De Santa (A Grand Theft Auto V story)

Chapter Eight

     After a long argument, Michael had finally agreed to let me cook dinner; the winning argument was I could cook, but he was gonna help. It was his way of trying to spend all the time with me he could. I couldn't blame him for wanting to spend time with me, especially now that w're on the same page about everything. Besides, isn't that what dads do?

     Dad. I was still getting used to that title; I'm still calling him Michael, not because he hasn't earned the title, just because I never had anyone to call Dad before. He doesn't seem to mind it, especially since Jim calls him Michael all the time, but that's usually when he's mad at him. God, I hope he doesn't think I'm mad at him now.

     I had dinner cooked by the time Amanda returned from the gym. She looked at me with agitation, I guess Amanda took my gesture the wrong way. I didn't mean anything bad by it, I just wanted to show that me being here wasn't gonna be a problem, that I'd earn my keep, clean up after myself, and help out around the house.

     I had made spaghetti and garlic bread with salad on the side. My mom taught me how to make it from scratch, even the noodles. Everyone seemed to love it except for Amanda, she didn't eat it, just the salad. She acted as if I might've poisoned the spaghetti, which I obviously didn't do. Tracey finally decided to give up her vegetarian life and tried my spaghetti; she loved it and said that the meat in the sauce complimented it really well. Jim, however didn't have much to say that wasn't while he had a mouth full. He probably ate two plates full along with three slices of garlic bread.

     Michael tried to help me cook, but didn't know how to help, so he helped me clean afterwards, even though I told him to go and relax. It was nice spending this time with him, to my amazement, it made me wonder why Jim and Tracey hated it so much. They take having him as a dad for granted and they would regret it once he's gone.

     "Dinner was fantastic, by the way." Michael smiled as he put a stack of plates in the cabinet. "I wasn't sure if I said that or not yet."

     "Thanks." I smiled back. "You tried to tell me earlier, but I think your fork kept interrupting you."

     "I haven't had your mom's spaghetti in forever, I couldn't control myself." Michael chuckled.

     "She cooked for you?"

     "She always cooked, it was one of her favorite things to do. Hell, I'm still trying to lose the weight she put on me from her cooking." I couldn't help but to laugh, He wasn't fat, but he wasn't absolutely fit, either, but I knew what he meant.

     "Mom used to tell me that I needed to put some meat on my bones before the winds blew me away. I thought she was funny at first, but when Los Santos got hit by a Typhoon, the wind knocked me over when I was walking home from school. Let's just say I never skipped a meal ever again."

     "She used to say the same thing to me, too." Dad laughed. "Haven't blown away yet, so who's to say she was wrong?"

    "CHELSEA!" Jim exclaimed as he rushed into the kitchen. "I found you a job!"

     "You what?" I asked.

     "Yeah, I went for a drive—"

     "You mean you went to see your dope dealer?" Michael scoffed.

     "Whatever! Anyways, I was driving and saw a place that was hiring, they're doing open interviews right now!"

     "Holy shit!" I squealed. "Are you fucking serious?"

     "Good eye, Jim." Michael smiled.

     "You gotta get there now, though." Jim informed.