“Hey,”Isay, feeling heat rise right along with the need to defend my family. “It’snot because of nepotism that so many of my siblings work at theCSA.”
“Yeah, sure it isn’t.”Shepops a piece of cheese in her mouth.
Itake a deep, somewhat calming breath. “Whois the best intelligence operative in all of theCIA?Ifyou were judging without bias.”
“Withor without bias, the answer is the same.It’sme.”
Inod my agreement. “Andwe’ve gone up against each other…”
“Eighttimes,”Zoefinishes, andI’mimpressed that she knows the exact number.Itlooks likeI’mnot the only one keeping track.
“Andyou’re currently ahead on ‘missions won’ by one.Doyou know how many of those eight timesI’vebeen up by one?”
“Thesame as me.Okay, so fine.You’realmost as good as me.Butthat doesn’t say anything about your siblings.Areyou the best intelligence operative when competing against them?”
“Idon’t compete against my siblings.”
Ican tell by the look on her face that she’s running through her mind the couple of interactions she’s had withJace.AndIcan see the moment it dawns on her thatImight not even be the best in my family.NotthatIwould ever admit to any of my siblings that they are better than me.ButIlike thatZoeis wondering about it. “Letme ask you this:Whois the best intelligence operative that theCIAhas ever had?”
Objectively, we both know it’s my mom.Wetalked enough about her inMoldovaa year and a half ago for me to know that she idolizes my mom.Hereyes stay on me, and she bites her bottom lip, which is extremely distracting.Shedoesn’t answer.Shedoesn’t need to.
“Andthat’s justoneof the parents who raised me and my siblings and taught us everything they know.Theother parent— my dad— is legendary at theCSA.”
Sheputs her fork down and crosses her arms. “Fine.TheCIAwould probably name an entire division after theLancasters.They’dlet your whole family work there.”
“ExceptforBlake.”
Shewaves a hand. “ExceptforBlake.”Thenshe picks up a piece of cheese and punctuates the air with it. “Butthey’d let him if he wanted to.”
Itry to hide my grin.Ibelieve that is one point for me.ButIdidn’t tell her all that soIcan claim a win for getting her to change her mind about something.Idid it because, crazy as it seems,Iapparently really want her to like my family.
NowwhatIreally want is to hear more about hers. “Howabout you?Doyou have any siblings?”Idon’t think she does, butIguess we don’t know each other as well as wethought we did.
“Nope.Onlychild here.ButIwas in a foster home once for almost a year and a half whenIwas fourteen.Twoboys were in the same foster home— actual brothers— one was a year older than me and one a year younger.Theyfelt like whatIimagine brothers feel like.Istill talk to them once a year or so.”
I’venever known what it’s like to not have a bunch of siblings, andIcan’t imagine how lonely it must’ve been to be an only child in foster care.BackinMoldova, she told me about her mom.Thingshadn’t exactly been stable at home with her.She’dgone into foster care permanently when she was six.Hermom passed away at some point.Eventhough she hadn’t been living with her, she’d told me how hard that was.Itmeant she wasn’t only a foster kid— she was also an orphan.
SoIhad gathered that her dad wasn’t in the picture, butI’venever actually asked her about him. “Andyour dad?”
I’mnot even sure she’ll answer.Butafter a moment, she takes her tray of food and twists to set it on the nightstand.Whenshe turns back, she says, “Mymom wasn’t ever really a get-their-last-name kind of person.SowhenIasked about my dad, she didn’t have much to tell me, except the first names of four possibilities.Forone, she couldn’t remember whether it wasBrianorRyan.Foranother, she said the name he gave her was likely a nickname.Noneof the four ever found out that they might be my dad— she didn’t have a clue how to even find them.”
She’squiet for a moment, then chuckles softly. “So, of course,Ibecame obsessed with people’s last names.Ilearned how to read pretty well duringKindergarten, and especially whileIwas in that first foster home.WhenIwas back home after that, every time my mom brought a guy back to our place,Iwould catch him before he left the next morning and ask him for his full name.ThenIwould write it down so ifIever got a sibling, we would know who their dad was.”
“Butyou never got a sibling.”
“No.Butother than my necklace, that little notebook was the one thingIcarried with me to each foster home.”Shesmiles. “Iread back through it once as an adult.I’dthoughtIwas so good at reading at the time, but those were about the most creative spellings of namesI’veever seen.”
Ichuckle softly, too.ThenIclose my eyes and rub my forehead, thinking back to the commentImade at the gallery when explaining our names “Account” and “Stainless.”I’dsaid something along the lines of no one being able to look at her without saying “Iknow exactly who your daddy is.”Ihadn’t figured it out at the time, but it was the commentIhad made right before she started acting like something was wrong.
Imeet her eyes. “I’msorry for the commentImade about your dad at the gallery.”
“Youwere making it aboutAccount’sandStainless’sfictional dad.”
“Still.Iam sorry.”
Shegives me a smile that’s sad but also something else.I’mnot quite sure what.Thenshe looks at her watch and says, “Weshould probablyget to bed.”
Inod and take both of our food trays out to the hall for pickup.ThenIhead into the bathroom that’s almost big enough to fit my shoulders and arms asI’mpulling off a shirt and change into a tee and shorts.OnceIcome out,Zoeheads in to change.
