“Can I eat with you tonight?”

  Elena watches the plants near the windows and graze her fingers over the long and thick leaves. She’s been touring my apartment like she hasn’t stepped foot in it. Never. Which is the opposite of true. She has been the one visiting the most since I’ve been living on my own. Well, maybe after Jesse. Even my parents would drop her off at my entrance and use their time alone to enjoy their solitude by themselves. Elena wasn’t an easy child and could be quickly annoyed. And annoying.

  I’m sure Mom would have liked coming regularly but she never learned how to drive. And the public transportations actually frightens her. She likes to walk and appreciate the scenery around her whenever she goes grocery shopping or visiting some friends. But since her accident, she hasn’t been able to enjoy long trails. Unfortunately, my apartment isn’t very close on foot and Dad and I have a lot of work to come and pick her up.

  I’m not going to lie; I like having my privacy. It is pretty easy for me to fall into a routine and forget to take news of my own family. I know they are close, I know they are safe and they often fill my mind, but instead of grabbing my phone and dialing their numbers, I snatch my controller and launch a video game on my PS5. Letting off some steam on the latest Call of Duty game is usually how I finish my day of work. Either that, or punching a bag at the gym. I’m not always playing violent games but they tend to hit just right. “So?”

  Elena’s voice catches me out of my thinking and I nod. “Let me check the fridge. What do you want to eat?”

  “Whatever. I’m not picky.”

  “Carbonara or Bolognese?”

  “Real Carbonara?” She turns around with her annoying pretentious smirk on her face. Not that I would eat Carbonara with cream. I used to, like any other non-Italian person on this earth but since I’ve tried like they do in Italy, I never went back on it.

  “Hum, I don’t have eggs.”

  “Bolognese, it is.”

  While I start chopping the onions, garlic and tomatoes, she searches for music to put on the speaker through the tablet I keep nearby. My apartment isn’t very large but it’s just enough to balance between cozy and spacious. My windows are rather long and let the sun shine throughout the whole day. Most of my furniture is made of raw and smelly wood. The walls are painted with a dark color, but I’ve yet to decide whether it’s closer to green or blue. Elena’s voice cuts the sounds of the knife. “You have a lot of heavy metal in here.” She keeps on scrolling.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you ever listen to calm music?”

  “Depends,” I slide the onions and garlic into the pot already heated with the olive oil. “I also listen to jazz. When I read.”

  “That’s eclectic,” she observes and laughs under her breath. “You know, I’ve told my professors I was your sister.”

  The circling movement of my hand slows just a little and I listen with a careful ear. “The ones in the engineering department?”

  “Since the buildings were close to each other, I figured you were all a big loving family?”

  “Have you learned nothing from what our father said about me?” I smile but a tinge of truth coats my words.

  “Well, I remembered afterwards. When they said they had no idea who you were.” Her voice is a bit more slicing and I lower the heat under the pot, turn around to see her. She’s still focused on the playlist to choose.

  “Obviously.”

  “So, I went to your department. And ask the professors there. To introduce myself.”

  I frown. “You already have way too much time on your hands, what’s this schedule?”

  “They didn’t know about you either, Alex.” She finally meets my eye and what I see there is disturbing, to say the least. Sadness, definitely, anger, surely but also disappointment? And resentment. I’m not sure. I might be projecting my own thoughts at this point. “You eat alone and barricade yourself in a deserted room—"

  “Anyone can come. Andrew surely did.”

  “We’ll come back to him later.” She sighs and her shoulders slump a little. What does she want to hear? Why would it be important for her that I’m well-adjusted and invested in the sphere of our dearest professors at Tufts? Why can’t they understand that this job is supposed to be temporary and making friends have been a real struggle since—

  “I’m the oldest here. You don’t have to take care of me, .”

  “It’s not about that.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Then what? You’re upset I didn’t talk about my little sister to my colleagues? There are not my buddies there, I don’t speak of my private life to any of them.”

  “Well maybe you should start. You think it won’t serve you but I can assure you, it will. Things tend to be a little easier when surrounded by nice people.”

  The smell of almost burnt onions comes to my nose and I take care of the food in silence instead of answering her. She often acts like she’s the grown-up and I don’t want her to stop enjoying her twenties to take care of a grumpy old man. “Sometimes you have to manifest your own chances.” She adds, a little bit softer. She’s come closer, and with a quick glance back I see she’s resting on the counter right behind me.

  “Who are you and what have you done to my twenty-year-old sister?” I joke but not a crack of a smile can be seen on my face. Hers is luminous in the room.

  “You’re just too moody and simmering in your darkest thoughts to realize I’m more mature than you are.”

  She doesn’t fight when I grab her neck and try to dishevel her hair. Instead, she laughs loudly, beautifully, and laces her arms around my waist. Her brown eyes meet my hazel ones and I wouldn’t think of anyone more important than her right now. “Thanks for reminding me I’m a stupid thirty-two-year-old.”

  “Will anything I said stick to your brain somehow?”

  “I don’t know. But at least you tried.” I say while toying with her long straight hair.

  She pushes me out of her embrace and smiles, although she is quite sad that I’m not taking this seriously. But I am.

  It’s not like my father hasn’t told me this already. That opening up will only do good. That having connections is how the world actually works now and imprisoning oneself into the vastness of one’s own solitude is the best way to never achieve one goal. I already know. Yet, one or maybe multiple factors are keeping me at bay and I couldn’t explain. “Put the tomato sauce before it burns,” she adds after a few seconds of silent staring, smiles reaching our eyes.

  “Yes, chef.” I answer and she goes back to the tablet. Only after a few scrolls, I hear the first notes of a chill pop song. It makes me think of Andrew, for some reason. How it would be his style to listen to this kind of catchy, popular beats. While the sauce stirs, Elena’s next words also make me think of Andrew.

  “So. The guy.”

  I roll my eyes but she can’t see it. Should we really discuss this? Am I about to get angry? Not at my sister, of course but at the evident emotion that I feel for him. “What guy?” I answer with a fake nonchalance she immediately notices. Her laugh echoes around the walls of my kitchen/dining room/living room.

  “Why was he in your non-office? Since, you’ve told me you were not having sex.”

  “Elena…” My thumb and index bury themselves at the corners of my eyes and I take a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve also told you to stop talking about that. Or him.”

  “Yeah, no.”

  I pretend to take care of the meat. While reaching for a pan, she pops her head in my sight of vision. I contemplate throwing it to her face but then I would have to dispose of the body and explain to our parents how she disappeared, probably would get caught anyway and left to rot in prison… The pan rolls under my palm and finishes its course onto the stove. “He came to offer his help.”

  “Whaaaat? You mean, out of the blue? For no reason? You told him about looking for a job in research?”

  Her questions fuse and I let the flood finish while taking care of the ground beef. “Doesn’t matter. I am not going to accept.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t need it. It’s what I’ve told him. Repeatedly.” She stays silent and fills a large casserole of water for the pastas. Adds it to the stove as well.

  She crosses her arms and watches mindfully into nothing. “What’s going on in your head?” I ask. Suddenly insecure.

  “I’m just— thinking.”

  “Yes, what about?” I continue a bit more firmly. She finally meets my eye.

  And her grin stretches. “Well, usually, when one person offers help without any expectations in return…”

  I wait. Who would do that? Every human-being hopes for retribution. We actually perform better under the knowledge of compensation. The reward system. That’s just how our brain works, and we’re all wired the same way. I can’t possibly think that Andrew would propose his help altruistically and that’s the main reason I’m never going to accept. The second main reason is that… It’s hard being around him. “He seemed to look at you a certain way.” She adds.

  The food is almost ready and my mind can’t come up with an appropriate answer. She decides to be the one talking. “Like he wants something.”

  I snort while setting the table. The latter’s not too big but large enough to welcome my sister and both my parents. I don’t have enough friends to be short of space. Although Jesse often fills the room all by himself. “You’re a real specialist.”

  “I’m trying to put words on what I saw!”

  “Don’t bother. Let’s eat.”

  The music takes up on the silence and we wait for the pastas to finish cooking. She doesn’t bring the subject back up. I don’t know if it’s because she eventually noticed I really wasn’t open on the matter or that she doesn’t find the right words to actually express what she had seen. I’m sure he wants something. For me to believe in his disgusting discipline. He wants to implant his ideology into me because, why? Because he’s insufferable and possesses an inherent need to convince people of his specialty? Because I’ve made it clear that I don’t trust a word that he says and thus he created a side quest from his grand life scheme through his obstinacy? Maybe he needs me for something else completely but I can’t shake the idea that it has to be negative. Always smiling, always amused, always excited by my anger.

  Elena’s picked up by my father after dinner and he lingers a while at the threshold before taking a step in, and closing the door, while she rearranges her papers. I had lit up the TV while she worked on her exercises after we cleaned the table. Stefan watches around like he’s searching for a critic to make. But I keep my apartment clean. Everything is sorted. So, he just nods. “How are you?” I ask. My hands in my pocket.

  “Good. Your mother wanted to come but she felt a little tired tonight. I’m afraid she might have caught a cold.”

  “I’ll visit her later in the week. Do you have enough medication? I can give you some.”

  He shakes his head softly. “Don’t worry, son. Thank you.”

  We stay quiet. Elena comes a moment after and gives me a fair hug. I kiss the top of her hair while squeezing her shoulder. “Bye, . See you around.”

  “Love you.”

  Dad nods again as his way of saying goodbye and the next second, the echoes of the closed door deafen my ears.