My phone buzzes, a welcome distraction from my spiraling guilt.
My mother.I answer it.
"Kheegees," she begins in Armenian the second I pick up."You have disappeared.No calls, no visits.Are you alive or should I call police?"
"I'm alive, Mom," I sigh."Just busy with work."
"Too busy for family?For mother who gave birth to you?Who sacrificed sleep for eighteen years?"
The standard Armenian mother guilt trip—I'd roll my eyes if it weren't so effective.
"I'll come by soon," I promise."Maybe next week when things calm down."
"Not next week.Tonight.Family dinner.Seven o'clock.Dr.Finnegan is making his special roast.Susanna is bringing wine.Viktoria and Charlie are coming."
"Mom, I can't tonight.I have to prepare for?—"
"For what?For dying alone without family?Because this is what happens when you abandon your mother."
Callum, overhearing this theatrical declaration, raises an eyebrow.
"Mom," I try again, "I've got a deadline and?—"
"We'd be delighted to join you," Callum says suddenly, leaning close enough to speak into the phone."Seven o'clock works perfectly."
There's a beat of stunned silence, then my mother's voice, dangerously pleased: "And who is this?"
"Callum Abernathy, ma'am.Your daughter's colleague."
"The kilt man from internet!"My mother sounds positively gleeful."Yes, perfect.You come too.I make extra dolma."
"That's very kind, but I didn't mean to impose?—"
"No impose!Family dinner is better with handsome Scottish man.Seven o'clock.Don't be late."
She hangs up before either of us can protest.
I stare at Callum, my jaw starting to unhinge itself."What have you done?"
"Accepted a dinner invitation?"He offers, one dark copper brow arched towards the sky.
"Do you understand what just happened?My mother—my Armenian mother—just invited my boss—the viral 'kilt man'—to family dinner.Where my sisters will be.And my niece.And my mother's maybe-boyfriend who collects antique medical instruments as a hobby."
Comprehension dawns on his face."Ah."
"'Ah' doesn't begin to cover it.This is a catastrophe."
"Surely it can't be that bad."
I laugh, a slightly hysterical sound."My family makes the Scottish clan feuds look like a preschool playground disagreement.Vikto—" I cut myself off, suddenly remembering she might have mentioned hacking his email."They're going to interrogate you.Possibly with actual torture devices, given Dr.Finnegan's collection."
"I've faced worse," he says, maddeningly calm."Besides, I've been curious about the women who shaped you."
The casual admission makes me blink.Once.Twice.Three times."Why?"
He looks at me for a long moment."Because you're a puzzle, Karina Peters.And I've always enjoyed solving puzzles."
I should find this alarming—the last thing I need is Callum digging deeper into my background.
