mother stepped closer, giving me an awkward hug. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, but the way her body was shaking against me told me she wasn’t convinced. Nor, as it was becoming apparent, was my father.
“I don’t want you leaving the building until further notice. Understand?” he said.
“I’m okay,” I said, feeling all of sixteen again as I pulled back from my mother. “I…lost my mugger in an alley farther downtown.” Given how wide my mother’s eyes were,
lost
sounded better than
disappeared
, which would probably explode her head. “But not leaving the building? With my workload, how am I supposed to get to meetings, showings, and closings, then? Look. I’m fine. This is New York. I’m a little shaken up, but frankly I’m surprised I haven’t been mugged sooner. This isn’t some weird evil churchy thing, okay? Just wanted a little sympathy here. I’ll be fine going out and about. I’m a grown-up now.”
My father’s eyes met mine, unamused. “I’m sorry, but you will stay at home for now, Alexandra,” he said. “Never mind visiting job sights or showing places.”
I bit my tongue, incredulous and angry. Was I getting grounded? At twenty-two? I went to speak, but the look of terrified panic on my mother’s face stopped me, killing any of the fire left in me. “Fine,” I said, giving in.
My father nodded, a lighter look in his eyes now that I had acquiesced. “Besides, there’s plenty of work you can do here,” he said, handing me a stack of folders. “Since you love your great-great-grandfather’s old studio on the top floor so much, why don’t you work on these there for the time being?”
“Till when?” I asked. “Not that I mind the break from appointments. I’m just…surprised, is all. How long are we talking?”
“I’m not sure,” my father said, pulling the knife closer to his face, lifting his glasses to examine it more closely. “I will consult with the reverend in the morning.”
He handed the knife back to me before he and my slowly calming mother headed back to the couch. Once they were settled in, he raised the volume of the television once again, both of them falling silent.
The reverend? Why hadn’t he suggested the cops? I could have argued with him about how ridiculous going the religious route sounded, but there was no way I was going to enable all his churchiness. I knew better than to try to sway him from anything religious. There was really no point in arguing with him, anyway.
At least they hadn’t fired me from the family business, or the family, for that matter. Even though it was for the benefit of my mother mostly, feeling sorta grounded at twenty-two sucked majorly. I headed toward the back hall of the building, mounting the stairs farther up as a newly found sympathy for Rapunzel settled over me. Despite the enormous size of the Belarus building, it hadn’t ever felt so claustrophobic.
Eight
Alexandra
I dumped the stack of folders on a huge desk in my great-great-grandfather’s studio. I pulled off my boots and threw my shoulder bag over by my favorite couch; then, despite my adult “grounding,” I tried to be the dutiful daughter by grabbing a handful of the folders and settling in.
Despite my best effort, I found myself too wound up from my earlier encounter to concentrate on the work. Who could pay attention to kitchen renovation costs, contractor billing disputes, and square footage when there were strange knives and disappearing attackers to concern my brain with?
I closed the folders, pulled out one of my notebooks from my bag, and fell to sketching instead. I drew the events of my evening—the shadowy figure in the streets, the strange tattoo on his hand, the knife he had held at my throat. The occasional tear fell on the page as waves of processing emotions ebbed and flowed, but I continued on, lost in the process of it. I started one sketch of what I thought the results of the evening
could
have
“I’m fine,” I said, but the way her body was shaking against me told me she wasn’t convinced. Nor, as it was becoming apparent, was my father.
“I don’t want you leaving the building until further notice. Understand?” he said.
“I’m okay,” I said, feeling all of sixteen again as I pulled back from my mother. “I…lost my mugger in an alley farther downtown.” Given how wide my mother’s eyes were,
lost
sounded better than
disappeared
, which would probably explode her head. “But not leaving the building? With my workload, how am I supposed to get to meetings, showings, and closings, then? Look. I’m fine. This is New York. I’m a little shaken up, but frankly I’m surprised I haven’t been mugged sooner. This isn’t some weird evil churchy thing, okay? Just wanted a little sympathy here. I’ll be fine going out and about. I’m a grown-up now.”
My father’s eyes met mine, unamused. “I’m sorry, but you will stay at home for now, Alexandra,” he said. “Never mind visiting job sights or showing places.”
I bit my tongue, incredulous and angry. Was I getting grounded? At twenty-two? I went to speak, but the look of terrified panic on my mother’s face stopped me, killing any of the fire left in me. “Fine,” I said, giving in.
My father nodded, a lighter look in his eyes now that I had acquiesced. “Besides, there’s plenty of work you can do here,” he said, handing me a stack of folders. “Since you love your great-great-grandfather’s old studio on the top floor so much, why don’t you work on these there for the time being?”
“Till when?” I asked. “Not that I mind the break from appointments. I’m just…surprised, is all. How long are we talking?”
“I’m not sure,” my father said, pulling the knife closer to his face, lifting his glasses to examine it more closely. “I will consult with the reverend in the morning.”
He handed the knife back to me before he and my slowly calming mother headed back to the couch. Once they were settled in, he raised the volume of the television once again, both of them falling silent.
The reverend? Why hadn’t he suggested the cops? I could have argued with him about how ridiculous going the religious route sounded, but there was no way I was going to enable all his churchiness. I knew better than to try to sway him from anything religious. There was really no point in arguing with him, anyway.
At least they hadn’t fired me from the family business, or the family, for that matter. Even though it was for the benefit of my mother mostly, feeling sorta grounded at twenty-two sucked majorly. I headed toward the back hall of the building, mounting the stairs farther up as a newly found sympathy for Rapunzel settled over me. Despite the enormous size of the Belarus building, it hadn’t ever felt so claustrophobic.
Eight
Alexandra
I dumped the stack of folders on a huge desk in my great-great-grandfather’s studio. I pulled off my boots and threw my shoulder bag over by my favorite couch; then, despite my adult “grounding,” I tried to be the dutiful daughter by grabbing a handful of the folders and settling in.
Despite my best effort, I found myself too wound up from my earlier encounter to concentrate on the work. Who could pay attention to kitchen renovation costs, contractor billing disputes, and square footage when there were strange knives and disappearing attackers to concern my brain with?
I closed the folders, pulled out one of my notebooks from my bag, and fell to sketching instead. I drew the events of my evening—the shadowy figure in the streets, the strange tattoo on his hand, the knife he had held at my throat. The occasional tear fell on the page as waves of processing emotions ebbed and flowed, but I continued on, lost in the process of it. I started one sketch of what I thought the results of the evening
could
have
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