Jake and Judith were finishing up one of their daily "psychological sessions." Judith leaned back, a rare look of clarity on her face.
"You know, I think I was just lashing out at Alan because he reminded me of my father," she admitted. "By being angry at him, I was being rebellious against my dad without ever having to actually confront him."
"That's another great advancement, Mom," Jake said, keeping his tone encouraging.
These sessions were clearly working. Judith looked refreshed, her posture was better, and she'd been noticeably less harsh on Alan.
Naturally, Alan took this small bit of peace and ran with it. Fueled by his own delusional optimism, he was already convinced they were on the verge of a romantic reconciliation.
Jake didn't have the energy to explain the truth since it would likely take a formal divorce decree for Alan to finally snap out of it.
The rest of the week passed quietly, but the weekend hit a snag the moment Alan stepped into the kitchen. He was currently hovering over the open refrigerator, rearranging jars with frantic precision.
"Berta, I'm not trying to be difficult, but the milk belongs on the middle shelf for optimal temperature control," Alan called out.
Berta stared at him, her hand still gripping a heavy laundry basket. Without saying a single word, she dropped the basket with a heavy thud, turned on her heel, and walked out.
Alan didn't even look up. "Oh, look at this!" he muttered, grabbing a jar. He finally turned around, realizing Berta was gone. He scurried into the living room, peanut butter jar in hand. "Berta! I hate to bring this up again, but you cannot put the peanut butter in the refrigerator! It gets rock hard."
Jake heard the muffled sound of Alan's complaining and Berta's sharp retort from the living room. Then, a definitive BANG as the front door slammed shut.
A moment later, Charlie drifted into the kitchen with a vacant look, looking exactly like a chick abandoned by its mother hen. He reached for the coffee pot, found it empty, and just stood there, blinking.
"She left before she made the coffee," Charlie said, his voice dripping with disbelief.
"It's gonna take a minute, Uncle Charlie. You should probably sit down," Jake said, reaching over to press the power button.
"This goes beyond coffee, Jake. Berta does everything," Charlie groaned, slumped over the table. "She's like a wife who leaves before you wake up and doesn't care that you sleep around."
"Well, I've been trying to figure out a way to repay you for letting Jake and me stay here," Alan said, walking back in. He was carefully avoiding any mention of actual cash. "Why don't I just take over the housework?"
Charlie squinted at him. "Berta did the shopping and the laundry, too."
"In her own way, sure," Alan said with a sarcastic shrug. He waited for the machine to finish and poured a cup. "And look! The coffee is done."
Charlie took a sip, winced, and set the mug down. "No. Uh-uh. Not as good as Berta's."
"Here, put cinnamon in it," Jake interrupted. He slid a small jar across the table with one hand while holding a newspaper in the other.
"Alright, let's see..." Charlie added a spoonful and tried again. He shrugged. "Meh. I guess it's fine. It's tolerable."
It took exactly five hours and thirty minutes for Alan to give up.
He simply couldn't meet Charlie's bizarre, unspoken standards of "proper" housework. After Alan stormed out to find Berta and beg for forgiveness, Jake looked up to see a woman casually standing in the living room.
"Oh, hi. I'm Jake," he said, standing up and offering a polite handshake. It was his first time actually meeting his uncle's legendary stalker.
"Oh, I know. I'm Rose," she said with a bright smile, shaking his hand firmly before immediately heading for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Charlie asked, watching her with a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.
"I'm going to try on the dresses, silly!" Rose called back, as if she were stating the obvious.
Jake watched her disappear upstairs. "She seems like a nice lady," he said, knowing full well who she was.
"Oh," Charlie muttered, rubbing his temples, "you have no idea."
Jake took a quick shower and changed into his freshly pressed, preppy clothes. He had dinner with his maternal grandparents after all.
While waiting for Judith to show up, he sat on the edge of the sofa and started on a pack of Jolly Ranchers, currently sitting at a solid #5 on his official ranking of favorite candies.
Just then, Alan stumbled through the front door, looking exhausted but victorious after his mission to retrieve Berta.
"Hey Dad," Jake said, eating the candy. "Did you convince Berta to come back?"
"I did, son," Alan sighed, rubbing his shoulder. "She won't do my laundry or get my groceries, and I have to give her a lower back adjustment twice a week."
"I see," Jake replied simply.
As he finished his candy, Jake couldn't help but wonder. Even though he had actively involved himself in the narrative, his family seemed to have a compulsive need to act exactly like they did in the original series. It felt inorganic, almost like a "Greek fate" as if it was fixed and unchangeable.
Sometimes he wondered if a higher entity had thrown him into this world just to amuse itself.
Was he part of some modified sitcom on Interdimensional TV, like in Rick and Morty? Was a family of four watching him right now while they ate their own dinner?
Or worse, was he the protagonist of a Webnovel series, being read by people who really should have been asleep an hour ago?
Eh, not like I can do anything about it, Jake thought, shaking the feeling off.
Just then, the door opened and Judith walked in.
"Hey, Alan," she said with a genuine smile. She turned to her son. "Ready for dinner, Jake?"
"Yeah, let's go," Jake answered, standing up. "Bye Dad. Bye Uncle Charlie."
"Alright, bye guys," Judith added, waving a hand toward the living room.
"Did you bring the blueprints, Mom?" As they walked toward the driveway, Jake suddenly asked.
"Oh, they're in the car, honey," Judith answered.
"Great," Jake said.
They climbed into the car and pulled away from the beach house, leaving for her parents' house.