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Nora drops the knife and intercepts the newcomers at the bottom of the stairs. I turn on the stool, watching as Nora grips a young boy in a tight hug. She squeezes his face before she puts a hand on the back of his head and propels him toward me.
I smile and wave. He’s about ten and has that same dark hair the kid in the picture had, but he’s too young. He must have been the baby in the picture. He’s followed by a teenager, and this must be the niece Peter was worried about. She’s tall and thin, with slightly lighter hair than the rest of them have. They politely introduce themselves to me as Noah and Sylvie. Noah bounces away while Sylvie drifts toward one of the chairs and tucks a foot under her butt.
Nora gives a brief hug to the woman who must be Peter’s sister, but the woman catches sight of me and gives me a huge smile.
“You must be Kara,” she says. “I’m Juna, Peter’s sister. It’s so nice to meet you. Are you a hugger?” She holds her arms out, and I stand from the stool to accept it. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
That surprises me. “You’ve heard good things, I hope?”
“Well,” she says as I settle back on the stool, “I’ve heard enough to know who you are and that you are good at your job. But I’m also surprised you are here.”
I sip my wine, and she leans in.
“Are you sleeping with my brother?”
I choke on my wine, blowing some of it over Juna and some of it into the bowl of my wine glass and getting backsplash right in my face.
6
Peter
When I walkin the door with my grandmother, it sounds like a party is happening. I was hesitant to leave Kara here with my mother, but Mami had made a good point: Grosi couldn’t stay alone for days while the storm rolled through. She lived close enough that my sister was going to pick her up and drop her off on her way in every day, but we were bracing for the worst, and that meant Grosi was coming to stay.
I had helped her pack some things she needed and grabbed as many of the emergency supplies that I could find in her house—more flashlights and blankets than necessary, honestly. It was a good thing there were four bedrooms in the house.
Grosi was in her nineties, and her memory was not the best. She’d said grandsons twice on the trip over, and I had to gently correct her every time. I ignored thegreat-grandchildrenpart and just focused on her not misgendering my niece. Hopefully, no matter what Grosi said, it wouldn't be as bad of a Hanukkah as last year.
But that was up to Kara, wasn’t it?
“Grosi is here,” I call out. But no one hears me. I guide Grandmother down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Noah is the first to notice us. He’s a good kid, into football, just like his mom. At ten years old, he looks a lot like I did—lanky, nose slightly too big for his face, hair that does whatever it wants.
He gives Grosi a quick hug, and then I wrap him up in a bear hug, growling. He squirms away from me, laughing.
I scan the room, looking past Mami and Sylvie in the kitchen and Papi and Tom, my sister’s husband, pouring themselves glasses of scotch and generally getting in Mami’s way, and spot Kara. She and my sister are looking over the bookshelf together, animatedly talking about each book they pull out.
It’s Mami’s bookshelf, but Juna’s read most of them. She and Kara are in the romance section, filled with old-school paperbacks. Most are in English, but some are German translations.
Kara looks up and catches me watching her. The smile she gives me is slow and tentative, but based on the nearly empty glass of wine and the flush of her cheeks, she’s already having a good time with my family.
After introducing Grosi to Kara, I leave her with Mami at the kitchen island. I wrap my arms around Sylvie, who also squirms away from me but less successfully than her brother.
“Uncle Peter, you just saw me last week,” she complains.
“So?” I kiss the top of her head and let her go. She hurries to smooth her hair back, but she’s smiling too. I leave her alone and walk toward my sister and Kara.
“Well,” Juna says, straightening up from the bookshelf and waving me over. “Look who you dropped into our family.” She speaks in English for Kara’s benefit.
Juna is athletic and a middling height, fitting right under my chin when I hug her. She’s the one that got the coordination and athleticism in our family. Her hair is cut short, not stylish enough to be a pixie but sensible enough to keep up with her busy lifestyle.
“I know it’s not ideal,” I say in Swiss-German. “The airport—”
My sister waves me off. It’s not that she isn’t concerned for her daughter—she is—but she’s eternally optimistic, the person who believes the best in everyone. “There’s always room for more. Besides, she hasgreattaste in books.”
My eyes widen. I know the kind of books my sister reads, and they aren’t our mother’s romance novels.
Kara’s cheeks flush a little darker, and mine heat too. Last I heard, my sister was reading alien romances, and they were...creative.
