With that odd but endearing statement from a man who didn’t always feel, he clapped me on the shoulder and left me to my thoughts.
And what a fucking mess they were.
“Ma.”
The annoyed statement shot out of my mouth as my mother stealthily scooped more rice onto my plate.
“You need to eat,” she said without a hint of remorse. “You’re a growing boy.”
I blinked at her, then my nose bunched. “I stopped growing like ten years ago.” She kept scooping, and I put a hand out to guard my plate. “Would you stop?”
And because she was a Russian mom, her face transformed into that of a sad puppy, but thankfully, she backed off. “One day, you’ll be sorry that I’m gone.” Taking the pot back to the stove, she kept on with the guilt trip. “One day, you will have a wife, and she will make you this same dish, and it will be fine.” Her lips turned down. “But it won’t be mine, and you will notice.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her dramatics. “And when that day happens—” I stood, taking my almost full plate to the sink. “—I’ll cry a river, cursing the gods for ever having taken you from me. I’ll sit in the rain and weep my fucking heart out. Sob until I vomit.” I kissed her cheek, and she waved me off, fighting a smile. “I promise, Mama.”
I walked down the hall to wash up and crossed the entrance to my sister’s room, then stopped, backing up until I stood in the open doorway.
Anika sat on the bed, staring out into nothing. When she noticed me, she pasted on a smile that was a mechanical stretch of her lips and nothing more. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I returned, looking her over. What I saw was dark circles under her blue eyes, dull copper-red hair, and pale skin. Had she lost weight? “You look a little blue. How are you feeling?”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them protectively. “Ah, you know.” She sighed lightly. And I couldn’t take this shit anymore.
Stepping inside the room, I closed the door behind me and moved closer. “I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore.”
Anika chuckled, but there was a hostility to it. “That’s fitting, as I don’t know who I am anymore.”
All I saw was torment, physical and mental alike. I did not like that. “You can talk to me, Ani. About anything. No judgement.”
Her face changed, became somewhat darker. “Like you talk to me,” she shot back. “Because you tell me all your problems, right, Vik?”
Ooh. She was mouthy today. She, unfortunately, also had my number.
“That’s different.” But it wasn’t. We both knew our relationship as brother and sister had always been one-sided. “I’m your older brother. I’m not supposed to unload on you. It’s my job to keep the bulk on my shoulders, so yours remain weightless.”
All at once, she looked both touched and exasperated. “I can heft some weight, you know? Between the two of us, the burden is halved. I’m happy to share the load.”
I was lucky. She was a good sister. The best.
“Not your burden to share, kid.” And just when she opened her mouth to let out a furious tirade, I think I surprised her when I admitted, “But if I were gonna talk to anyone about the bullshit that goes on in my rock-hard melon, it would be you, Ani. No doubt.”
It took her a moment, but when she smiled, it was real. And because it was getting a little too mushy up in here, I jerked my chin toward her and did what big brothers were meant to do.
“Take a bath. You smell like shit.”
The look of pure outrage on her face was enough for me. I opened the door and started to laugh when a pillow flew right by my head.
8
Nastasia
The second I walked into the house from my half-assed workout, I balked when I heard music playing in the kitchen. And because it could have been any number of people, I proceeded with caution. But the second I heard her wailing out the lyrics to “Livin’ On A Prayer,” I huffed out a laugh, wiping the sweat from my brow and strolling into the room, my tone light and breezy. “What are you doing here?”
Cora stood, leaning over my breakfast bar, reading from an enormous textbook.
“The tenants upstairs are boinking again.”
Right.
“And the noise bothers you?” I asked with raised brows, because I could barely hear over Bon Jovi blasting from my portable speaker.
And like the Cora I knew, she made a sound deep in her throat, then confessed, “Not really. Actually, I work much better with chaotic shit going on around me. It’s just that the walls are paper-thin, and—I’m not even kidding—I can hear everything. Everything. Problem is, it makes me horny. Like, super horny. Can’t concentrate kinds of horny. So, here I am.” She shot me a smirk. “No risk of finding sex here. Not even a little. I’ll bet you’ve got cobwebs tangled in your pubes.”