Michal

 

I'm sitting in a white-linen restaurant in downtown Philadelphia, Alina sitting to my right, my kid sister, Danica, across from us. It's noon and the sun is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the city streets. The restaurant is an open space where everything—the waiters, the décor, the walls, and the art—are dominated by the singular color of pure, cloud white. It's the type of style that I figure is meant to convey sophistication. At least, what a person like my sister would consider sophistication.

 

"Something more interesting than your lunch companions?" asks Danica in her prim voice, a piece of asparagus dangling from a fork held inches from her face.

 

"Just thinking about how much of a pain in the ass it must be to clean this place," I say, my eyes moving from white surface to white surface.

 

"Always thinking about the important questions," says Alina, playfully elbowing me in the side.

 

Danica looks over at the two of us with the same expression of skepticism that I spot flashing on her face.

 

Danica, my kid sister, decided to make one of her famous unannounced visits to the city. Living in New York, she chose at a young age, with no small insistence from my father, to avoid taking part in our little family enterprise. Instead, she was shipped off to one of the Northeastern Ivies and put on a fast-track to a comfortable, white-collar life in the city. What she does, I can't quite say—facilitating mergers between companies or something like that.

 

She's a pretty girl, with the same features as me and our father. Her dark-brown hair is worn in a stylish bun atop her head, the brooding green eyes that she and I both share flick from Alina to me, and her mouth forms the same shit-eating, know-it-all smirk that our father is always giving me shit for. According to him, however, it's cute when Danica does it.

 

However glad I am to see her when she comes into town, I know by this point that her reasons for coming are rarely casual social calls. She likes to check up on me and our father, sniffing around and snooping in our affairs, as if providing the watchful woman's eye that my father and I lack with our mother gone.

 

"So," says Danica, setting her fork down and folding her hands across her lap. “You two have been dating for …?"

 

Alina and I share a glance; we're still not used to thinking of ourselves as a "couple." It's not even the correct word for our little arrangement, but "claiming" doesn't really have the same romantic ring.

 

"Not long," says Alina. “A little over a week.”

 

"Though the flirting had been going on long before that," I say, affecting a corny smile, like the one a middle-aged, suburban husband would make when talking about how he and his wife met in college.

 

Alina got what I was going for and leaned over to me, squeezing my leg under the table and planting a chaste kiss on my cheek.

 

"It's been a wonderful week, as silly as that sounds," says Alina, looking gorgeous in a pair of off-white slacks and matching blouse that seems to put her in slight discord with the décor surrounding her.

 

"Well, then," says Danica. "Here's to …another good week, I suppose."

 

She cuts through the chicken on her plate with an effortless slice with her steak knife, her eyes looking away in thought.

 

"So, how's New York?" I ask, eager to keep the conversation off of Alina and I, in hopes that we wouldn't trip over one another's lies.

 

"Fine," says Danica, speaking as though the subject is exhausting even to consider. "I just moved to a new place in the Village. A one-bedroom for five-thousand dollars a month; can you believe that? And it's not even that big; maybe six-hundred square feet."

 

I flick my eyes over to Alina and see that she's working hard to suppress her shock at the idea of paying so much for a single apartment, her less-than-affluent upbringing showing just a bit.

 

"Well, that's New York," I say, stabbing a piece of my rare steak with my fork and preparing to bring it up to my mouth.

 

"And you with that palace you live in. I swear," says Danica. "I come to visit you and I still can't believe you have that place all to yourself; I keep expecting tenants to be walking around."

 

"I like my peace and quiet. What can I say?"

 

I'm happy the conversation is light so far, but I know it won't last. It's only a matter of time before she'll try to get the details of the current situation of our …family owned and operated business.

 

"So …" she says, placing her glass of white wine back down on the table. “How're things with Dad?"

 

And there it is.

 

"Things are fine," I say, my voice crisp. "He's staying busy, as usual."

 

"Good …good," says Danica. "You know, I like to keep my ears open for any, um, opportunities that come up, and I've heard more than a few. There's a lot of money to be made in New York if he's thinking of …expanding operations."

 

I look at her with a blank expression.

 

"I think one city is more than enough for us right now."

 

Alina is watching the conversation carefully.

 

"Just saying. And I'd be more than happy to, well, facilitate some sit-downs if you and Dad were interested in something like that."

 

I set my fork down and look square in Danica's eyes.

 

"Wasn't the whole point of sending you away to school, then to New York, to get you away from what's going on here in Philadelphia? What's the point of you living there if you're just going to try to worm your way in?"

 

Danica's eyes widen, the brilliant green catching the ample sunlight of the dining floor.

 

"Worm my way in?" she asks, slightly offended. "You are aware of what my last name is, right?"

 

"Painfully," I say, joking, but with a hint of truth; I'd be lying if I were to say that keeping Danica out of trouble was an issue I enjoyed dealing with.

 

"Cute," she says. "But seriously, it's hard making ends meet up there; it's not fair that you and Dad get to reap all of the rewards of what our family built."

 

Now I'm starting to get annoyed. It's like all of the conversations we've had about why she's not in the business have never happened. I'm starting to get the impression that this is the reason why she ever bothered to come visit to begin with.

 

"The whole point of what you're doing is to keep you safe," I say, my voice hardening. "This business is dangerous. It's not fun and glamour. Dad and I put you through school and got you out of the city so that you could build your own life free from what he and I have to deal with on a regular basis. You go to school, get a good degree, make your own money, and you can live free and clear. And you want to fuck all of that up by getting involved."

 

"Doesn't look so bad from where I'm sitting," says Danica. "Big house, pretty Polish girlfriend, and respect."

 

"And all it would take is one misstep, one rat, or one screw-up for all of that to be destroyed. At least this way, you'll be safe should anything happen. Even if Dad and I were to …have something happen to us, you'd have your education to fall back on."

 

"Yes, and you're the authority on keeping people safe."

 

My blood runs cold at this. Danica knew the one thing she could say to make me lose my cool, and she went for it as soon as it looked like the conversation wasn't going her way.

 

"Excuse me?" I say, my eyes fixed on hers.

 

"I'm just saying, it's not like your plans for keeping the women of the family safe have worked out well so far."

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Alina looking on with a somewhat shocked expression on her face. She's not sure what to make of this sudden spike in tension, but thankfully, she's wise enough not to say anything.

 

"This is your one warning to say you're sorry and to drop the subject," I say, my gaze hard.

 

I can see that Danica realizes that she's stepped over the line. She looks down at the table, now suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. The moment seems to drag.

 

"Just say ‘I'm sorry, Michal,' and we can move on to more pleasant topics."

 

She's giving herself some time to come up with the perfect barb to turn the table—something she can say that will, at least, allow to her move a little out of the corner she's backed herself into.

 

Finally, she relents.

 

"Sorry, Michal," she says, her eyes downcast.

 

"Apology accepted."

 

Another long moment hangs over the table.

 

"So, Alina, I, ah, love your outfit," says Danica, her voice small.

 

"Oh, this?" asks Alina. "Just something Michal had lying around."

 

I smile to myself at Danica retreating to the topic of simple compliments about clothing. At least she came to her senses.

 

"Well, it looks great on you."

 

I think about how little clothing Alina actually owns—most of what she's been wearing have been items that I bought for women I'd seen over the years—and a thought occurs to me.

 

"I've got an idea," I say, after taking a sip from my drink. "Why don't you two go on a little shopping trip while you're in town?”

 

Alina and Danica share a glance, the idea seeming immediately amenable to them both.

 

"Yeah, sure," says Danica. "I wouldn't mind picking up some new things."

 

"Yes, that sounds like a great idea," adds Alina.

 

"We've been keeping this girl so busy that she's barely had the time to hang out with people who aren't me and Dad. And we're not exactly the ‘shopping trip' types."

 

Danica smiles warmly.

 

"Well, tomorrow's Saturday," she says. "How about we meet up in the afternoon? We can do some shopping for a few hours and grab dinner afterward? It's been a while since I've lived here in town, but I'm pretty sure I know where the best stores are."

 

"That sounds wonderful," says Alina; her tone's light, and I can tell that she's happy to be able to spend some time with a possible girlfriend.

 

"And I'll treat you both; how about that?" I say.

 

"Famous last words," says Danica with a wry grin.

 

Alina and her share a laugh. I'm just pleased that an awkward scene was avoided.

 

We finish up, and Alina and Danica make their plans before we head back to our separate cars. Alina and I decide to take the rest of the day off, and the drive back to the house passes mostly in silence. However, I know my luck isn't to last, and sure enough, Alina is curious about the sore subject that was broached over lunch.

 

"Can I …" she says, and I know exactly what she's going to say. "Can I …ask about what your sister was talking about? About not being able to keep her safe?"

 

I tense up, my hands gripping the steering wheel. Hard. I don't want to get into it—to tell her about how my mother was killed years ago and how my father and I have been shouldering the blame for failing to protect her. But the cat's out of the bag now, I suppose. Still, I decide not to give her all of the gory details; no sense in getting her worried.

 

"It's my mother. We lost her years back when I was still a teenager. She got caught in the middle of all …this."

 

I leave it at that. Beyond not wanting to burden Alina with the details, it's simply too difficult a subject for me to want to talk about at any sort of length.

 

"I see," says Alina. "I'm sorry."

 

"It's …in the past. Like Danica said, my father and I decided to put her on more of a straight and narrow path in order to not let her fall into this world."

 

"And she isn't happy with that?"

 

"It's more of a ‘grass-is-always-greener' situation, as the Americans say. She sees the money we make, the way we live, and thinks it's all exciting when compared to her nine-to-five life. But she doesn't realize that the life I live is mostly tedious business management with occasional incidents where I fear for my life or freedom."

 

This was a little bit of a lie; the life-or-death business is probably a one-a-month type of affair. But no need to scare her.

 

And this is all she needs know. She doesn’t need to know that my mother was killed by the Donahues, the same group that my father wants to reignite tensions with. She doesn’t need to know that my mother was killed because I failed to keep her safe. And she doesn’t need to know my mother was killed in a manner so sudden and violent that my family hasn't been the same since.

 

She doesn’t need to know any of that. Not a single word.