maybe if I lull myself to sleep the cold won’t be as bothersome.

"This is quite a lot of covers for a person living in what has been described as the "devil's armpit," the voice is thick with boredom as heavy shoes drag against the floor.

When I look over the covers a hulking figure stands at my bookshelf, his fingers trailing the spines of the books. He's taller than I remember, though that could have something to do with me barley coming past his hip bone the last time I saw him. His hair also looks different, the quiff style looks oddly boyish on him and at the roots his strands hold a ginger tint, that would have been impossible to spot had it not been for the bright rays of light, before they fade to a dark brown. Crimson etchings of an ancient script peak out from beneath his collar, and as if he knew it captivated my attention he tugs at the cable knit sweater in an attempt to hide the markings.

Cable Knit? He’s one to talk about multiple layerings especially considering the little dot of perspiration running down his neck. At least for me I wasn’t feeling the affects of my layering, at least the way I wanted to.

"Starring is not polite, and I would hate to tell Abrial that we have failed at parenting you." He pulls a book out effortlessly and hums before turning around to face me with a smirk. "Do not make a liar out of your Pops."

A smile pulls at my lips as I gaze up at him in complete and utter glee. Five years, it was five years since I had talked with let alone seen Dallas Krovopuskov. There were no words to describe the excitement coursing through me.

Pops inhales deeply before standing at my window, his back to me as his hand spreads against the pane. "You have a lot of Greek readings in here. Is there a reason?"

My gaze drifts to the book at his side, Hesiod’s Work and Days. He hasn't put it down since he picked it up. It was like he was fascinated with it but when I'd watched him gaze upon it his face twisted into a snarl. Now I was unsure if he was amazed at my collection or horrified with what it consisted of.

"I- you're part Greek are you not?" My stutter catches his attention, and he looks at me over his shoulder with furrowed brows. "I mean, I wanted to learn a bit of my family history and you weren't here to learn from," I trail off when I realize what I said and how his jaw locks. "Pops, I didn't-."

"There are no books of Africa-American culture here," he hesitantly drops the book onto my nightstand and goes back to the bookshelf. "In fact, there is not even one that is written by a black author. Did you not want to learn about that part of your family history?" His tone is heavy with accusations and something in me constricts.

"Mom is here," I state clearly before climbing out of bed and grabbing the book he discarded. "Mom was here for five years, I didn't need to search for a history no one could tell me about."

There's silence before quiet chuckling sounds throughout the room. It isn't pleasant like one pronounced in humor or joy, but almost the exact opposite. It’s more like nails scraping against the chalkboard, antagonizing and vindictive. The sound sends a shooting pain through my head, and I wince before falling to take a seat on the bed and clutching my head.

It doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday in class, but the pain can not be mistaken as mere headache. My brain feels as if someone was taking a blunt instrument and jamming it up my nose canal until it barley hits brain matter and retracting it just as quick just to do it once again. The pain only lasts a moment before it vanishes into thin air and leaves me starring at my sock clad feet.

"Your mother self-identifies as an orphan, according to her records she was raised in an orphanage by an Indian woman." Pops scoffs and pulls another book from my shelf. "She knows nothing of her familia history, that is what you should be learning." He pauses and clicks his tongue, “what is that saying, the sins of the mother will be my own?”

When he looks down at me there's this gleam in his eyes, like he knows something I don’t, and he finds amusement in it. The looks is one I know all too well and yet I find it almost foreign on my own father’s face.

The amusement on Pop’s face is wiped away almost instantly and replaced with a much more reserved one. "Where is your brother,” instead of directing the question to me he backtracks until his heels hit the wall beside the door and places his hand on the doorknob. But he’s gazing at the picture frame propped up on my desk.

It’s a loaded question, one that I assume he thought was going to be no trouble with me, he was wrong. "He is downstairs from the sound of Reading Rainbow." I stand and move past him to look at which picture he's exactly looking at.

It's Laki's fifth birthday party. The Indiana Jones theme is heavy in the costumes as coating the birthday boy, Pop Pop, Adam, and Dj. They're all smiling at the camera that I think Mom is holding. Cake is smeared on Laki's nose and he's holding onto Adam's neck for dear life in response to be lifted so high. Dj's arm is over Adam's shoulder and Pop Pop stands behind all of them with the biggest smile and a western hat tilting to the side.

"Your sarcasm is not as cute as it was when you were younger," his gaze moves to mine and it hardens as he flicks the frame to face downwards. "Dj, where is he currently residing-."

"Dallas, breakfast is ready and I do like being on schedule contrary to your own privileged tendencies.”

The man who appears in the doorway is lanky, not as lanky as me but there is not any type of bulkiness displayed underneath the slim fitting button down. Wings are inked across his neck in charcoal ink, which contrast nicely against his tanned skin. Salt and peppered hair is shaved down and for a moment I'm tempted to stand on my toes to look at the top of his head for waves.

He flashes a straight white smile at me and lowers his head in a slight bow. "Dreya, it is good to see you again. It has been quite a while and you have certainly blossomed, your mother’s influence no doubt.”

I nod with tightened lips; I have no idea who this is. "Thank you." I give one last look to My Pops whose gaze is still locked on me. I swallow and leave the two of them in my room, only hesitating when I hear the man make a comment on my books.

"Interesting."

When I get downstairs Laki has his hand fisted around the fabric of Mom's sweatshirt. I'm surprised not to find the switch settled into his free hand but when I spot the tears of frustration escaping the corner of his eyes I realize it wasn't by choice. Mom is whispering something to him as she moves around the kitchen with two plates, one loaded with bacon and the other with French toast. The table is set for five and all the other breakfast food is already in the center of the table.

"But, he hasn't been here," Laki expresses through a whine as Mom leads him to his seat, to the left of the head.

"I know that, but it wasn't his fault for that," her voice gets slight choked, but she clears it with pressing a kiss to Laki's cheek. "Your Pops is a little bit more traditional, and he likes a firm foundation when raising kids. He doesn't understand that you learn a little differently but give him time and he can learn all about you."

I scoff and sink down in the seat next to him. "Yes, because Dallas Krovopuskov sounds very much adaptive."

Mom arches a single eyebrow after kissing the top of my head. "What do you mean? I felt as though you two were connecting up there, though I suppose I may have misinterpreted it and got distracted," her eyes roam to the newspaper laying on the counter.

Mom does not read the newspaper. In fact she hardly even knows what's going on in the world outside of our household. It was me who had to convince her to get out and vote for the last election because contrary to her nonchalant I cared what society I was going to inherit. So the newspaper laying open to current events makes me assume that one of the two house guest upstairs had been previously occupied by it.

"He was acting too entitled for it to be only eight in the morning."

"Huh, are you sure this is your child Nia? I find she has too much of a bite to be the spawn from a line of pacifist," the man from earlier comes into the kitchen with Pops behind him and a soft smile on his face as he looks down at me.

"Maliki, no politics at the table." She pats his shoulder with a brief flash of teeth that he returns. "That's law number one here, and I do remember having such a fixation for laws."

He sucks his teeth repeatedly before sitting at the head of the table. "Regulations, I have a fixation for regulations." He must catch Mom's eye roll because he turns to Pop with a flicker of annoyance on his face. "Please tell your wife that laws and regulations are two very different things."

Pops is still standing behind Maliki when the request is made of him. His gaze is focused on where Mom is grabbing the syrup and canister of powder sugar. He chuckles quietly when she turns around and gives him the stink eye.

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"My wife says-."

"Dallas," she interrupts before placing the syrup and sugar in the middle of the table.

A smile breaks out on Pop's face and for the first time this morning there's a genuine look on his face. His eyes close momentarily before he reopens them and sits into the seat across from Laki. "I assume my wife understands the difference between law and regulations and that right now you are in her domain." His eyes twinkle and he turns to Maliki with a wink. "Respectfully of course."

Maliki hums at Mom when she sits across from him at the opposite head. "That sounds like the Nia I knew."

I can't help but send a look to Laki who's already looking at me with a twisted expression. We were thinking the same thing. Mom has at most three real friends, and only one of them she talks to on a regular basis. The other two she misses greatly and she says it all the time, mentions them every chance she gets and yet neither of them are Maliki. Maliki was a stranger, someone whose name has never once been mentioned.

"I haven't exactly changed, elbows Laki."

Laki quickly retracts his elbows and furrows his brows together as he looks between Maliki and Mom.

"If I were to inquire Liam on this I doubt he would agree with you." Maliki turns to Pops and gestures to the plate of French toast he holds. "Do you think so?"

Pops glances at Mom while simultaneously handing the plate to Maliki. "Without a doubt, in fact you might just be unrecognizable let Skorpa tell it."

Mom tenses at that and she clutches her fork tightly as she stares at her plate. "Skorpa's been talking about me to Liam," her voice is small and when she looks up her eyes are wide. "Why isn't he here?"

There's this bond between Mom and Uncle Liam, something I haven't seen anything else like it. They were so close that when I was younger they'd continuously mistaken him for my pops at the school activities.

Maliki looks hesitantly to Pops before lowering his silverware and folding his fingers together to rest underneath his chin. "Liam McKnight is, currently at the moment indisposed." He says it slowly like he's unsure of his choice of words until they're already rolling off his tongue.

"Indisposed," Mom repeats slowly. "Is he okay?"

"Well, you went missing for five years without a word of notice to him," Pops scoffs. "What do you think?"

The silence following his words hits hard and Mom's gaze drifts to the centerpiece. A clear champagne bottle filled with a rolled-up parchment. She drops her fork and reaches for the necklace dangling around her neck. It’s a copper medallion, too small and simple to be worth anything but I’ve never seen here without it.

"I- he would understand," she fumbles over her words and when she finally looks up her eyes are wet. "Him of all people would understand."

Pop's expression sours and he turns to fully face Mom with his arm across the back of the chair next to him. "Yes, maybe if you had actually held a conversation before uprooting yourself." A smile erupts on his face but it doesn't match his eyes and when he sets his eyes on me I go cold. "That, the talking would have prevented much of this mess, yes?"

There's a fire in Mom's eyes and they are now no longer wet but in slits as she focuses all her attention on Pops. "Do not, turn this on me. I know you were raised with a thick head but let me elaborate. Your actions have reactions, yours particular invoke quite a substantial reaction." Her hand reaches out towards where his rest against the chair's back but he intercepts it pinching her wrist with a frown.

"Wife, please."

Mom grunts but does pull her hand away to stare out the window. "Skorpa said he'd understand that many would understand." Her nails tap against the wood, attracting Pop's gaze. "He also said that if it had been him, Abrial would not have hesitated to do the same." Her head turns slowly to face Pops and she leans forward. "And that is all the approval myself and you need."

The air thickens with the tension between my parents, silent and teetering the edge of chocking. Well, there goes the warming reunion I had anticipated all these years.

Maliki clears his throat loudly, attracting the focus of everyone at the table and smiles softly before placing his napkin on top of his finished plate. “My dear Nia, I believe it is crucial that you and I have a conversation,” he surveys the table before his eyes narrow on Laki. “One that is best suited for our ears only.”

Mom nods and slowly stands from her seat but not without side eying Pops. “Kids, clear the table please.”

It doesn’t take much to clear the tables, just transferring the food from their plates to Tupperware and then storing them in the refrigerator. Laki does a pretty good job at that, making sure everything is in the adequate container to take up the minimal space in the fridge.

I on the other hand tend to focus more on the dishes. It was something about standing at a sink filled to the brim with hot soapy water that was just soothing. I could stay there for hours just washing dishes by myself and starring out the window. In fact, I preferred it.

I’m elbow deep in the scalding water when a familiar presence looms at my side. From the corner of my eyes I can see the hesitance in his expression before he exhales loudly and rolls up his sleeves. He reaches for the wet dishes in the empty compartment of the sink.

“Can you not,” I interrupt his movement with a timid voice. His hand retracts and he cast me a sideways glance just like Mom had previously given him. “It’s just I like doing the dishes by myself. You can stand there if you’d like but I’d rather do them myself. Chores,” I shrug.

Pops hums and turns so that his back rest against the counter, but his eyes remain glued to my side profile. “Your mother has advised me to apologize for my behavior earlier. I will admit that was not at all how I imagined our reunification to take place.” He blows through his teeth and shifts before walking around me to the fridge. “I have never been too good at showing my emotions in a positive mannerism and I due hope that is not a fault I have past down to you children.”

I turn my head slightly so I can watch Pops, he’s completely mesmerized by the memorabilia covering the stainless-steel surface. Pictures of school portraits, the proofs because Mom always forgot to send in the money before it was due. Adam’s recent report card is posted up there, even though he has less than stellar grades with only an A in mathematics. An older paper I wrote is up there, carefully preserved in a plastic cover with a red ‘excellent’ sprawled on the top left-hand corner. There’s also a picture of Pop Pop and Mom on there, he’s reading a book and she’s dozing on the couch.

It’s the moments he missed.

“I used to envy your mother you know.” Pops voice is monotonous as he plucks the picture of Mom and Pop Pop down for a closer inspection. “She had so much love in her life, it was something that was foreign to me. I envied you as well.”

“Me, why?”

“Not just you, but your brothers as well.” He looks up and his eyes hold a lighter hue, almost shamrock. “You four evidently had something I did not possess in my many years, the admiration of Skorpa.”

The irritation I had felt earlier towards my father trickles away and I am overwhelmed with empathy.

I remember when I was younger, maybe four that Ama had told me that things were not as good as they were in our own lives. I think it was Father’s Day and if I remember correctly, I was pushing for us to include Pop Pop in our festivities rather than exclude him like we previously did. Pops was not in any type of way welcoming towards it and back then his and my desires always mimicked each other, and it made me upset that we were on opposite ends. I argued for Pop Pop, so adamantly you wouldn’t think I was barley four but that I was a lawyer who’s career was hanging on by a thread.

Ama said that while Pop Pop was a great grandfather, arguably one of the best, he was not an equal father. Pop Pop was not there at all for Pops and I suppose that’s shown with how Pops refers to his as his government name whenever he’s brought up.

Dallas Krovopuskov has dedicated his entire life of fatherhood to be the Father he didn’t have growing up. The father he wished he had. Before we left he was at every event, no matter how small. He even came to the book fair because he heard Dj saying how it would be easier to pick things out if he had a second opinion. But he’d missed a lot, five years worth of events and I had thrown it in his face not two hours ago.

My lips part to apologize but his words come fast than mine.

“You have moved all the dishes from this morning from the suds to the empty side already. Why are your hands still in the hot water?”

When I look down he’s right, all the dishes are cleaned now and are just waiting for a rinse. Yet my hands are still in the water, though I couldn’t exactly call it hot anymore. It’s at a lukewarm temp and now that my attention has been called to it my own temp shoots back down for the chill from earlier to return to my bones.

“Oh,” I shake my hands free of the suds after pulling the stopper out and grab the towel next to me. “I hadn’t noticed.”

His eyebrows knit together and he nods slowly. “Yes, I noticed.”

The door to the house opens and we both turn to look as Mom and Maliki walk through with their gaze focused and a parchment between them.

“Ah, Maliki have you informed my wife of the circumstances?” The faux enthusiasm makes Mom lift her head with an eye roll before she looks at me.

“I can hear you Dallas, as can everyone else there is no need to speak through a screen.”

Maliki’s eyes widen and his hand flies to his chest. “Nia, I am offended you think so lowly of me. I am no mere-.”

“We’re going to Adam?” Laki’s voice quiets everything as he appears in the doorway. There’s a hopeful expression in his eyes as he looks from Mom until his gaze rest on the Alderman. “Right?”

Maliki’s hand drops and a stoic expression covers his face as he looks down at Laki. “That would be correct. Though I must admit I have to return to my work while the four of you travel to your brother.” He slowly makes his way across the room to Laki and kneels on one knee so that he can be on eye level with him. “I do assume that it will be you who keeps this Dynasty in line, am I correct?”

Laki’s fingers immediately go to twiddling each other but it’s harshly intercepted by Maliki who takes his hand to sandwich in between his own.

“You do not have a choice, you understand that, yes?” Maliki’s voice is hard and his expression is harder.

I almost move to pull my brother away from him but Mom steps beside me and places her own hand in mine.

“I understand, yes,” Laki answers hesitantly while lifting his eyes to stare at Pops. “Will it work, coming from me?”

Pop’s lips pull into a smirk and he huffs. “If you mean it, then of course.”

This entire dialogue baffles me and I try to pull out Mom’s hold, but she laces her fingers with mine and brings them up to her mouth. Her breath is warm over them as she blows over them, once, then twice before kissing them. She holds them there for what feels like minutes before she lets my hand drop to my side and pats my shoulder.

When I look back to where Laki and Maliki were they are now both standing with a scroll extended between them. Laki is looking at it like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world and Maliki is starring down at him with glee radiating off his face.

“I assumed you might like this, after all you are Nia’s son and you must believe I am not the last person to say this.”

“I believe you.” Laki takes the scroll from him and replaces it with his hand in a firm shake. “Thank you.”

Maliki nods and turns to face my parents. “I will see the two of you back in Montana.”