We're sitting in Chantel's, one of the finest restaurants on the Upper East Side. Mason doesn’t like to leave the area if he can help it. It's like he fears that if he travels outside of his sphere of influence, the clock will strike twelve, and he'll turn back into a middle-class pumpkin or something.

This isn’t my favorite restaurant. A little too snooty and upscale for my liking. There's a string quartet playing Christmas music in a roped-off area to the side of the dining room, and the restaurant is decked out for the holidays – most everything done up in silver and gold, as if it denotes a classy Christmas or something. There's a twenty-foot tree in one corner with white candles and ribbon as its main decorations, and other similar, tasteful decorations filling the place.

“So, how are things at work?” I ask.

Mason takes a sip of his drink, sets the glass back down on the table and nods, a wide, satisfied, totally self-congratulatory smirk on his face.

“Excellent,” he says. “I just closed a big case.”

“Oh yeah? Congratulations.”

“It was a long, complicated process, but we finally got everything we needed to prove this shady hedge fund manager was receiving inside information,” he says. “This arrogant prick thought he was going to get away with nothing but paying a fine. We nailed his ass to the wall instead. Surprised the shit out of him.”

I take a long sip of my wine and nod. Honestly, Mason's job bores me to tears. Truthfully, it's his evangelical zeal when recounting his victories that puts me off. And, it's mostly because he's so self-righteous about it. It's like, he's made it his own personal crusade to take down the wealthy and the elite – as if he isn’t from the same world.

No, for whatever reason, somewhere along the line, he decided that hunting people who gamed the system for personal gain was his mission in life. Which, in and of itself, isn't a bad thing. If you're a crook, you deserve to be punished to the fullest extent of the law. I have absolutely no issue with that.

Mason takes it far beyond that. It's not enough for him to punish them. He has to humiliate them on top of it. Rub their noses in it and prove his superiority. He's a zealot, plain and simple, and he's a little hard to deal with because of it. That righteous arrogance he wears like a Superman cape, convinced he's doing something noble and good because he believes in the laws of this land, disgusts me to no end – mostly because I know it's not real. It's all part of his persona.

Personally, I think he enjoys prosecuting the wealthy elite out of some sense of self-loathing, because deep down, he knows he's not like them. That he's a fraud.

Honestly, that's probably why his marriage didn't last. I can't blame his wife for running. And if I'm being totally honest, I'm surprised she agreed to marry him in the first place. He was arrogant and condescending when we were younger, but he's only gotten worse as the years have gone by.

“I'm guessing he got more than a slap on the wrist,” I say, feigning interest.

He holds up his glass of bourbon and stares at it lovingly. “Gave him the financial equivalent of the death penalty,” he says, a reverent tone in his voice. “Seized all of his assets, hidden offshore accounts, homes, everything. And, we stripped him of all licenses, so he'll never be able to play the market again.”

“Wow,” I say. “That sounds harsh.”

He shrugs. “He broke the law,” he says. “I threw him a bone though, just to prove I'm not a totally heartless asshole. I let him off without any prison time.”

Wow. What a gesture of kindness and compassion. The man has no home, no money, no source of income, or ability to make an income, and nothing left, but at least he's not going to prison. I would almost guarantee the man is going to take his own life. I mean, what does he have left? I take another drink of my wine to avoid something snarky and sarcastic from flying out of my mouth. Mason doesn't appreciate my wit or sense of humor as much as I do.

“You should have seen his face when I dropped that on him though,” he says, smiling wide. “It was priceless. I thought he was going to have a heart attack right there. He never saw it coming. Christ, I love doing that to these scum. Makes my day every single time.”

“That's great,” I say. “I'm proud of you, Mason.”

“Thank you,” he says, the edge of arrogance thick in his voice. “No victory is as sweet as the complete annihilation of your opponent.”

He sits back in his chair and preens like a peacock. Part of me wants to smack him for being such a pretentious ass, but I don't want to make a spectacle of myself in a nice restaurant. Especially since I do come here from time to time. His smug attitude isn't worth me getting blackballed from this place. Even if it's not my favorite place ever. I still have certain social graces I have to follow.

Since our aunt and uncle passed, we're the only family we have left, so we make a point to get together for dinner every few weeks. Our relationship, however, is strained. To say the least. It has been since we were kids – but it hasn't gotten any better as adults. We go through the motions, though, and spend holidays together, celebrate birthdays together now and then – all in an effort to seem like a normal family.

Because that's what's expected of us. Or rather, was. Our aunt and uncle always stressed the importance of family. They told us if they hadn't been such firm believers in family, they probably would have left us at St. Agatha’s.

Yeah, nothing like a little guilt to inspire gratitude and obedience.

That was something they were both exceedingly good at.

But, with each passing year, it becomes clearer and more obvious that Mason and I are two different people. We see the world in completely different ways and have polar-opposite values and priorities. His’s climbing the ladder and building a legacy, while I teach art at a public school, and try to inspire everyone I meet.

Mason always thought of people as pawns in his game, and completely disregards all lives but his own. On the flip side, I believe that all people are worthy of love, respect, and understanding. I think helping lift people up is the noble endeavor, not tearing them down, like Mason so clearly enjoys doing.

The one thing that's abundantly obvious is that our shared last name is the only thing that really bonds us together. The only thing we have in common.

“I have to tell you, a few more wins like this will really put my name on the map,” he says.

“You're a U.S. Attorney,” I remark. “I'd say your name is already on the map.”

He shrugs. “It has to be in the right circles,” he response. “The right people need to know my name if I'm going to get to where I want to go.”

“And where is that?”

“I’m going to be Attorney General one day,” he states smugly. “And who knows, maybe after that, I'll run for the presidency.”

If anybody else had said that, I would have laughed, assuming it was a joke. But, not my brother. His ambition outstrips everything – including his compassion and humanity. All that matters to him is gaining status and prestige. Rank and position are the most important things to him. Earning the respect of others – or if not their respect, their fear. He's not picky which, so long as they grovel at his feet.

He swallows down the last of his drink and sets it back down, motioning to the waitress for a refill. A moment later, she comes by and drops off a fresh round for us.

“Your meals will be out in a few moments,” the server says.

“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate your outstanding service.”

The girl gives me a smile and then scampers off. Mason doesn't even acknowledge her, taking a sip of his drink like she doesn't even exist. That's one thing that really irritates me – when people like my brother treat waitstaff like garbage. Like they're beneath him. To me, it speaks to a person's character – or lack thereof.

“That's my dear sister,” he says. “Champion of the lesser among us.”

“Lesser among us?”

He shrugs. “You know what I mean,” he says.

“I do, and I don't like it,” I say. “I think your attitude sucks and –”

He laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he concedes. “You're right. That was a dick thing for me to say. I'm sorry.”

I know he's only saying it to pacify me. He doesn’t really mean it. He really does see people outside of his circles as less than. He barely considers people in the service industry to be human at all. They're simply there to serve his needs and cater to his whims. You can see it in the way he treats them. It disgusts me.

But, when my thoughts are the darkest, and I'm on the verge of sending him a scathing, “don't ever contact me again” message, I remember that we're family. One of the only lessons we learned from our family – our parents too, not just our aunt and uncle – was that family is everything. That you have to hold on to family, no matter what.

“Do you forgive me, sis?”

“Sure, Mason,” I say, draining the last of my wine.

Our meals arrive, and we pass the time making light conversation – thankfully, not about his job. The atmosphere between us is tense and brittle, but I don't think he even notices. He just goes on and on like everything is normal and fine. Then he has to go and spoil even that. Not that I'm all that surprised, really.

“Have you considered leaving that horrid school you teach at?” he asks.

“No, actually I haven't.”

“Huh,” he says. “I couldn't imagine being locked into a small room with all of those thugs and crooks in the making. It's dangerous. I worry about you in that place, with those kinds of people, sis.”

I let out a long breath. “You really don't know what you're talking about,” I exclaim. “Most all of them are good kids.”

He scoffs. “When they're with you, maybe,” he says. “Though, I'd be willing to bet a huge percentage of them end up dead or in prison. Public schools are a breeding ground for that type of delinquents, Darby. I'm not kidding, it's dangerous. You should see some of the cases I had to handle back when I was a prosecutor.”

“Like I said, you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about,” I snapped. “You're not there. You don't see them. You see the worst-case scenarios, but that's a really small percentage in the grand scheme of things.”

We finish our meals, and I push my plate away from me, still feeling heated. The waitress is suddenly right there and clears the table while I'm counting down the moments until I can make a graceful, respectable exit. And then he orders coffee and dessert.

Damn.

The waitress comes back with coffee for the both of us and a couple slices of cheesecake – the best cheesecake in the city, if not the entire state. At least, it will make the last bit of the evening tolerable. It is the one saving grace of this restaurant, and probably the only thing that keeps me coming back at this point.

“So,” Mason says, “are you seeing anybody new?”

I quickly take a bite of my cheesecake, trying to come up with a convincing lie. It's bad enough when Jade gets onto me about my love life. It would be ten times worse getting into it with my own brother – especially given how different we are from each other. He would never understand. To him, I should find a rich guy, marry him, squeeze out some trust-fund babies, and live happily ever after. That's how it's done, in his world. It’s how he thinks.

Unfortunately for me, I'm not a very convincing liar. Letting out a long breath, I guess I have no choice but to tell him the truth.

“Not at the moment,” I say. “Jade is trying to get me to go out with a friend of hers, so I might give that a shot.”

He scoffs. “Jade? That girl from high school?” he asks. “You still talk to her?”

That alone tells me how little he knows about me – or retains what I tell him when we do talk.

“Yeah, Mason,” I say. “She's been my best friend since high school. Nothing about that has changed in the last ten years.”

He sips his coffee and looks thoughtful. “Huh.”

I'm ready for this evening to end before I say something I'm going to regret.

“Listen,” he says. “There's a guy who works in my office – he's about your age. New guy. Bright kid. Good looking, smart –”

“No,” I say. “But, thanks for thinking of me.”

“Oh, come on, Darby,” he says. “How can you shoot down somebody before you've even met them?”

Because he's associated with you and the last thing I want, or need is somebody as arrogant and pretentious? Which, if he works for you, dear brother, he's bound to be.

These thoughts all go through my mind, but I'm able to bite them back before they pass my lips. Barely.

“I'm just not interested in dating right now, Mason,” I explain.

He cocks his head and looks at me. “Are you a lesbian?”

I stare at him slack-jawed, the rage in me building. “No, Mason, I'm not a lesbian,” I hiss. “And frankly, that is such an asshole question, and it's none of your business anyway. I should slap the heck out of you right now for –”

He raises his hands again and gives me an apologetic expression. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious.”

“Just because I don't want to date somebody right now doesn't mean anything but just that,” I seethe. “Got it?

“Fine,” he concedes. “I got it. I apologize.”

There's actually a hint of sincerity in his voice, which surprises me. Granted, it doesn't make my anger at him dissipate entirely.

“Anyway,” I say. “I need to be going. Thank you for dinner.”

He lets out a long breath and sighs. “I really am sorry, sis,” he says. “I only asked because sometimes I feel like I don't even know you. We never really talk. I know we're not all that close – and I know that's my fault. It's late in the game, but I'm hoping that maybe we can start having an actual relationship.”

I look at him a long moment, trying to figure out whether I believe him or not. Trying to figure out if he's just saying what he thinks I want to hear, just to pacify me. Mason is a gifted liar, and sometimes, it's hard to tell.

I honestly don't know why he's pushing to be an actual family all the sudden, and it makes me feel a little suspicious of him. Makes me wonder what his angle is – because with my brother, he’s always working an angle.

But then, being suspicious of him also makes me feel a bit guilty. There's part of me that says he has an ulterior motive and not to trust him, but there's another part of me that thinks maybe, just maybe, he's finally reaching out, trying to repair his long-damaged relationship with me.

Part of me wonders what the point is, and the other part wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. The problem is, I don't know which part to listen to. Do I hold my arms wide open for him? Or keep him where he's always been – at an arm's length?

“You know, it would be a lot easier if you weren't such an elitist asshole sometimes,” I remark.

A wry grin touches his lips. “Believe it or not, you're not the first person to tell me that.”

“Oh, I'm quite sure I'm not,” I reply.

“Ouch,” he says, though he looks somewhat amused.

He's the only family I have and although the rational part of my mind tells me he's not going to change, that he is who he is, the emotional side of me has trouble just cutting bait and walking away. My relationship with my brother is – complicated. To say the least.

“I promise to do my best to stop being such an elitist asshole,” he says. “As long as you can try being a little more open and honest with me. And maybe, cut me a little slack once in a while.”

I look at him for a long moment, the debate within me raging. Eventually, the need to have a family – that silly longing inside of me – wins the argument. As usual. I nod and give him a small smile.

“Deal,” I say.

His face lights up as he returns my smile. “Oh, listen, before I forget, I have something for you,” he says.

I cock my head and look at him. “For me?”

He nods and fishes an envelope out of the inside pocket on his jacket. I take it from him, looking at it like it's a snake coiled and ready to strike. He nods, a smile on his face, and a sparkle in his eye. I open the envelope and pull out a pair of tickets – and feel my eyes grow wide.

“You're kidding me,” I say. “How did you get these?”

He shrugs. “I get all kinds of weird crap floating through my office. Most of it, I just toss,” he says. “I saw this though, and immediately thought of you. I know how big into the art scene you are.”

I nod enthusiastically, shocked that he actually remembered my passion for art. It's something I've always thought he considered beneath him. I'm stunned, and honestly, a little touched.

“The Sheldonhurst Holiday Gala is one of the premier events in the art world,” I exclaim. “This is an exclusive event – you have to be somebody of great influence and importance to even get an invitation.”

“Well, good thing for you, you happen to know somebody just like that.”

I jump out of my seat and run around the table, squeezing him hard, a rush of warmth and gratitude flowing through me – things I've not felt for my brother for a long, long time.

'Thank you, Mason,” I say. “This means – a lot.”

He nods. “Of course,” he replies. “I'm glad you like it.”

I stare at the tickets again, resisting the urge to pinch myself. The Sheldonhurst Holiday Gala. I can't believe it. Never, in my life, did I think I'd ever be able to go. And yet, here I am, tickets in hand, a rush of excitement flowing through me.

I can't wait, and I look across the table, smiling warmly at my brother for the first time in – well – as far back as I can remember, to be honest. Maybe, he really is making an effort.

And if he is, I should too.