The Pedro Pascal Files

Yeah, My Dad's A Vampire // Max Phillips

Set 16 years after "The Littlest Vampire".

"Come on! I'm not going to be late again because of you!" Max shouted from the kitchen. "Honey, please don't shout." You say, coming around the corner. Your fingers are pricking at the backs on the earrings as you adjusted them. You walked past him, heading for the coffee pot. Max turned, rushing against your backside. "You smell good this morning." He growled softly. His nose brushes against your hair as his hands wander to your hips. "Easy..." You say.

"Oh gross, get a room." A voice interrupts. You sigh. Max's hands leave your hips with suddenness. He turns around to address the third person in the room. "How do you think you got here? And what have you done with your hair?" He asked. You turn around to see that your son had styled his hair into a mohawk. You take a drink of the coffee which is quickly cooling in the mug. "Miles, we talked about this last night." You say, placing the coffee cup down. "Please mom? It's just one day." You sigh again, lifting your wrist to view the watch with the time. "Since we're already late, you might just keep it that way." While Max wasn't bubbling over with anger, he was agitated. "When you come home, we're going to talk about this." He warned.

While driving to school, Miles is unusually quiet. "Something on your mind?" You ask. Miles remains stone faced, sitting in the passenger seat. He's 16 and a half. He's a junior in high school with your smarts and his father's attitude. Miles doesn't possess the sensitivity to sunlight that Max does, nor does he have a craving for blood. He takes mostly after you; however, when he gets angry...you might wanna get out of the way. "Am I different?" Miles asks as you pull up to the stoplight. The turn signal is ticking away as you both sit there. "Honey, everyone is different from each other." You say, attempting to deflect the awful reality beneath the question. "You know what I mean." Miles says, his father's sternness breaching his cool attitude.

"Miles, what's this got to do with—" "Mom, am I a normal kid?" By this time, both of you are sitting in the school parking lot. A dreary fog is hanging in the air. "No, Miles...you're not a normal kid. At least not in the way that you are speaking." You finally say. Miles lets out a huff. "What's this about?" You ask. "Well, some of the kids at school were just asking why my dad is never at anything if I say I have one." You reach over and place your hand on his shoulder. "Your father works odd hours. He works very hard and you know that." "Yeah, but would it really kill him to come to one thing for me?" Miles asks. You sigh again. "How about I speak to your father and we see if he can make it to your performance on Friday? Would that make things better?" You ask. Miles just nods his head.

Later at work, you're sitting in your office. "Max, it's just for one night." You say, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Honey, you know how swamped I am at work. I just don't think I can make it." He says on the other end of the receiver. "Maxwell...it's Tuesday morning, you're literally planning three fucking days in advance to be busy. This is our son!" You hiss into the phone. "I'm not planning, I'm preparing. There's a big difference." "You know what's not different? The fact that you are still a cocky asshole." You sneer into the phone before slamming the handset back into the receiver.

"Trouble?" your boss says, coming up behind you. "Oh no. Nothing like that." You say, attempting to play it off. "You know...if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always available." "I'm sure you are, Roy. But as you can see...I'm married. So I don't think I'll be needing your assistance with personal issues." You say. Roy just shrugs his shoulders and walks away. You go back to your desk, typing frivolously on your keyboard.

Hours later, you're standing in the kitchen, not feeling a hundred percent anymore. You chalk it up to being angry with Max. How could he be such a dick? This was your child for God's sake! You roll your lips together as another wave of nausea swirls in your gut, threatening to tornado up your throat. You swallow it, taking another swig of water. You decide to call your sister. She could give some sound advice at least.