As the night progressed, their positions switched. Charlie was now standing behind Jake, nursing a scotch, while Jake sat at the table, casually handling the cards.
"I raise you twenty," said a burly, bald man in a black leather jacket, pushing a stack of chips forward.
Charlie leaned down. "I think he's got you, kid. Fold."
"He pulls his right earlobe when he bluffs," Jake noted quietly, his eyes tracking the micro-expressions on the man's face.
Right on cue, the bald man nervously reached up and tugged his ear.
"Take him down," Charlie grinned.
"I call," Jake said smoothly, flipping over a full house.
"I hate this kid," the bald man grumbled, tossing his cards onto the table in disgust as Jake raked in the chips.
Seeing the time and calculating that his father's dinner should be concluding shortly, Jake decided to cash out. "Alright, it is my bedtime. I'm out," he announced, neatly stacking his winnings and leaving the table.
Just as Jake retreated to the guest room, the front door swung open as Alan came in.
A few minutes later, Alan busted into the guest bedroom. Jake was already lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
"We are going to move to Grandma's place tomorrow, okay, son?" Alan said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and suppressed tears.
"Okay," Jake answered neutrally. He could guess what had just happened, Judith told him she thought she was gay and he probably just fought with Charlie.
"Great. Good night, son."
"Good night, Dad," Jake said. As soon as the door closed, he initiated the [Sleep Module], sinking instantly into the familiar restorative, dreamless void.
Jake woke up early the next morning. The house was quiet, save for a soft, melancholic melody drifting from the living room. Walking out, he saw Charlie sitting at a Steinway grand piano, a half-empty glass next to him. It seemed he had stayed awake the entire night.
"So we're moving to Grandma's today," Jake said, standing near the bench.
"Yeah. That'll keep me up at night, too," Charlie muttered, not stopping his playing.
"She's alright," Jake offered, partially defending his grandmother, while not a good person nor a mother nor a grandmother, she was a good business partner. He pointed at the keys. "Can I play?"
Charlie stopped and looked at him. "Do you know how?"
"I've never played," Jake answered honestly. However, internally, he booted up a newly constructed [Piano Module], temporarily downloading sheet music and chord progressions directly into his central nervous system.
Charlie snorted. "Alright, Mozart. Have a seat. Let me add 'music tutor for a ten-year-old' to my resume." He shifted over, pointing to the keys. "This is Middle C. You put your thumb here, and—"
Jake placed his hands on the keys. Without a second of hesitation, his fingers flew across the ivory, flawlessly executing a complex, fast-paced jazz progression that Charlie himself had struggled months to master when he was a kid. The timing was impeccable, and the velocity of each keystroke was perfect.
Charlie just sat there, his mouth slightly open, staring at the kid's hands. He slowly pulled his own hands back and took a sip of his drink.
"Alright," Jake said, abruptly stopping and standing up. "I'd better get ready. Dad is about to wake up in half an hour. I had fun, Uncle Charlie."
Jake leaned in and gave Charlie a brief hug. Charlie, still in shock, awkwardly patted the kid's back before Jake walked back to his room.
As they started to live at Evelyn's house, it was a study in contradictions. For Jake, it was surprisingly good. Because he only stayed there on the weekends, Evelyn treated him like a prized show dog. She was extremely permissive, bending all the rules and showering him with expensive gifts but also treated him more like an equal than a child, exposing him to refined culture, high-end culinary arts, and Machiavellian-like social tactics. If she weren't a deeply narcissistic, manipulative person, she might have been a perfect grandmother.
For Alan, however, it was a waking nightmare. Evelyn's permissiveness with Jake seemed directly correlated to her harshness toward him. She micromanaged his existence, criticized his posture, and treated him with a level of disdain Jake had never seen before.
One Saturday morning, Charlie strolled through Evelyn's front door with Alan.
"Hey, look at you! All grown up and back at living with Mom," Charlie grinned, leaning against the archway. "How good do you feel about yourself right now, on a scale of one to two?"
"I am not 'back at living with Mom,'" Alan defended himself weakly. "I'm just staying here until Judith and I work things out."
"So... a one?" Charlie asked.
"What do you want, Charlie?" Alan sighed, exhausted.
"I figured you've been here a couple of weeks. You should have blood in your stool by now," Charlie quipped.
Alan just closed his eyes and raised a hand, too tired to even react to the crude remark. Charlie walked over and sat on the arm of the pristine, antique sofa. "Look, I thought if you wanted to stay with Jake back at my place for a while, it'd be okay."
Alan opened his eyes, surprised. "Wait a minute... are you saying you want me to come back and live with you?"
"Well, truthfully? No. I want Jake to come back and live with me. The kid is a literal goldmine. But I figured you're a package deal."
"Thanks, but we are doing just fine here with Mom," Alan said stubbornly.
"Come on, Alan. We can't let Jake be exposed to her on any kind of ongoing basis. It's toxic."
"He is only here on weekends! There is no ongoing basis."
"That's too much!" Charlie insisted. "Piranhas can strip an entire cow to the bone in an hour! Alan, we have got to get him away from her. I mean, look at what happened to us!"
"And what happened to you?" Evelyn's sharp voice cut through the room as she glided in, dressed flawlessly for a weekend brunch.
"Hi, Mom," Charlie said, freezing and awkwardly waving a hand.
"Charlie, you are a grown man. Perhaps it is time to stop blaming your mother for your own glaring shortcomings," Evelyn said smoothly. She turned her icy gaze to Alan. "Alan, the divan is for displaying, not for sitting." She snapped her fingers at her eldest. "Charlie, get off the couch."
As the man was moving, Jake walked into the living room wearing the new expensive suit Evelyn had bought for him.
"There's my good boy," Evelyn smiled, opening her arms.
Jake accepted the brief hug and then stepped back. He looked at Charlie, his eyes slowly dragging up and down his uncle's casual attire. "Uncle Charlie," Jake said, his voice dropping into that smooth cadence their mother used. "You really should try to dress better if you ever want to make a respectable impression."
All of that while locking his hands in front of him just like Evelyn did.
"Oh my god. He sounds exactly like her."
Alan stared at his son, his face pale as the realization hit him like a freight train. He looked at Charlie, then back at his Evelyn-cloned son.
"You're right," Alan whispered. "This madness must end."
Charlie reached into his pocket, pulled out the fake, hollow rock, and tossed it to his brother. "Here. I got you your own key."
Alan caught the rock, gripping it like a lifeline, and gave Charlie a solemn, desperate nod.
Seeing this, Jake's smile deepened.