My sister comes home later that evening, finding Serafina and me in the kitchen. She’s standing at the island, typing on her laptop. Her studying took the briefest pause for lunch, and that’s the longest I’ve seen her face today.
I appreciate her focus and dedication. In many ways, she reminds me of myself.
Before the rest of the household joins us and things return to normal, I wanted her one more time, but her schooling must come above my newfound obsession. So, once finished in the bathroom this morning, I left her alone.
Anastasia dramatically flounces into the room and claims the stool beside Serafina. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious. Right on time, since I’m starving. I worked up an appetite at the studio.” She glances over the textbook spread in front of Serafina and whistles. “You understand this?”
Serafina nods but doesn’t spare my sister a glance—which I’m selfishly pleased about. “It’s the anatomy of a cell. Trying to memorize all the parts and the function of each before this week’s quiz. Also, our mid-term next month is essentially all the quizzes compiled, so the better I do on this quiz, the more confident I’ll feel about the exam.”
My sister curses in our language. “You’re one ofthosepeople. Like Lev. You’re smart as hell.”
That earns her brief attention, and she throws a smile my way that Ana is too perceptive to miss, which likely means being questioned later. It takes me a while to look away.
“Well,” my sister breaks the silence, “two seats have been set aside for you guys. Front and centre, of course. Nothing but the best.”
Serafina blinks, glancing from me to Ana, brow furrowed. “What?”
“My brother didn’t tell you?” A slow smirk spreads across her lips, and she winks my way. “You’re coming to my show next week. He asked me to set tickets aside.”
Serafina gasps. “How the hell did you know?”
“Your mother,” I reply, giving them my back to drag the heavy pot of water and noodles to the sink for draining. “When you were packing, Vanessa was telling your mama what life here would look like, and at the mention of Ana, she said you were watching all her old performances online.”
Anastasia slips out of her seat with a waggle of her fingers. “Save me pasta. I’m going to get changed.” Either she’s so perceptive, she’s giving us a moment I don’t deserve, or she’s not perceptive enough, and she’s missing the way Serafina’s about to combust from excitement.
The second my sister evacuates the room, Serafina flings herself from her seat and bolts around the counter to throw herself into my arms. “You shouldn’t have, Lev. Attending sounds like it’ll be difficult on you.”
Lying to ease her tempts me, but I’d already opened up so much to her, what’s a bit more? “It’ll be worth it to see this look in your eyes again.”
Turning from the pots, I stroke a thumb down the side of her face, to which she nuzzles into me. “I kinda wanna talk you out of this, but I also want to go.”
“Don’t bother trying, because I won’t let you skip. Besides, a ballet performance isn’t as chaotic as university.”
“Still…” She sucks her teeth and frowns, so I lower my head to kiss her of the guilt before my sister returns and ruins my life.“Thank you,” she whispers in the small space between us as I straighten, returning to food preparations. “I can’t wait.”
As Serafina reclaims her seat, her lips showing subtle signs of our kiss, Anastasia flounces back in, smirk still annoyingly present.
Hours after dinner and more studying, this time in her bedroom, Serafina drops onto the futon with an exhausted, drawn-out groan. Her head lowers onto the back of the couch as she rubs her eyes. “God, I’m tired. I don’t want to do the quiz tomorrow.”
“You’ll be fine.” No point in stressing about something that has yet to pass, or that she’s been working hard to prepare for. I see no point in why people do this.
Knowing Serafina needs comfort and not facts, I shut off my game and settle into the spot beside her before grasping her hand and massaging fingers until she moans again. “Mm, that feels pleasant. Didn’t realize how tired they are.”
“I spend ninety-nine percent of my time on a computer. Typing can be hard on the hands.” She did a lot of it today, typing and retyping and summarizing notes over and over.
After a moment of working her fingers, she tugs them back onto her lap with a grateful smile. “Think you can stomach TV? I haven’t come down all week, so before getting too behind, I’d like to binge a few episodes.”
She avoided the basement to avoid me—a hard fact to reconcile with.
But now, she’s back.
And mine.
Kind of.
I slip the remote into her hand and shift into a more comfortable position to watch pointless drama scripted for TV ratings.
We’re halfway through an episode when she starts chewing on her thumb—a behaviour I’ve never seen from her before.
