28 #2
The yard goes mute; even the wind stops. I feel the cold on my legs and something cinches in my chest, that knot I hate.
“It was the only thing we had from home,” Vega goes on, grabbing Alaska’s hand. “And Alaska watched over it like it was life or death. Twenty-four-seven surveillance level.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Worse than the one you’ve put on us.”
"Vega, enough!" Alaska protests, uneasy, flushed.
Vega tightens her grip.
"At eleven we… let’s say we lost her."
A silence that weighs three tons. Alaska drops her head, chews her rage in silence. Fuck, I swallow it with her and it scorches my throat. Vega looks at her with that sisterly tenderness that knows exactly where it hurts.
"As badass as she was, she ugly-cried over that Barbie."
The table murmurs. Sabina, Julia, Irina, all moved.
"I cheered her up however I could," Vega goes on, with a sad smile. "We fantasized about making a wish—a whole room full of Barbies."
Alaska huffs, but there’s no fight left in it.
She’s just red. And me, seeing that color in her cheeks, I come undone.
The curve of her neck tempts me, the hair stuck to her face from nerves, that mouth that bites off words.
I’m a mess. I behave. I keep my mouth shut. I feel like a saint and an idiot.
"And well…" Vega shrugs. "It was just the first thing that popped into my head. I don’t mean it. We don’t want them anymore."
The silence is heavy. The cold doesn’t bite as much now. Everyone’s watching the scene and I only see Alaska. White knuckles, rigid back.
Irina, queen of control, breaks this without breaking a sweat. She stands, walks over to the twins, and sets a hand on each of their shoulders. The garden goes still. The wind stirs the branches; someone sets another glass down badly.
"All right," she says, her voice carrying across the patio. "You’ve heard Vega. Barbies or no Barbies, we’re here to celebrate. But I want you to tell me what you really want. Anything."
Vega goes still, eyes shining. She bows her head and lets out a nervous little laugh.
Me, without thinking, I scoot my chair and brush Alaska’s knee with mine.
The heat is instant. She looks at me for a second and her mouth loosens.
I grin, play dumb. Let’s see what Vega says, because if she doesn’t, I’m going to eat Alaska alive right here.
"But seriously?" she asks, looking for the catch.
Irina nods. Julia, glued to her side, does too.
Vega chews her lip raw and starts, slow:
"I… what I wanted most for years was for our mother to come back for us."
Total silence. Alaska turns her face away, huffs.
"Years went by and I understood it wasn’t going to happen.
Then I started fantasizing that our father would show up and get us out of there.
Nope." She pauses and breathes for a few seconds.
No one so much as scrapes a chair. "After that, I told myself it would be nice if some family took us in.
To have a mom, even a temporary one. Someone to take care of us a little. "
Alaska’s eyes are brimming, but she says nothing. She holds it. Vega lets out a weird little laugh.
"Now you two have shown up. And I know we’re too old for Julia and Irina to adopt us." She shrugs, cocky. "But I love thinking we have family. That I can accept you’re going to be our moms. Or something like that. Sorry, but you’re way too old for us to see you as sisters."
Julia brings a hand to her chest. Irina blinks to keep from crying, but she cries a little, soft.
"What I want is to stay here. I’m happy. This is a dream. And I wouldn’t leave the mansion. I keep myself busy every day. I have peace. Period. Though if Alaska doesn’t want to stay, I’ll go with her when we can leave and be safe. That’s something she and I have to talk about."
I look at Vega and, fuck, the girl is brave even when she’s asking for gifts. Alaska, meanwhile, drops her gaze to the tablecloth. She’s rigid, exposed in front of everyone, and it hurts me for her, you know? Seeing her like that twists me up.
Irina takes a step and hugs them both with that uncompromising strength. No speech, no drama. The hug melts apart slowly and, when the air finally seems to come back, Vega wipes her tears with the back of her hand. She blurts out, somewhere between a smile and a pout:
"Well… there is one thing I do want to ask you. But not for me—I’m all set, okay? It’s for my sister. Because she’s so proud she won’t say a peep."
Alaska snaps her head up. Her eyes are wet, red from fresh tears and wine.
"Vega, no," she warns, voice low and hard. "Shut up. What the hell are you doing?"
"Let me," Vega insists, sweet but firm, eyes locked on hers. "You’re not going to say it, but this is your dream. And my wish is that it comes true."
Alaska presses her lips until the corner trembles. She squirms in her chair and her leg goes off on its own, jittery, knocking the chair leg. Three people turn their heads. A thick silence. Vega drops the bomb, clear, in her best announcer voice:
"Meet Alaska V. She has four self-published novels online. And they’re good, okay? Lesbian erotic fiction. I bet more than one of you here would like to take a look."
The air is heavy. I can hear it. Someone sets a fork down and it clinks by accident. An ice cube smacks against glass. I make a mental note to look up those novels and read them the second I get home.
Alaska covers her forehead with her palm. She drops her head and hunches in. She wants to disappear.
"Vega, knock it off!" she spits through her teeth, furious, ears red. "You're going too far."
That red climbs her neck. It heats me up head to toe. I set my glass aside. I need free hands, or I’ll give her a look and she’ll start shit.
Vega keeps going, no brakes.
"I want to see her books in one of the big bookstores," she says, and shoots her a look that’s soft but itching for a fight. "If you throw a little money into promo, they’ll sell themselves."
All eyes go to Alaska. She hides in her wineglass and turns the stem without drinking.
"And while we’re at it, she always wanted to major in Literature," Vega blurts, more excited. "And we enrolled, okay? I wanted something else, but I went with her. We do everything together."
She pauses. Alaska tries to cut her off. Vega lifts a hand and keeps going.
"We even had scholarships... but reality ate us alive. Work, shifts, bills. And we dropped out."
Alaska’s eyes well up. It’s not pride. It’s anger. Helplessness. Fear we’ll see what she doesn’t want to show.
"That’s enough," she says, her voice hoarse. "Cut it out."
"Fine. We’ll talk later. If I say one more thing, she’ll wring my neck," Vega finishes, breezy, and pours herself some water like it’s nothing.
We’re all a little shaken. The chatter takes its time coming back.
Irina promises them they’ll talk it over without pushing too hard.
Julia cracks a dumb joke about the cake, someone asks for more wine, the girls go back to giggling at whatever nonsense.
The whole place loosens up and people breathe.
Not Alaska. She stays rigid, eyes pinned to her plate, jaw set, shoulders up. Hands on her knees, fingers digging in. She’s swallowing shame and it scrapes. I can see it—she’s going to cry. And I can’t not see it.
I should behave. Straight line. Discipline.
I know the drill. And I break it. I wait for the noise to dip just enough and take her hand.
Warm, damp. Alaska looks at me for a second.
Bruised pride, banked fury... and something else that pulls me in.
I don’t say anything. I lean in, wrap her up, pull her against me.
She trembles for a second and softens. She fits her forehead to my shoulder.
Her breathing is rough, ragged. I’m here. She needs it. So do I.
Her breath warms my neck. I feel her chest against mine.
Heat climbs my skin. Her hair tickles my mouth.
I hold her waist with both hands and feel the heat through the fabric.
She smells like clean skin and nerves. I’m dying to kiss her face, to bite her lips.
I hold back. I pull her in tighter. I want to muffle the noise for her—the past, the shame, that voice that tells her she’s a bother.
I want to give her calm and hunger. Both.
"You win," I whisper in her ear.
And the truth drops on me. I’m breaking my own rule, my loyalty to the boss, my discipline.
I know. It scares me. And still I don’t let her go.
Not tonight. She’s the kid sister, sure, but she’s grown; so am I.
This is happening to both of us and I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.
There’s danger. There’s want. And that’s it: I’m gone. And I like it.