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“Exactly,” Mikhail says. “Just with worse graphics.”
“What’s the setting?” Mila asks.
“An orphanage.”
Beside me, Lia stiffens. She was bringing her fork to her mouth, but she paused. It’s like a jolt of ice moves through her whole body, making her rigid.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
Lia shakes her head quickly. I can read her better every single moment we spend together. She’s not saying,No, I’m not okay.She’s saying,Please don’t ask me about this.
Mikhail gives me a look, asking if he should go on. Before I can reply, Lia speaks in a sharp, almost angry tone. “Why an orphanage?”
“The story of the game is minimalist,” Mikhail says. “It’s about a young orphan trying to escape the home. Hence, the abilities improve each time until they can finally escape.”
“But why there?” Lia persists.
“Hmm, I don’t know,” Mikhail says. “It just felt like the right choice.”
“Like you with your painting, Lia,” I say. “He just listens to his muse…”
She says nothing, cutting into her food. Ania watches her with her typically empathetic, curious expression. She’s probably come to the same conclusion I have, but this isn’t the best time to speak about it.
“You’re a painter?” Mila asks Lia.
Lia glances at her, her expression cold, but then she smiles. Lia is doing a lousy job of hiding her real feelings, taking a long time to put her shield up. “Yeah, I’m trying to be,” she says.
“You should see the painting she did of our father,” I say.
“You painted Dad?” Ania asks.
Lia nods. “I just… I don’t know. It’s weird. I didn’tdecideto paint him. I just heard the awful news, and it’s almost like something made me do it.”
“The awful news,” Mikhail grunts, shaking his head.
Lia shrugs. “I didn’t know him, just what I’ve seen in the news.”
“Be happy you didn’t know him,” Mikhail grunts. “If he didn’t put that bullet in his head himself, it would have only been a matter of time beforesomebodydid.”
“It was a suicide?” Lia gasps.
“You didn’t know that?”
“No, I just… I don’t know what happened. I know nothing.”
When I hear the pain in her voice, I can’t help but reach across the table and touch her hand. She lets me touch her momentarily, but she doesn’t hold me. Then she gently but obviously moves her hand away. I swallow, my jaw tight, my head aching.
She should never move away from me. She should never be scared or nervous around me. There should be no awkwardness or insecurity between us.
“The game sounds great, anyway,” Lia says after a pause.
The rest of the meal is quiet. Eventually, Ania talks about her last practice session and murmurs, “I’m thinking about joining the group in the city. I mean, I could now, right?”
She means nothing is stopping her now that our father is gone. He was the only one who didn’t want her to perform. Once, during a nasty fight, the cold old bastard yelled at her, “Your mother was a slut, and now you want to be one, too!”
“Of course you can, Ania,” I tell her. “You can do anything you want.”
“I’m going to get back to work,” Mikhail says after dinner.
