Wearing a clean pair of boots and a clean but bleach stained t-shirt and jeans, I slowly walk through our large kitchen grabbing an apple on the counter loudly crunching my way toward my family. The moment I enter the foyer, my mother takes one look at me: my puffy cheeks filled with apple, my clothes, and my military boots then rolls her eyes.

No fair. Woman in their late 50's can roll their eyes?

Glancing around the room I notice a few things that agitate me. I notice my younger sisters sitting on couches and Jean sitting on the floor. Argh! She is sometimes too sweet for her own good. I shake my head and advance over to Kat and Linda, who are on the long couch stretched out like two queens with eyes glued to their iPhones. I stand over them glaring.

"MOVE!" I grunt.

Both my sisters quickly move and sit on the floor across from us grumbling their displeasure of being forced to move. I sit in the center of the couch and pat the cushion next to me for Jean. A tired gentle grin brightens her face as she shakes her head in mock disapproval. She slowly gets up and sits next to me - placing her head on my shoulder looking exhausted. Like me, she worked double shifts most of the week, but unlike me her fragile body didn't like it.

Mother better make this quick.

I finally look at my mother, who was surprisingly sitting quietly next to Maria on the love seat. Mom's look of irritation was ever present on her face. No surprise. I had moved her beloved Linda from her throne.

She clears her throat. Here it comes.

"WHERE is your father Rocky?"

I shrug in fake confusion at my mother.

She loudly and dramatically sighs. "We are all going shopping tomorrow. ALL OF US." She emphasizes 'US' by pointing at me.

Why is it that I want to roll my eyes like a child every time she talks? I need to ask my therapist.

"But why does Rocky have to go Mommy. She won't get anything."

My mother temporarily looks at Linda and smiles, but then whips her head at me as she continues.

"We are ALL getting formal dresses. We are invited to a fancy gathering and you are ALL going. AND you are ALL going to dress formal – in DRESSES."

I only had a chance to open my mouth before my mother cut me off and continued, "Don't start ROCKY. This soiree is very important. The Lucas family and The Che family will be there."

So what. They see me all the time in my fatigues or jeans. Who cares?

"It'll be at Nether Fields, and your sisters will have great opportunities at this event. More importantly Mr. Benally will be there."

She said the name Mr. Benally with so much excitement as if that name should mean anything to us. We all stared at her in clueless confusion. We did know what Nether Fields was. It's a very upscale restaurant (because of the strict dress code, my kind are not welcome there). Nether Fields was featured on one of those Food channel specials – Nothing on the menu is under $75.

"You know Charles Benally, from the Benally family? The millionaires from the Navajo reservation near the four corners. He is the new owner of Nether Fields. At 37, Charles Benally is a handsome, single millionaire."

My sisters erupted in boisterous joy with each of them swarming my mother with rapid questions and grabbing their phones to research more legit info.

I finally just roll my eyes. From the calm steady way Jean is breathing, I know she's sleeping. I would like to do more than just roll my eyes but refrain from anything that would bring us negative attention. I want to give Jean sometime to sleep while my mother and sisters chatter on about this Charlie chap.

It took only 20 minutes for my mother to finally notice us. She took her eyes off Linda's phone - they were Googling Charlie; his fortune, and if he had a girlfriend or kids. Apparently, he was a good-looking bachelor; he has his own millions, owns several businesses, and has no wife or children.

In my head, I couldn't forget the part where my mother said he was Navajo (Dine). The Navajo (Dine) people are notorious for sticking to their own kind and rarely married a non-Navajo, especially a half Mexican. Getting hot and bothered over this chap was pointless.

My mother glared at me and then at sleeping Jean and she angrily shook her head.

Knowing my mother for 36 years, I knew this was the sign of an oncoming scolding.

"ARE YOU HAPPY NOW ROCKY? ARE YOU HAPPY THAT YOUR SISTERS ARE ALL STILL SINGLE?"

I stayed quiet. My mother's yelling didn't wake Jean, so I held in my snide reply.

"ANSWER ME."

At this volume, Jean jumped up and snorted - looking like a lost deer with eyes wide and scared.

I pat Jean's hand that rested on her lap and she focused on me as a warm smile crossed her face before turning toward our mother.

"Mom, why are you yelling at Rocky?" Jean's soft, sleepy, caring voice hushed Mother.

"Jean, how could you defend her? Don't you remember what happened with your fiancé? He didn't want to be a part of a family with a crossdresser. He didn't want to taint his gene pool. "

I glared at my mother and heard Jean take in a breath and gasp. "That is not what happened mother. How could you say such a thing? Besides, Brian was not my fiancé. I was the one who broke up with him and it wasn't because of Rocky or her love of wearing fatigues. Brian was abusive and controlling. How could you want me to be with a man like that, no matter how rich he was?"

"Well you can believe what you want, but the day you two broke up, he had commented that Rocky was the eyesore of the family-dressing like a man..."

He was only bitter because I broke his nose. He was drunk and yelling at Jean for wearing something he didn't like. We were at a bar in Flagstaff when he grabbed her arm trying to yank her outside to his car, I then took this opportunity to show him what happens to someone who treats my sister like this and punched him in the face—knocking him out and breaking his nose.

"…He said we had 4 beautiful daughters and one ugly son." My mother pointed at me when she said the word son.

This wasn't the first time I heard this story - my mother actually liked telling anyone in hearing distance. Humiliation was my mother's arsenal of choice – my mother loved trying to humiliate me. I learned at a very young age to suck it up and play her game – I simply put more fuel to the fire, and I'd tell my mother and anyone she told that if I were born male I'd have been born very handsome. I take offense to the fact that he claimed I was an ugly man.

Jean quickly places her hand on my leg as I sat up to argue my handsomeness. Jean's small hand always stops me in my tracks. I was the bull in the China shop and she was the voice of reason—so I calmed myself.

"Mother, whatever that horrible man said about Rocky, it was wrong of you to not defend her. I do not blame Rocky and you shouldn't either and I would appreciate it if you would stop retelling what he said. It doesn't shed good light on any of us: Me for dating that monster or you for not protecting your second daughter from his verbal attack. Rocky is the victim here Mother."

My mother lets out a pig-like snort. "ROCKY - go find your father. I want him here NOW. We have things to discuss as a family."

I slowly get up, clutching my fists. I was so angry to the point of wanting to break something. I carefully open the door without closing it, and head out into the rain - passing the cars, passing my marker, passing the road that heads into town, walking toward my hidden haven. I begin to run the moment I hear my father holler for me.