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I’m hit with the first accurate intuition I’ve had all night: she will always surprise me. Making assumptions about Anastasia Petrov is only the beginning of my many missteps.
“Bryce, help me in the kitchen right now,” Mom says, not waiting for an answer as she stands. “Excuse us.”
She heads to a corner of the kitchen, farthest from the dining room. Self-preservation propels me to follow.
“What was that about?” Mom is an easygoing woman, but she never suffers fools. At the moment, I am the biggest fool of all.
“What?”
“Why are you being so mean to that young girl? She was just asking you a question about the robotics competition. You didn’t have to make her feel so…”
“Nosy?”
“Son, you are not harboring state secrets, OK?” Ouch. Mom’s sarcasm stings more than any kick under the table.
“Now go out there, answer her question about angles or trajectories or whatever. And for heaven’s sake, stop scowling.”
“I’m not scowling,” I respond and display the height of maturity by muttering, “you’re scowling.” Definitely the wrong thing to say to my mother who is giving lessons on dinner etiquette.
Without a word, she crosses her arms and expects my apology.
“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m just tired.” It is a believable claim. With work, school, friends, and family, who wouldn’t be tired?
“I know, son. But don’t ruin this for your Aunt Maeve. She’s finally in love.” Mom sounds dreamy and there’s nothing to do but cringe. “If everything goes well, we’ll be having a lot of dinners with Sergei and Ana.”
The pit of my stomach clenches with dread but something at the back of my traitorous brain perks up. Another synapse stronger than all the rest.
I’ll see her again. I’ll see her again and again.
Absentmindedly following Mom back to the dining room, I’m surprised by the three MacElroy men blocking our way.
“We need to stay in the kitchen. There’s some kind of drama happening in there,” Dad explains in a hushed tone.
“Between Maeve and Sergei?” Mom asks.
“No. It’s something about Sergei and Ana’s parents being in town,” Grandpa answers. “They weren’t happy about it.”
To give them privacy, we all try to look casually busy: milling about the kitchen, getting a drink, rinsing a plate. I lean on a wall and pretend to be preoccupied with my phone. However, my ears are tuned to the conversation outside.
“Ana, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you? Please let me help.” Aunt Maeve walks around the table to sit beside Ana but the young woman doesn’t let her sit. She wraps her arms around my aunt and clings like a child.
“I hate them. I hate them so much!” she mumbles between sobs. My heart squeezes. Is she talking about her parents?
I’m flooded with shame. Ana is a vulnerable girl who needs friendship, not hostility. Watching her accept Aunt Maeve’s comforting words and warm hug does something to me.
“We should go,” Sergei announces. “Chuck can look out for you while I talk to them.”
Wait a minute, who the fuck is Chuck?
“I want to stay here with Maeve.”
“Ana—”
“Of course you can stay here,” my wise aunt interrupts. “Let’s go to my old room so you can rest. Would you like that?”
“But your family will be mad. I don’t want to be rude.”
“You’re upset. My family will understand that you need to be excused,” Maeve comforts her. “Catch your breath and come out whenever you’re ready.”
