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Caleb takes a dining chair from against the wall, sets it down across from me, and sits.
“Thank you for seeing me,” he says and I nod with a tight smile, wondering why all of my sisters need to be here. “What do you want from today?”
It’s such a strange question that I don’t have an answer ready. I open my mouth.
“How long have you known our father?” Zhenya asks.
His gaze moves to her. “Four years. On and off.”
“Doing what?” she demands as I lean forward and begin putting the teacups on their saucers.
“Security consulting.”
“For which properties?”
“Several.” He turns back to me. “You were saying.”
I wasn’t saying anything yet. I try again. “I think I’d like to...”
“Do you want tea?” Evaria asks him brightly. “Galina, pour him some tea.”
I’m already reaching for the pot. My hands do it on their own. I pour, add a slice of lemon because Papa’s men always took lemon, and hold out the cup. He takes it without looking at it. He’s still looking at me.
“Do you have family in Chicago?” Arina asks. Her voice is the polite one, the one that means she’s sharpening a knife.
His eyes move slowly to her. “Some.”
“Siblings?” she enquires and he nods.
“Ever been married?” Alina continues, jab after jab.
He frowns now. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Arina,” Evaria cuts across.
Arina turns to our sister. “It’s a reasonable question.”
“I never wanted to be,” Caleb says. He sets the cup down on the little table beside him. He hasn’t drunk any of it. “Galana.”
My name stops the room again.
“What do you want from today?” he asks. “You started to tell me. Twice.”
Four faces turn toward me. Five, counting his. My sisters look surprised, like they’ve only just noticed I was in the middle of a sentence.
I look down at my hands. There’s still a little flour in the crease of my thumb.
Nobody has ever asked me that. Not about a day, and not about anything else. People ask whether there’s more coffee and whether I’ve seen their keys. They ask if I’d mind. And I never mind.
“I want to know who you are,” I say slowly. “Before I have to decide anything. I don’t want to marry a stranger.”
Zhenya’s mouth twitches. Milana snorts.
Caleb doesn’t smile. Something shifts in his face anyway. It’s small, like a door opening a quarter of an inch.
“That’s fair,” he says.
