Chapter 7
Arya
Two days after the heist, I’m no closer to figuring out who the hell gave Michael access to our family network than I am to getting my parents to stop beating what’s left of our relationship to death. I’m exhausted and pissed off, and I’ve already gone through all my contacts on the dark web without turning up anything. I am determined to redeem myself with my family, but that’s going to be such an uphill battle that I sometimes question what the point is.
My father has assigned one of his men to take my place and run the family network. Most of my equipment has been taken away, aside from my personal network. I had to copy and hide most of my programming work to keep that from being taken away from me, too. My father doesn’t give a shit, and my mother is treating the whole thing like I’m a teenager being grounded for wrecking the family car.
And none of this would have happened without Michael. That sonovabitch . This was just another job for him and another chance to get up my nose. But he’s ruined me. I don’t even care if he didn’t know that was what he was doing. That was what he did.
I hear a knock at my door as I’m rearranging my workspace, and then the door opens. Nina, my oldest sister. She’s the only one who talks to me regularly right now, mostly because she’s the runner-up for the black sheep in the family. She and her kids moved in a year ago after her husband had died due to financial reasons, and she’s shown no interest in remarrying. That’s a real crime in this family.
She dyes her hair auburn these days, and her eyes are wide and brown behind her round glasses. “How are you holding up, lil sis?”
“I’m alive. Not sure about my dignity.” The one little laptop looks ridiculous sitting in the middle of my huge, empty workstation.
“Mom and Dad aren’t letting up, huh?” She smiles ruefully. “I get it. When they found out I had no plans to remarry after Paul died, they called my priest. Said I should get counseling.”
“Because you didn’t want to go back to being a wife when you just lost your husband? They actually did that?” I ask incredulously. She hadn’t told me about the bullshit our parents had pulled.
“They did indeed. Kind of hard to come back from that.” She chuckles and shakes her head. I have no idea how she can handle our parents’ meddling so calmly. Maybe she doesn’t get treated as badly. Certainly, they almost never take her to task in front of the family. With me, they always do.
“I can’t even try to date without them descending on me,” I grumble. “They meddle in everything I do. I can’t work without being criticized. I can’t work for the family without being discouraged. And when I look for a new man, he’s never good enough while simultaneously not moving fast enough to lock me down and put a baby in me.”
“Oh, honey,” she sighs. “You can’t let them get to you, especially Mom. Mom doesn’t even know what she really wants when it comes to you because you’ve never toed the line with her.”
“I shouldn’t have to toe the line with her. I’m in my late twenties, damn it. If she keeps trying to be so controlling, I swear to God I may have to move out and stop talking to her for a while. Dad, too.” I wipe down the freshly cleared space on my desk, mopping up little threads of dust that used to sit between hard drives and server equipment.
“Arya, come on! This is your family. You have to be willing to put up with some eccentricities—”
I feel tears come to my eyes suddenly: tears of anger, humiliation, and frustration. “Eccentricities are one thing. Sexism, trying to control my life and treating me like garbage when I try to contribute—”
“They didn’t treat you like garbage.” She sounds exasperated.
I stare at her. She has been only witness to some of it, but what she has seen should have been more than enough for her to realize our parents are out of line with the way they treat me.
Then, I realize it. I don’t know why I haven’t gotten it before.
Every damn time Nina is around, she comes in after I’ve fought with Mom and Dad to “comfort” me. Except comforting me isn’t really what she’s doing. She’s trying to convince me to calm down, be reasonable, and go along to get along.
She’s not here in support of me. She’s sweet and oh-so-reasonable about it, but in the end, she’s here on my parents’ behalf.
“Look,” I sigh. “I get you mean well, but they’ve gone too far this time. Hell, they’ve been going too far for years. And it really hurts that you always come by to advocate for them like this.” Better to just tell her outright that I’ve caught on.
She scoffs nervously. “I’m not advocating for Mom and Dad—”
“Yeah, you are. You’re not even interested in what this does to me or what it feels like. You never actually listen to my side of the story. You cut me off, tell me I’m overreacting—”
“Okay, that is a wild generalization.” But she speaks too quickly, and she is shifting her weight nervously. “I understand you’re upset about this, but your family is your family. You can’t just go running off and forget your responsibilities because you’re angry.”
“It’s not just because I’m angry,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “Look, it’s clear you don’t get it, and you don’t want to get it. I’m the black sheep of the family because I haven’t given Mom any grandkids. If I walk away, you’ll be the black sheep for not remarrying. You don’t want that to happen, so you need to encourage me to stick around and keep taking all the heat.”
She blinks at me, looking at a loss for words. Deep in her eyes, I can see the guilt. “I’m just trying to help you patch things up—”
“I’m not the one who was out of line. Someone sabotaged my attempt to finally impress them, and now, things are even worse than they were. I just wanted to get some recognition—”
Nina sighs. “They don’t want big accomplishments out of their daughters; they want it out of their sons. All they want from you is for you to be married and give them a grandkid or two. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
“What I find hard to understand is why you’re willing to go along with their controlling bullshit when it hurts you, too,” I snap.
She winces. “That isn’t fair, Arya.”
“How is it not fair?” I demand. “You’re here the way you always are, stepping in to get me to calm down, forgive them, and let the matter drop. But this is different. They have been hammering at me for days, even more than usual, and every time they see me, it’s the same. If they don’t stop—”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” she says, holding up a hand and pissing me off even more. “I hear you feel like they’ve got you under pressure. But you did make a big mistake—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nina, we were robbed. And the only way that could have happened is if someone on the inside—on our staff, in our family—helped! Why aren’t they looking for that person instead of coming down on me? Oh, wait, I already fucking know. Because they hate me for not giving them a goddamn grandkid when they already have six!”
My voice rises, and as it does, her expression becomes closed. “Stop being dramatic,” she says in an exasperated tone. “They’re just expecting what lots of parents expect once their daughters reach a certain age.”
“Normal families don’t treat their daughters like shit—”
“Plenty do, actually.” Her voice is so cold now that I know I was right to call her out. She keeps on with her rationale, even though all it does is show me just how badly she needs to go to therapy.
“Most families, through history, most families across the world, put pressure on their kids to get married and have babies. Especially if those kids are girls. Mom and Dad are old-fashioned like that. You can’t expect them to be okay with you dragging your feet on basic things like that.”
“You know, I’m having a hard time believing what I’m hearing,” I mutter. “Maybe I shouldn’t be. Maybe I should have come to expect this out of you, along with everyone else. You’re just a little nicer about it.”
She looks a little nervous now. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re not actually on my side in this. You believe the same things that Mom and Dad do about me and what I should be doing with my life. But instead of trying to shove it down my throat with a crowbar, you do this.”
“Honey,” she says quietly. “Look, it’s not as simple as you’re making it out. But this family does have traditions, and you’re always insisting on going as hard against them as you possibly can. It aggravates Mom, it embarrasses Dad when you do it in public—”
“What does? Being myself? Not having kids yet? Not having found anyone to date who isn’t a douchebag?” She can’t even tell how she’s causing me misery. It’s like we are speaking different types of English to each other. I’m not even that angry at her. If Mom came at me as gently as my sister, I wouldn’t have half my problems with how I’m treated.
“Is that what it is?” She almost looks relieved that my excuse for not living as a housewife and providing the required grandchildren is something normal and understandable. “Is that why you’re not married yet? You can’t find anybody worth marrying?”
I almost want to cop out and blame it all on that, even though it’s bullshit. No, I can’t find anyone decent to date, but holy shit is that irrelevant. I have a life, talent, dreams, and purpose, just like their sons. Family, love, babies, and all of those things can wait for now until I find someone who is actually worth being with. But the rest of my life can’t wait.
“I don’t know how to explain this in a way you’ll understand,” I say slowly, in a calm voice, like I’m talking to an upset child. “But I have a life and ambitions outside of having babies. I’m seriously considering leaving, going low-contact, and getting a damn job in IT. With my references—”
“You don’t want to do that, sweetie. What are you thinking?” She has an incredulous laugh in her voice that makes me want to slap her. “You don’t want to leave your family!”
“You know, as recently as a year ago, I might have agreed with you. But after all of this bullshit, the humiliation, the nagging, the emotional blackmail, all the insults... I’m done. I really am done. You can’t add your spoonful of sugar to the conversation and undo what she’s done this time. How she treats me, how Dad treats me... it’s too far. I deserve better.”
My voice is shaking with emotion. I wish that I could steady it, sound sure, sound hard. But I can’t.
“This will all blow over in a week or two. It’s not like you actually lost the family any money. You just failed to bring us more. It’s not that big a deal.”
I stare at her incredulously. “It is to me, and Mom and Dad are using it as an excuse to drive me absolutely up the wall.”
“But you can’t leave. Don’t you have any loyalty?”
“Loyalty? I’ve been trying to prove myself to Dad since I was five!” My eyes are watering, embarrassing me. I wipe them roughly, with no patience for myself.
“He doesn’t want you to prove yourself. You’re not one of his sons. He wants you to go get married and give him some grandkids, same as Mom.”
It’s like bashing myself up against the same brick wall time and again, trying to wear a way through and doing nothing in reality but getting hurt and frustrating myself. I can’t fight my way into their respect. I can’t prove my way into their respect. I will never have their respect. And I will never have their affection again, either, if I don’t do what they want.
“This is like a nightmare. It’s like I got trapped back in the 1950s. Worse. Do you people really think I’ll be a good mom if you force me into it? If you nag and nag until I marry the first guy who shows any interest just to get you all off my back?” I wipe my eyes again.
“You’re just exaggerating because you’re upset,” she soothes, but I’m not buying it.
“I really don’t want to talk about this anymore. Neither one of us is going to get anywhere. I’m never going to be happy being a stay-at-home mom, and I’m never going to be happy with how Mom and Dad treat me.”
“So, your solution is to just tell us all to go to hell and walk away?” She sounds incredulous—almost annoyed.
“Well, I wasn’t planning to tell you to go to hell, but the way they’re treating me... nobody would put up with it. I shouldn’t have to. But Mom doesn’t know when to shut the hell up, Dad doesn’t even seem to understand that women are human beings, and you... you think if you’re just nice enough, I’ll give in and toe the line. It’s not fair.”
“God damn it, Arya!” she bursts out suddenly, frustration taking all sweetness from her voice. “There are more important things in life than your ambitions! Family duty matters!”
“Not if it only goes one way.”
She stops dead, blinking at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if any of you actually cared about me, the real me, the me who has thoughts and feelings and, yes, ambitions, you wouldn’t put me through this. Mom already has enough grandkids! And I am not just marrying the first guy who shows an interest just to get her and Dad off my back. They need to stop, or I really will leave.”
I hate doing this. I hate saying it. But she’s pushed me to it with her wheedling and inability to even try and see my side. I can’t just talk about my unhappiness now. I have to stand up for myself. But every damn time I’ve ever tried to do that, Mom and Dad have taken it as some kind of personal insult.
This is a no-win situation for me, and I just want to get out.
“I’m not going to go back and tell Mom to shut up,” she grumbles.
I shrug. “I don’t really expect you to do anything. But if they keep hounding me and I walk away, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Half an hour after my sister leaves, I book a hotel for the weekend to go clear my head. I pack my laptop, phone, a few changes of clothes, and a wad of money from the stash I’ve been squirreling away. The rest of it I will have to pick up later.
I have no doubt that my father can find me if he really wants to, but that isn’t the point of this exercise. The point is that I need a break away from my family, and they need to know I’m serious.
I book the room and pack my overnight bag and laptop case. I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow once I’ve drunk and cried and had a chance to recover. I have no friends or allies in this fucking house, and I can’t stand it right now.
They won’t even notice I’m gone until I’m not at dinner. That gives me two hours to get in my car and drive down into the South Bay, where the hotel is. If they want to come to bother me or try to collect me, they’ll have some driving to do.
I’m on my way out the door when I see my sister again, leaning on my car. She’s been out here waiting for me, suspecting that I would actually follow up on my threats and leave.
“Don’t do this,” she says, the plea coming out of her mouth hard and angry instead of gentle. I stare at her coldly, then walk past her and unlock my driver’s side door. “I mean it, Arya. You don’t really have anyone in your corner in this family—”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m leaving. I am taking a break from you people because if I don’t do it for a while now, I’m going to end up doing it permanently later.”
“You can’t run from your problems—” she starts, then looks shocked when I hold up a hand.
“I don’t want to fucking hear it. I told you I’ve had enough of being treated like trash by all of you, and I meant it. Now, get off my car. I’m going.”
She gets off the car but comes around to my window. “You’re being irresponsible, Arie!” she calls out in frustration, using the nickname we’d stopped using in our teens.
I put the key in the ignition. “Sure. Whatever you say. Ignore what’s being done to me to try and save your precious status quo.” I start the engine. “You should step away from my car now.”
She moves away, glaring at me almost petulantly as I drive off. I want to laugh and cry and throw up all at once. What did these morons think, that I would just keep putting up with their shit when I could walk away?
I’m giving them a taste of life without me to kick around. I hope they choke on it.
I actually manage to stay dry-eyed and calm while I drive the two-and-a-half hours it takes to get to the hotel. Fifteen minutes into the drive, my phone starts going off. I mute it and keep driving.
Mom must be furious. I let out a high bark of laughter that sounds way too hysterical. Good. To hell with her. To hell with all of them.
November in the South Bay is usually in the seventies, but we’re having an unseasonable heat wave. My air-conditioning can’t quite keep up with it. The air in the car feels swampy and still too warm. I grip the wheel with sticky hands and feel glad I have worn jeans instead of shorts. That way, I won’t have to peel my butt cheeks off the seat when the drive ends.
The traffic is insane. It takes me an extra 45 minutes, and by then, I feel wrung out, like my body and brain can’t take any more. I’m shaking a little as I check in and ride the elevator up to my room.
Inside, I swing back and forth between feeling like a really annoyed grown-ass adult who is absolutely sick of her family treating her like a rebellious teenager... and a rebellious teenager who has gone too far and doesn’t want to admit it. But that’s what I am—it’s how they see me. The box my family puts me in.
I am about to spend the next two days on a combination of hedonism, job searching, tears, and room service. It’ll probably use up a lot of my cash, but I don’t care. I need this.
The room is bigger than my one back home and overlooks a small, woodsy park with fly-casting ponds in its center. The balcony is narrow concrete, with a brown metal railing and a couple of anemic-looking potted plants. I pour them some water, then take off my shoes and look at the room service menu.
I order two bottles of white wine, a salmon platter, some strawberries, and some lemon sherbet. I grab a bucket of ice from out in the hall and wait. Once the food arrives, I eat the sherbet first, brace myself, then check my damn phone.
Fifteen calls from my mother’s cell phone. Two from my sister, one from my dad. And then one from a number I don’t recognize. They have all left messages. My message box is now full.
“God,” I mutter. This is ridiculous. Now, I have to listen to at least some of the bullshit in my box to clear it out.
I start with the last one, the unknown one, since it’s three solid minutes long and that will free up a lot of space. But I’m shocked when I listen to it and hear Michael Rossi’s fucking voice in my ear.
“Hi,” he starts his message. “Look, I know you hate my guts right now, and I even know I deserve that, but we need to talk. I know who the spy is in your household, and I’ll give you her name if you’ll just hear me out.
“I didn’t take that job and end up at cross purposes with you because I wanted to. It was all my dad’s orders. I felt fucking terrible about it, all right?” He sounds a little drunk. “Look, I can’t talk about most of this on the phone. I want to meet, okay? I’ve got a proposition for you that should end up making both of us look better to our families. And I’ll throw in the info on your household spy just for coming to see me.”
He rambles on from there, mostly repeating the same things, while I listen incredulously. Then, it’s done, and I listen to the message again and one more time before I delete it. But I still have his phone number.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask the empty room. Michael Rossi just screwed up my entire life. Now he wants to deal?
What the hell is going on?