The fire escape is my sanctuary. I settle onto the metal grating with my coffee mug warming my hands, watching the neighborhood wake up below. A bodega owner rolls up his security gate. A woman walks three small dogs that seem to be walking her. Sunday morning in the city, peaceful before the chaos begins.
I open my laptop and stare at the Skype icon, gathering courage I shouldn't need to talk to my own family. But the guilt is always worse on Sundays. I'm here, in New York City, working in a gleaming glass tower, while my sixteen-year-old brother and elderly grandmother survive on whatever money I can scrape together to send them.
The call connects after three rings. Alexei's face fills the screen, his blonde hair sticking up in all directions, and despite everything, I smile. He's so much like our mother, it hurts.
"Eva!" His voice cracks slightly, still adjusting to manhood. "You look tired. Are you sleeping?"
"I'm fine,malysh." The endearment slips out in Russian, the language we still use when it's just us. "Tell me about school. How's the engineering project?"
His face lights up, and for the next ten minutes, I listen to him explain something about load-bearing structures and stress calculations that I only half understand. But I love watching him talk, seeing the passion in his eyes, the intelligence that's going to take him so much further than our mother or I ever got.
"Top marks in physics again," he says, trying to sound casual but unable to hide his pride. "Professor Volkov says I should start thinking about university applications. Maybe Moscow State, or…"
He trails off, and we both know what he's not saying. Maybe an American university. Maybe MIT or Stanford. Maybe dreams that cost money we don't have.
"That's wonderful, Alexei. I'm so proud of you."
Babushka Sasha appears behind him, her lined face soft with love as she leans into frame. "Eva,vnuchka, you look too thin. Are you eating enough? Working too hard?"
"I'm fine,Babushka. The new job is good. Really good."
The lies taste like ash on my tongue. Yes, I'm fine. Yes, the job is good. No, nothing is wrong. I don't mention the strange tension at work, Roman Sokolov's suspicious intensity, the way he watches me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. I don't mention the men who carry themselves like soldiers, the conversations that stop when I enter rooms.
I definitely don't mention the way my pulse quickens when Roman's blue eyes land on me or how I catch myself thinking about his hands, his voice, the controlled power in the way he moves. That's a complication I can't afford to examine.
"I need new textbooks for next term," Alexei says, his voice careful. "The advanced physics ones. They're expensive, but…"
My stomach tightens. "How much?"
He names a figure that's not terrible by American standards but might as well be a fortune, given my current calculations. The money from Sokolov Financial Group is good, triple my normal rate, but it's still not enough. Not for the debt payments that never seem to shrink. Not for Babushka's medications. Not for Alexei's education. Not for my own rent and the professional wardrobe I need to maintain this job.
I've been skipping meals, walking everywhere instead of taking the subway, wearing the same rotation of carefully maintained dresses and blazers. My credit cards are maxed out. My savings account is a joke.
"I'll send extra money this week," I promise, already calculating which bill I can delay. Maybe the electric company will give me another extension.
We talk for another twenty minutes. Babushka tells me about her garden, the tomatoes that are finally ripening. Alexei shows me his latest sketches for a bridge design. I smile and nod and pretend my heart isn't breaking, pretend I'm not drowning, pretend everything is fine.
When the call ends, I sit on the fire escape and let myself cry. Quietly, carefully, so Megan won't hear through the thin walls. I think about my mother, about watching her waste away while insurance companies found creative ways to deny coverage. About the debt that's crushing me, that will probably crush me for the rest of my life. About the impossible choice of sending Alexei back to Russia because I couldn't afford to keep him here.
I think about Roman Sokolov's piercing blue eyes and the way they seem to see straight through my carefully constructed armor. The tattoos I glimpsed on his forearms, old and faded and significant in ways I don't want to understand. The cold authority in his voice when he saidmistakes have consequences.
I think about how desperately I need this job and how terrified I am of what it might actually be.
"Eva?" Megan's voice drifts through the open window. "You out there?"
I wipe my face quickly, forcing brightness into my voice. "Yeah, just having coffee."
"Good, because we're going to brunch and I'm not taking no for an answer. You've been working yourself to death all week."
The diner Megan drags me to is our usual spot, cheap and cheerful with the best pancakes in the neighborhood. We're halfway through our food when Tyler shows up, his hopeful smile making my chest ache with guilt I have no right to feel.
Of course he's here. Megan definitely texted him.
"Eva! Hey!" He slides into the booth next to his sister, his wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew. "How's the new job?"
"Good. Busy." I take a bite of pancake to avoid elaborating.
"She's working for some fancy finance guy," Megan supplies, her enthusiasm genuine. "Like, serious money. The office is insane."
