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“No disrespect. What I’m saying is, you can still become a lawyer.”
“Yeah, right. That dream’s pretty much done. Have you forgotten you told me I have to leave the country? For good, I’m assuming.”
“That’s the deal, yes.”
Another pause comes between us. I return my attention to the movie, but in my periphery, Falynn is staring at me. I give up on pretending I don’t notice and gesture for her to speak.
“Can I ask you a question? You have to promise you’ll answer.”
“I can promise you I will not lie, but not that I’ll answer.”
She inhales a breath as Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta argue the difference between American and European McDonald’s on the TV screen. “Are you a mobster?”
I stare at her with a straight face, figuring there is no use in avoiding the answer.
“Yes.”
