The cab pulls up to the curb just as the streetlamps flicker on, spilling their golden glow across the pavement. My fingers tap a nervous rhythm as I pay the driver, and I have to take a deep breath before I step out. Sunday dinners are my anchor, my little escape from the chaos of my own life, but tonight, I’m jittery, expecting Kelly’s third degree and the warmth of Mom’s hugs in equal measure.
I brace myself as I walk up the path to the front door, the light from the windows casting a warm glow over the front porch decorated with flowerpots and the porch swing Dad hand carved. The grass Kelly and I spent so much time playing on still smells sweet, even as summer is on the verge of turning into fall. The old basketball hoop still has a torn net, and Mom’s favorite rose bushes still line the house’s facade. It’s all familiar, comfortable.
It’s home.
The door swings open before my hand finds the knob. Kelly stands there, arms folded, eyebrows perfectly arched. “You’re late,” she says, but I hear the affection in her voice.
Once inside, the house envelops me in a rush of warmth and noise. The kitchen smells like garlic and basil, something sweet baking while laughter spills in from the dining room. For a beat, I let myself relax.
Mom appears holding a salad in the old, chipped salad bowl she inherited from her grandmother, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Sit, sit! You’re just in time, though I was about to send Kelly out to handcuff you and drag you here.”
Kelly snorts. “I would’ve, too. Someone has to keep her in line.” She leads me to the dining room, where Dad sits behind a spread newspaper, glasses perched low.
He looks up and grins. “There’s our favorite troublemaker.”
I kick off my shoes and smile. “I try my best.”
“Danny, can you please help me bring the chicken in?” Mom calls from the kitchen. Dad gives me a face that makes me giggle before pushing to his feet.
“So,” Kelly says, waiting until he’s out of the room. “What’s going on with Mr. Mob Boss?”
I laugh, but my heart speeds up, because this is what I was waiting for. Dreading, actually. “Don’t interrogate me, Kells. I told you what’s going on with Matvei. It’s a contract so we can get back at Samson. That’s it.”
Kelly’s eyes narrow. “Last time you were this cagey, you were dating that jazz drummer with the man bun.”
I groan. “You’ll never let that go, will you?”
“I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“I am being careful. Like I said, this isn’t anything more than a business arrangement.”
“With the head of aRussian mafia syndicate, Sonya.”
“Will you keep it down?” I hush her, glancing towards the kitchen.
“Keep it down about what?” Mom walks into the room with a tray of roasted vegetables and a basket of rolls. Dad follows with the roasted chicken.
“Sonya’s dating someone.”
“I am not,” I protest. Suddenly, it feels like we’re in high school again. “I’m not dating anyone. I’m someone’s date to a wedding. That’s it. Nothing else. One night, and nothing beyond.”
Dad puts the chicken on the table, then begins to carve it. “As long as he’s not a stockbroker or—God forbid—a tech bro.”
I laugh. “No stockbrokers. No man buns. He’s… different.”
Kelly purses her lips. “Different, Sonya? Mysterious? Dangerous?”
The look I give her speaks volumes, but unfortunately, my adopted sister ignores it.
“Sonya? What is Kelly talking about?” Mom asks.
“It’s just a date for a wedding, okay? Kelly’s upset because I’m going with a guy who could be involved in some shady business deals. But my being his date has nothing to do with any of that.”
Kelly narrows her eyes at me. She brushes her long, dark ponytail behind her shoulder before uncorking the bottle of wine with such force some of it splashes onto the table.
Mom sighs. “Let’s give Sonya some credit.”
“I’m just saying,” Kelly says, pouring a healthy amount of red wine into her glass, then mine. “You attract chaos. And I don’t like it.”
