The Servant Son

Seconds after the text was sent, the group chat erupted into chaos.

My father quickly sent through a string of question marks.

Grandma Lily: ???

Grandpa Mark: Are you home, darling grandson? Do you have a new girlfriend?

Grandpa Stephen: What’s going on? You dare to cheat on my son?

Mom: I’m innocent! What a horrible accusation to make! Son, don’t talk nonsense. What boytoy are you talking about? I’m in a meeting at the university!

Me: You’ll know what’s going on once you get home!

Just as I was replying to the texts, a rough hand shot out and snatched my phone away.

“Hey, what gives!” I subconsciously moved to get it back.

The man clutched my phone and tried to loom over me, his face getting so close that it nearly touched my nose.

“Did you hear me? I was talking to you! You’re supposed to be working, not messing around on your phone! Young people are just so lazy these days! Can't do any work at all! Let me tell you something, bub. Since you’ve accepted this gig, you’re going to work hard on it. If you don’t, I’ll complain about it.”

The absurdity of it made me laugh.

Honestly, this was the first time, saving my father, that someone dared to snatch my phone from me.

“Give me my phone back.” I glared at the man coldly. My voice was no longer light and teasing. It was cold and threatening.

My paternal grandparents had always taught me to play it low-key and treat everyone fairly. They were the reason I did not think too highly of myself. But that did not mean I was going to let some male babysitter push me around!

“Give it back to you? And if I don’t?” Instead of returning my phone, the man lifted it higher, sneering disdainfully. “What? Would you like to call the police? Or would you like me to complain to your boss? Let me tell you something. I’m the favorite of the mistress of this family, Professor Corleone. All I have to do is say a word and you’ll be out of work!”

“You’re the mistress’ favorite, are you?” I folded my arms and smiled ingenuously at him. “Why would you be her favorite, old man? Is it because you’re old or because you don’t shower?”

The man went red. It seemed that I had found his sore spot. He roared, “What did you say, punk? I think you’re just jealous. You’re jealous about how lucky I am and how good my life is! You’re jealous that I’m the master of this family! You should really look at yourself in the mirror before coveting what others have. You’re too poor to even talk back to me!”

I looked down at myself.

For my comfort during the train ride, I had chosen a set of grey cotton sweats. My hair was a rat’s nest from sleeping on the train. Indeed, I did not look like much. Plus, I had gotten a tan during my vacation and had not shaved. I did look a little bit like a bum.

To this man, all of this had become proof that I came here as a janitor.

“I’m the son of the owners of this house.”

I could not be bothered to waste more time with this man, so I told him exactly who I was.

“You’re wearing my dad’s pajamas. You’d better take them off right now, this instant before getting out of here.”