Die By Night

by Kaitlynn Aisling

  Today is not going well. At. All.

  My car is sluggish to start, as if the bucket of bolts senses that I really need dependability right now and is being contrary. It’s a 2004 model and, though beloved, is starting to lose its pep. Thankfully, the engine turns over just as the front door opens and one slender hand, tipped with scarlet red fingernails peeks out around the edge.

  Yeah, I bet you don’t want word to get out to your CEO Jr. boyfriend about this little episode, do you?

  I’m so glad to have the picture evidence on my side. If I had lower morals, I’d be texting the little gem of a snapshot to Mr. Edmunds right now. Instead, I’m speeding out of the parking lot as fast as possible to escape the whole awkward situation.

  I want to quit. I want to hide. I want to crawl in a hole and die.

  Melodramatics are normally beyond me, but really, how much can a woman be expected to take in one day? How much longer can I stay in a job that refuses to acknowledge ability and work performance over good looks and the possibility of bed sport?

  I want to call someone and vent, but the entire thing is just so humiliating. I lost out on the promotion I’ve been grooming myself for over the past three years to some fake lashed bimbo. Oh, and I just caught my boyfriend of nearly a year in bed with that same bimbo. Yeah.

  Sometimes the best way for me to soothe myself is through driving. I drive around aimlessly, ignoring the incoming calls from Jeff and some unknown number I assume to be Kimber’s. When I pass the third It’s All Java coffee shop, I consider it a sign and pull into the drive-through. Two cars away from ordering, I attempt to leave the line, because I know my perfectly applied makeup from earlier looks like crap, and already I’m considering the fact that I won’t be getting that promotion along with the pay raise. But then again, it’s just a coffee; it’s not like it’s going to cost a fortune. So I nudge back in line.

  Cars start honking when I reason my way back out of and then back into the line, now only one car away from ordering. For fear of a drive-through line assault by some poor soul starved of their midafternoon caffeine boost, I don’t attempt any more dare driving stunts after that. I pull to the window and reason that I deserve this coffee treat. I should get some muffins for my brothers and me too. I should buy one of everything!

  “Hello, welcome to It’s All Java, how can I make your day just java?”

  I should not have come here. No iced, hot, or frozen coffee beverage can make my day “just java” today. It’s too late for that.

  “You know, if you could help me put out a hit on my ex and his bit of fluff, that would make my day just java. It’d be totally java. I have Russian family; someone has to know someone in the Russian mafia. I could make it happen. Or if you could put in a recommendation here for me to take on a managing financial position? Oh, what am I saying? I wouldn’t even want to waste the risk of jail time on a lowlife like Jeff. I’m sure they’ll be plenty of other people I’ll need to use possible hit connections on in the future. Furthermore, I don’t even like accounting. It’s boring, straight laced, and monotonous. And—”

  “Mam? I’m sorry, but is there any coffee beverage, smoothie, or hot, home baked good that could possibly make your day Java?”

  The poor lady through the intercom is still being polite, even though I’m acting like a complete idiot in her drive-through line.

  “A medium, Irish cream, JavaWave please,” I say, ordering one of the more calorie laden drinks.

  “Yes, mam. Please drive up to the next window for your special java treat!”

  This place uses the word java entirely too much, but the staff is always friendly, the coffee is always strong enough not to get lost in the syrups and flavors, and their baked goods are incredible.

  When I drive up to the window, I meet the friendly face behind the voice. The teenager is a pretty girl with braces, olive skin and caramel hair and eyes. She hands me my frozen coffee confection, and I see that she added sprinkles to the whipped cream, something I don’t normally see on my JavaWaves.

  “How much do I owe you?” I ask.

  She smiles, displaying even more of her bright pink braces, and hands me an It’s All Java bag that smells strongly of cinnamon.

  “I didn’t order—”

  “It’s on us today, mam. Frankly, I know it’s not all java, all the time.” She laughs. “But I do hope your day gets better!”

  She leans farther out the window, “But I’ve found that a little kindness and most importantly, some chocolate cinnamon rolls, can make any day a bit brighter.”

  “Thank you.”

  They’re the first words I’ve truly meant all day.

  “Chocolate cinnamon rolls! Gimme one!”

  “Hands off, Nic! They’re mine!” I growl.

  Nicolai is sweaty from the game of football my brothers engage in every Friday. I don’t want his grimy fingers tainting my rolls. Not that I have much chance of avoiding that, because at the announcement of food, my other two brothers are already crowding around the kitchen table.

  That’s what I get for visiting home with food. I know better. I’m the second youngest of four, and the only girl. I know that food is a sacred commodity and can be used to barter for video game time, shotgun rights in the car, and the exchange of chore duties. The rules of that still apply, even now that we’re older and three of us don’t even live at home anymore.

  Maxim spies the bag and leans in from behind my chair. “Is that It’s All Java? Did you go to the one on Hemming Street? Did the cute Mexican girl wait on you? Why didn’t you tell me you were going? I would have gone with you!”

  “The ‘Mexican girl’ has a name, Max,” I say as I smack Alexei’s hand away from the largest cinnamon roll with the most icing. Figures Alex would go for that one. He’s always been greedy. In my distraction, I lose another roll to Nic.

  Nicolai and Alexei are fraternal twins and the oldest. Bless them, despite my day I’m still smiling at their antics as Nic tries to evade Alex’s attempts to eat the roll from his fingers.

  “Dude! You almost bit my finger that time!”

  “Well, if Natalie would share,” Alex stops to glare at me and wag a reproving finger, “We wouldn’t have to split that tiny, little roll between the two of us. I’m a starving bachelor, man. I know Macy cooks for you. Look, he’s getting a gut!”

  Macy is Nic’s wife and a fabulous chef.

  Alex slaps Nic’s trim stomach, causing him to suck in a breath and choke on his last bite of roll. Chocolate and icing spurt out of his mouth. Maxim, the youngest, steps up behind Nic and attempts the Heimlich.

  “Wait! Save the rest! He’s gonna blow!” Alex yells. One of his hands covers my head as he spreads his arms wide in an attempt to cover the remaining two rolls, and me, protecting us from whatever might be dislodged from Nic’s throat.

  His expression is almost valiant; well, until he starts eating one of the rolls, using just his lips and chin to maneuver it into his mouth in his awkward position against the table.

  “What is going on in here?”

  My papa’s voice sounds from the front door. He must have gone with the boys to referee their game. He doesn’t get out much since his diagnosis of autoimmune hemolytic anemia (AIHA) and now chronic lymphocytic leukemia, but he doesn’t like to miss out on anything. He’s still the strong man who raised us hellions, though he’s paler and thinner now, and his blond hair is starting to recede, already turning ash gray at the temples.

  “Dad!” they shout at the same time.

  Maxim finally manages to dislodge Nic’s dessert blockage, at the same time that Alex pops up, resulting in a bit of nearly unrecognizable chocolate mix landing on the back of Alex’s sweater.

  “DUDE!” Alex yells out.

  The twins have always liked that word, and even though they’re not identical, they’re so alike sometimes that it’s eerie. It suits Nicolai, with his blond hair, blue eyes, and surfer tan skin. Not so much with Alexei. He’s the only one of us to hav
e dark hair, and is the somewhat shorter, stronger version of Nicolai’s tall, reedy body, though he also has the Donetsk blue eyes.

  “This is cashmere!”

  “Dude! I was choking. I could have died. Max, tell him I was dying.”

  “Good afternoon, Papa,” I say, snatching the last roll and handing it to him.

  “Huh! You four will cause your old papa an early death.”

  “Papa, don’t talk like that!”

  “Psh, psh, Лапушка. Your papa is made of stronger, eh?”

  Лапушка, pronounced as lapushka, is sweetheart. The familiar cadence in my papa’s rough voice is something I never want to lose. It makes my day both better and worse to hear that. How much longer do I have left to hear it? Papa has lived far longer with his disease than most. For much of his life his condition went undiagnosed, but now that it has a name, it feels like his illness is more powerful than ever.

  I move to hug him, but Max stills me with a shake of his head. Papa walks tall and proud to his recliner in the living room, still holding his roll, while Nic and Alex quickly follow, elbowing each other along the way. Alex pulls off his cashmere sweater, which I know to actually be only a cotton polyester blend, because I was with him when he bought it.

  Max settles at the table beside me, and we both survey the disruption we wreak on a room when we’re all together. I sink my head into my hands, because I know the day is coming when Papa won’t be there to soothe our ruffled feathers and settle everything back into place for us.

  “He doesn’t like to be seen as weak,” Max says.

  In the living room the TV comes on, and I hear Papa admonishing the twins, though good naturedly, for showcasing such rough behavior in front of their delicate sister. I snort at that. Nic responds that I taught them everything they know. Papa lets out his huge laugh, the same laugh that’s managed to stay boisterous despite everything he’s been through.

  “Just like her mama, that one!”

  After all these years, we’re finally able to smile at such a reference to our mama. She died in a car wreck five years ago.

  “Natalie?”

  My head is still resting in my hands, because a part of me still wants to run in and jump on Papa’s lap like I used to, back when things were simpler.

  “Natalie?”

  This time, I lift up my head to see Maxim’s concerned face.

  “Everything’s fine, Max.”

  “No, it’s not. You don’t indulge in those kinds of heavy calories and sugar when everything’s fine.”

  He points to the chocolate smeared It’s All Java bag, and picks up my JavaWave.

  “Irish?” he asks.

  I nod, and he takes a sip, settling back on the two rear legs of his chair. He’s lucky Papa is in the living room, or he’d be scolded for that.

  “One day you will fall and crack that fool head, Maxim, my boy,” Papa would say. “Then who would mow the lawn?”

  Max has always been able to read me so easily. He settles back on all four legs of the chair and places his elbows on the table, still sipping from my JavaWave.

  “You didn’t want to finish this, did you?”

  I shake my head, and he lifts the plastic cup in a cheer before draining the rest of the contents.

  “Now, tell me what’s wrong before those knuckleheads come back in here and cause more chaos.”

  “I didn’t get the promotion.”

  “Hmm.”

  Max glances to his watch, then up toward the living room, then back to me, clearly urging me to continue before we’re interrupted. Eventually, I’ll have to tell Papa, and the twins, but for right now, when the misery is so fresh, it’s easier to dispense the information only to Maxim. However, I don’t want to go further into the details, because a hanging party of Max, Nic, Alex, and all of their closest friends, will be formed as soon as they find out about Jeff’s infidelity. And call me crazy, but I don’t enjoy the prospect of visiting my family in prison.

  My phone buzzes beside me once again. I know without looking that it’s Meagan calling. For the fifth time. Not that I’d have time to answer it between the eight texts she’s sent me since I left Jeff’s apartment. I turned off the sound after the third time, because the ringtone was becoming permanently attached to my brain. One can only take so much of “Everything is Awesome,” before they consider ending it all—or at least the friendship. My phone might truly blow up from the excess if she doesn’t calm it down.

  “You can avoid Meagan. You can avoid Pops, and you can even avoid the twins. But you can’t avoid me, Nat. I will follow you to your car, sit in your seat unwashed, and crank the radio to Russian rap if you even attempt to leave without spilling. And Nat, I played running back today. In case you can’t smell it from over there, I stink.”

  “I can smell it.”

  And I can see it. His sandy blond hair, the same shade as Nic’s and my papa’s, is soaked in sweat.

  “No, Natalie. I mean I stink. Majorly. Your car cushions will carry my stench until it meets its final resting place in the junkyard.”

  My phone finally stops buzzing and vibrating across the table. With the ease only a pickpocket should have, Max reaches over and pockets my phone and my keys from the table.

  “Are you really going to make us both suffer through Russian rap?” he asks.

  “Jeff cheated on me with the girl who got my promotion,” I lay it out there like it doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t sting.

  Max is an easygoing fellow, generally. He’s a bit of a ladies’ man, smooth and funny, but when he gets mad—it’s all over, and God help the one who’s earned his wrath.

  God help Jeff.

  “I’ll kill him. And her,” Max’s normally cheerful face is set in true anger. His fists are clenched against the table as he slowly rises to his feet.

  “Max…”

  “Don’t worry about it, Natalie. We’ll take care of it.”

  We’ll take care of it. He’s going to tell Nic and Alex, maybe Papa, too. That would not only complete my humiliation, but result in the lot of them getting arrested.

  He moves toward the living room, but I grab him in a hug from the side. He immediately stops.

  “Natalie.”

  My name is a clear direction to move aside; I don’t.

  “Max, if you do anything, Jeff will press charges.”

  “He can’t press charges if he isn’t alive. We’re Russian, Nat, we can take care of a body.”

  I know he doesn’t mean it. I know that Max won’t kill Jeff, but I also know that he’d have no problem beating the hell out of him.

  I can’t lose Max. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but if I’m honest with myself, Max is the brother dearest to my heart. I’m closer in age to the twins, but Max and I have always been tight. I can’t let him get hurt, or let him endanger his future because of me.

  “Max! He’ll ruin your future. You’ll be arrested; you’ll have a record, lose your college scholarships, and be labeled unmarriageable material. You’ll be a bachelor for the rest of your life, no one will want to hire you, you’ll end up living with me, your parole officer will suspect that I was involved, I’ll be arrested as an accessory years after the fact . . . The world will end if you even threaten Jeff.”

  “Natalie,” Max is smiling, though he seems reluctant about it, “I don’t think any of that would actually happen.”

  His hands gently squeeze my arms around his waist, and I drop my hold.

  “What are you going to do about it then?” he asks.

  Do about it? I haven’t even thought that far ahead. What can I do about it? It’s not like I can use the photo I took, because it’d look just as bad on me for sending it as it would on Jeff and Kimber for being in it.

  “I don’t know yet. Probably nothing. Kimber is dating the CEO’s son. I really have no desire to lose my job over this.”

  “You could find another job. Really, it’s not worth it to just ignore the Урод and
his treachery. You deserve better.”

  Урод, pronounced Urod and meaning freak, is a good word for Jeff. I appreciate Max’s discretion, because I know that my brothers pride themselves on an exceptional knowledge of Russian expletives. This word is tame by any means.

  “Max, please leave it alone.”

  “Fine. But if I see him on the street, I reserve the right to punch him. You going to tell Pops and the twins that you broke it off?”

  “Yeah, I think that would be best.”

  “Fine,” he says again. “Here, take this. It’s buzzed twice since we started this conversation.”

  He hands me my phone, and I see I have two more missed calls from Meagan.

  “Huzzah!” Nic yells from the living room.

  Alex joins in with, “You can’t stop this! What? You can’t stop this!”

  Their team must have scored a point. Max looks toward the open spot on the couch, and then back to me.

  “Go. It sounds like it’s getting good in there.”

  He chucks my chin and says, “Just let me know if you change your mind. Pops has a great saw out back that will cut through nearly anything.”

  To cut through Jeff’s limbs. Lovely. I love my brothers.

  Chapter Two

  “Girl, I am so, so sorry. Jeff’s a jerk.”

  “Yeah.”

  As soon as I answered Meagan’s seventh call, she met me at our apartment. Not wanting to face my family, I didn’t stay long at the house. I’m feeling a bit depressed, and I didn’t want to bring them down. I can also admit to myself that I didn’t want to risk the possibility that I’d spill my guts to them. The boys wouldn’t know how to deal with that.

  Meagan reaches over and pats my hand. She’s good at this kind of thing, because though she’s a hairdresser by day, she’s going to school to become a nurse by night. She’ll make a great nurse, compassionate and smart. Back when we were in high school, our group of friends considered Meagan the mom of the group, because she was always the adult one. She’s a bit mellower now and although she can go crazy every now and then, she’s still that same responsible woman inside.