It’s safer being alone.
Instead, I pour myself another drink. I jerk my head toward Anissa. “Drink?”
Wordlessly, she nods. The room is silent as I pour her a shot of vodka and hand it to her. The face she makes when she sips it is adorable, like a little kitten who’s drunk soured milk.
I sip mine slower, leaning against the wall. The drink makes the dull aching in my chest bearable.
For now.
“You came here because it was his birthday?” I don’t want to speak his name.
Did they expect me to fucking celebrate?
My mother sniffs, but she can’t hide the tremor in her voice. “We’re feeling nostalgic. Sad. Thought we’d see our other son. Maybe that was a mistake.”
She gets to her feet, heads to the kitchen, and starts rifling through my cabinets like she owns the place.
“How do you even stay alive?” my mother mutters, shaking her head. “There’s no food in here.”
I clench my molars. “I just got back from Paris.”
She mutters something under her breath before turning to my dad. “Honey,” she says to him, “let’s get food. I’m starving.” She looks at Anissa. “And I don’t want to be here any longer.”
“Oh,” Anissa says in a fake-ass voice, “please. Don’t go. I was just starting to get to know you.”
She holds up her empty glass to me, her eyes on my mother. I refill it.
Jesus Christ.
“Nice, you got yourself a cute little bitch, didn’t you?” my mother says, cold as ice. If she were a fucking man?—
“That woman,” I begin in a low voice, fury pounding through my veins as I clench my drink. My father knows better. He’s already moving to stand between us like he could stop me if he had to. “Is mine,” I finish, my voice lethal. “Rafail gave her to me. That woman’s going to be the mother of your grandchildren. Is that clear?”
My mother’s face turns beet red—but not from embarrassment. Not her. She’s pissed.
“I get it. You’ve had to let a lot of shit go, haven’t you?” she spits. “A lot of expectations. Hopes. Dreams. We’ve let you get away with plenty, and the only reason Rafail still lets you hang around is because you have some respect left for the rest of us.”
I lean in, voice pure fucking ice. “I might not be so nice.”
“Be careful,” my father growls. “You’re loyal to a fault.”
I turn to him, eyes narrowing. “I don’t have a brand seared into my back withyourname on it, do I?”
He swallows and shakes his head.
Anissa whistles.
“Irma, let’s go.”
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Anissa calls sweetly after them as the door shuts.
We look at each other in silence for a long minute. She doesn’t speak, just traces her finger along the rim of her glass.
“Got the shit end of the stick with parents, eh?” But her eyes are pained when she sips the vodka.
I shake my head. We drink in silence for long minutes. The sun has begun to set outside, but I don’t move to turn any lights on. I like the dark.
“When were you going to tell me about my sister?” she asks quietly, her throat working up and down.
