5. Luka
5
LUKA
I ’m the last one here when I pull into my mother’s circular drive, right behind my sister’s silver BMW.
Not a speck of dust is visible on the car, not even on the rims, and I know because I look for it when I get out of my car, always searching in vain for her imperfections. Her tires are perfectly straightened, and I can just see her driving here with her hands nine and three, the rod permanently stuck in her ass positioning her too close to the wheel.
My older brother’s green, soft-top Jeep is parked sideways with one tire in the rock bed my mother has as an alternative to a lawn. I shake my head at it before turning for the door that opens without me ringing the bell.
“Mr. Luka.” Anita’s head lowers in greeting as she clutches the door. She’s called me that ever since my father hired her as a maid when I was seventeen. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned how annoying it is. “They’re in the sitting room,” she says, her voice low and sympathetic, which is even more annoying.
I brush by her and head to the sitting room, my brother’s enraged voice booming through the five-bedroom house. The house isn’t nearly impressive enough for Anita to inform me where my family is.
Only my mother’s head turns my way when I reach the entrance, hands in my pockets as Leo pulls at his shaggy hair. My sister, Mila, sits perched on the couch, leaned forward with a worried look on her face. She looks ready to pounce at Leo at any minute to try to calm him.
But my mother… My mother sits cross-legged, her hands gracefully in her lap, her back straight. Her face is a mask of calm, her eyes devoid of any warmth. My mother looks every bit the ice queen she is.
“She’s with him now. I just fucking know it,” Leo growls before letting go of his hair long enough to grab a vase off the shelf and chuck it at the wall next to me. Mila gasps when it shatters, adding to the mess he’s made in here. I glance around at the smashed frames, the candlesticks broken in half.
It strikes me, though, that he missed the mirror hanging on the wall for who knows what reason. Decoration, I suppose. A little shelf is built into it, and to Leo’s credit, all the figurines that were once there are now smashed and on the floor.
I catch my reflection and don’t immediately look away. I find myself studying my eyes, noting for the first time how unsymmetrical they appear. One is hooded , apparently.
When Leo sees me, probably noting how close the vase hit to where I’m standing, his bloodshot eyes widen. His pupils are so dilated, he looks demonic.
“Leo, it’s the paranoia talking,” Mila says, her voice calmer than she looks. “Piper will call soon and explain everything.”
His face reddens. “I’m not paranoid!” He bends over as he screams at her, as if that gives his lungs more force.
I meet my mother’s cold eyes again, never wavering. She wants me to fix this. As if I could.
I take in Leo’s shaking hands, his dilated eyes. He’s no doubt on something, but this is more than that. This is just him . An illness perhaps, but Alekseevs don’t admit to that kind of thing.
“Piper’s cheating on me, Luka,” he says, his eyes watering. “With my baby inside of her. She’s…” He bites his fist and clenches his eyes shut, rage turning his face red. At least it appears he’s trying to hold it in this time.
“You don’t know that,” Mila says. “Leo, listen to me.” Mila gets to her feet and slowly walks toward him, her hands raised. “You know you’re prone to paranoia.”
“She isn’t answering her phone!”
“Maybe it’s because she’s scared,” Mila carefully says. “Like you said, she’s carrying a baby now. Your anger can make some people uneasy.”
“ My baby.”
Mila frowns. “Of course.”
“You said ‘ a’ baby. You don’t think it’s mine?!”
“I didn’t say that,” Mila is quick to reply, shaking her head.
“But how can you be sure?” I interject.
Mila’s eyes are bugged when she turns to me, her jaw dropped in disbelief. Even my mother’s cold eyes narrow.
I ignore both of them and focus on my brother. “If you’re so convinced your girlfriend is fucking some other guy, you have to consider the possibility that the kid might not be yours. Right?”
“Luka…” Mila says, the warning clear in her tone.
“But here’s another thing to consider. What if, hear me out, she isn’t even pregnant? What if she’s lying to you?”
“Luka!” Mila steps between Leo and I. As if she’s tall enough to block his view of me or a barrier for sound. “ Don’t feed this.”
I laugh and raise my arms at my sides. “Feed what? Every person in this room has considered the possibility that Leo’s whore might not be such a good girl. That’s not paranoia, sis. It’s reality. So why don’t you tell him what you’re really thinking?”
Her face starts to sink with dread as she eyes me, silently begging me not to do this. But I have to. Because Piper isn’t coming back, so all the sugar-coated bullshit Mila decides to spoon-feed Leo to keep him calm will spew all over us. Soon.
I raise my eyes to look at Leo’s pained expression over the top of Mila’s head. “Regardless of whether or not your girlfriend is a slut, pull your shit together. Take a shower, pour the booze down the sink, flush whatever shit you're on down the toilet, and go to work. Quit destroying shit. Quit throwing your tantrums. Be a fucking man.”
Tears gloss his eyes as he looks around, as if realizing for the first time how we all see him.
Volatile.
His hand dragging through his hair, he storms around Mila and I, nearly running for the exit.
“Leo!” Mila calls, her hand reaching for him.
Her lip curls as her eyes train on me. “What is wrong with you?”
I roll my eyes at the condemnation in her tone, but when she slaps me, I shut them, my jaw clenching.
“Why is it so hard for you to be a good brother?” Mila sneers.
I open my eyes to glare back at her, but before I can speak, she shakes her head at me in disgust and leaves after Leo. If the screeching tires outside are any indication, I’d say she’s too late.
The print Mila left on my cheek feels hot, and as badly as I want to rub the sting away, I don’t dare in front of my mother. She stands before walking to me in six-inch heels no woman her age should own.
When she stops in front of me, I meet her eyes, mimicking her hard expression.
“Do you really believe there’s another man?” she asks.
I shrug.
A sigh brushes past her lips, and she pauses for a few moments. “Take care of him. Don’t tell your brother when you’re finished. He’s too weak. Adulterous or not, he believes he needs the woman.”
“He’d manage without her.”
She lifts a shoulder. “In time, he can decide that for himself.”
“I don’t understand why you coddle him,” I say, annoyed at the slight whine in my tone. “Fyodor would have never accepted … this.” I gesture at all the broken pieces of ceramic and glass.
“You can’t even bring yourself to call him Papa, and yet, you expect me to believe you care about his approval?”
She has a point. I suppose I don’t care what my late father would think of the way my family handles things. Seeking his approval was always a futile endeavor, and I don’t suppose that’s changed now that he’s busy critiquing Satan’s interior designer.
“ Go , Luka. I expect an update soon.”
Blinking, I refocus on her. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a bun, not a strand out of place. It offers no concealment for any part of her face, like she wants you to be able to study it, searching for signs of warmth, knowing you’ll come up empty.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Without a word, I turn and leave, wishing I could speak what’s on my mind.
Don’t hold your breath.