Alina

 

Danica's face is beaming as I open the door.

 

"Hey!" she says through a mouth of perfect teeth, white as ivory. "You ready to do some shopping?"

 

"Yes! Of course!" I say.

 

Her eyes flick into the massive entry hall of Michal's house.

 

"It's so big," she says, while looking around. "What does one man need so much space for?"

 

"I wonder the same thing," I say. "He tells me he barely uses any of the rooms anyway."

 

Danica shakes her head. "Maybe a few kids would help this place seem a little less empty?"

 

"Oh," I say, blushing at the thought. "I hadn't really thought about that."

 

"What am I saying?" says Danica. “You two have only been together for a week. Plenty of time to think about things like that."

 

A moment hangs in the air; it's a tad awkward.

 

"Um, well, anyway, you want to get going?" asks Danica, gesturing me to follow her outside.

 

"Let's do it," I say.

 

Truth be told, I'm a little nervous about the day ahead. Sure, I'd love to make a few friends, but this isn't just any woman that I'm with; this is Michal's sister. A misspoken word here or a faux pas there could make its way back to Michal and complicate things greatly. I need to make a good impression. After all, if things go south with Michal and me, a simple breakup isn't the only thing I have to worry about—he might decide to renege on this arrangement that we have. If he were to do that, I wouldn't know what I would do with myself.

 

But I choose to put these anxious thoughts out of my head as we step out onto the front lawn. The day is bright and sunny, and I choose to take this as a good sign. Danica is dressed in a stylish outfit of a simple, well-fitted, blue t-shirt and a pair of light-blue skinny jeans, both of which cling tightly to her slim, boyish shape. Her hair hangs loosely at her shoulders and a pair of fancy-looking sneakers complete the look. I feel a little silly wearing a pair of gray slacks and a white blouse from my work clothes, but I suppose finding nice things for me to wear is the point of our day together. Well, one of the points, at least.

 

We walk toward a sporty, red convertible that's parked in front of the house.

 

"Nice car,' I say, looking it over in admiration.

 

"Thanks!" says Danica. "Just a rental, but I still like it."

 

We climb in and head off. Danica turns the radio onto to a pop station, and I realize that with Michal always playing classical, it's the first top-forty music I've heard in a long while. We drive for a time in silence, enjoying the cool wind as we speed down the streets leading from Michal's neighborhood back to the city.

 

"So," says Danica, finally speaking. "You and my big brother, huh?"

 

I listen to her speak, noticing that her voice has only the slightest trace of a Polish accent. Despite her heritage, she's a very American girl in just about every manner I can think of.

 

"Yes," I say. "He's a good man."

 

"Well, let's not go crazy; he is a criminal."

 

She says it in such a blasé manner; it's strange to me. Though, I suppose, when you grow up in a family like this, strange is your normal.

 

"Yes, but I sense he has a good heart."

 

Danica gives the idea a moment of thought.

 

"Sure, he's not a bad guy. But you don't get to where you are in their business by being a saint, you know?"

 

The topic makes me mildly uncomfortable, and I can see that Danica senses this. But she continues on anyway.

 

"I remember once, way back when he was barely in his twenties, he came home from some little ‘errand' my father sent him on, his white dress shirt just covered in blood. And it was this fancy, new shirt, too—he said it cost something like two-hundred dollars. Can you believe that? Two hundred dollars for a shirt?"

 

I shift in my seat and my mouth forms into a tight line.

 

"Anyway, my father runs at him, telling him how goddamn stupid he was being for driving around with his shirt covered in blood like that, blah blah. Meanwhile, Michal's just going on about how badly he kicked this guy's ass. Finally, my father talks some sense into him and tells him to be more discreet in the future. Then, the next day, my brother has a brand-new shirt! Said my father was so happy with the, ah, ‘lesson' my brother taught the man he was sent to visit, that he bought him a new one."

 

I don't know how to feel about this. I know somewhere deep down that Michal has to have a violent side to him, but hearing it in such clear terms …I feel ill at ease. Especially since it is clear to Danica that I am feeling more uncomfortable the longer she speaks about it.

 

"He's …not like that anymore, is he?"

 

"No, no," says Danica. "Ever since …our mother passed, he's calmed down. I think it took something like that for him to realize what sort of world he was living in. But when he was younger? A wild child, to put it mildly."

 

"I see," I say, looking out the window at the city passing by.

 

"But enough of that; I'm sure you'll come to learn all about my big brother. He's a good man; don't you worry about that. You've picked well."

 

This makes me feel a little better. But I realize, to my unease, that I've been mostly ignoring the subject of Michal's business. It's an easier thing to ignore than to confront, but I know that this isn't going to be sustainable in the long-term.

 

Soon, we arrive at a large shopping mall, the parking lot packed full of cars, pedestrians here and there. Danica slides into a spot, and we get out.

 

As we walk, she casts a glance over my clothing.

 

"Dressed to the nines, eh?" she says with a smile.

 

"I have nothing else to wear but my work clothes; it's insane," I say.

 

"Perfect," she says. "I know some stores here that have all of what the girls are wearing in New York."

 

I smile. Though I can tell Danica has a bit of a catty side, she seems genuinely interested in being my friend.

 

We enter the mall and spend the next several hours going from store to store, Danica snatching items off of shelves and piling them in my arms. We try on clothes, and she helps me pick out what, according to her, is the hottest stuff in the city. I don't know much about New York trends, but she does seem to have an eye for what looks best on my figure.

 

At the register of the first store, my jaw drops when I see the total.

 

"Michal said it's his treat, remember?" says Danica with a sly grin, the black, steel card in her hand. "Let's make him eat those words."

 

"But …" I stammer, the amount of the total at this one store more than I'd dreamed of making in a month upon moving to the US.

 

"Trust me, he's good for it. He makes millions a year and lets it just pile up in his bank account. Men have no idea how to have fun with money, if you ask me."

 

Millions? I think. I know Michal was wealthy, but just how much is he worth?

 

We hit store after store, the bags heavy on our arms. As the afternoon slips away, we decide to head back to the car and drop our purchases off.

 

"Nothing makes me hungrier than shopping," says Danica, leaning against the convertible after stuffing the small trunk full of bags. "Let's grab some dinner."

 

We make our way to a little bistro a short drive away from the mall. Over salads and wine, the two of us dish about various girl topics, eventually slipping into an easy back-and-forth. Danica eventually excuses herself to take a phone call, and I think about how relaxing the day has been. Michal's sister is definitely a rich New Yorker, through and through, but she's also fun and the type of assertive that I secretly wish I could be.

 

Allowing myself to think positively, I consider the possibility that between my job, my relationship with Michal, and the blossoming friendship between Danica and me, that however strange this current arrangement is, it just might work.