When Maven told his dad about Uncle Mark teaching him masonry as a skill, Mr. Roland leaned back with a heavy sigh. His voice trembled.
"I'm really sorry, son. I feel like I failed as a father. I couldn't make your education possible. You were brilliant in school, and my illness shattered your dreams."
Maven looked straight at him, shaking his head gently.
"Stop blaming yourself, Old Man. This is my destiny."
To lighten the mood, Maven picked up a pillow and playfully smacked his dad.
"By the way, let me know when you need a refill on your wine!"
He dashed into the kitchen, leaving Mr. Roland smiling.
"Payback is loading!" his father called after him with a grin.
Their bond was more like best friends than father and son—full of mischief, laughter, and unspoken love.
A few months later, Uncle Mark noticed how much Maven had improved on-site. He pulled him aside one afternoon and said,
"Kiddo, from today, you'll head the site. You've earned it."
Along with the promotion came a pay raise. Maven worked harder than ever, saving up until one day he surprised everyone by buying what he proudly called his "new car."
When his coworkers arrived for the unveiling, they froze at the sight of a second-hand motorbike. Then they burst into laughter.
"You deserve an award for this!" one shouted, clutching his belly.
Instead of being embarrassed, Maven leaned into the moment. He brought out disposable cups with straws, announcing:
"Gentlemen, here's a special drink to celebrate!"
But when they lifted the cups, they found plain water. Some roared with laughter, others groaned.
"Mad Maven!" they teased, while others actually sipped the water just for the fun of it.
In the end, Maven treated them to a real meal and drinks, and the laughter carried late into the night.
With his bike, Maven began a small hustle. After his day job, from six to eight in the evening, he ferried passengers between his town and nearby villages. On Saturdays, since Uncle Mark—being a Sabbath keeper and never worked, Maven dedicated the whole day to bike business.
He also opened a savings account, depositing little by little. He'd update his dad about his progress in hilarious ways, always setting alarms on his phone so he never forgot anything.
One Saturday, Maven bent the rules by picking up two passengers at once. On their way, one pointed toward a vast stretch of land.
"You see those fields? They belong to an old man named Shem. It's a million-acre land."
Maven nearly lost control of the bike.
"Wait—Shem? Could it be the same old man I sometimes see, barefoot, carrying groceries?"
After dropping the passengers off, he parked for a moment, staring at the endless land.
"No… no, it can't be. That old man can't possibly own this trillion-dollar land," he muttered, still in disbelief.
Shaking his head, he rode home.
When he arrived, he saw his father handling the groceries he'd brought. Maven cracked one eye open.
"Mmm… my Old Man is stealing my veggies!"
They both laughed as Maven grabbed the food and carried it into their little store.
"Old man," Maven called "we're going out for dinner. Get dressed."
At the restaurant, Maven asked cheekily,
"Would you like to try python meat tonight?"
Mr. Roland frowned instantly.
"I hate even seeing that. Take me out of here!"
The waiter froze in confusion, but Maven chuckled and said,
"Relax, waiter. Just bring us caffeine-free drinks!"
His dad shook his head, chuckling, and counted under his breath,
"Five against three."
Before Maven could ask what that meant, Mr. Roland signaled him to look behind. Uncle Mark was walking toward their table.
"Mr. Mark! Please, join us," Maven said.
But Uncle Mark waved his hand.
"No, boy. I'm just leaving. Happy to see you both. And don't worry—I've already taken care of the python meat bill."
Maven's eyes widened in playful horror.
"Did he really hear that?" he whispered to his dad.
They laughed until their stomachs ached. After dinner, Maven took his father to the beach, where the sound of waves sealed another beautiful memory between them.