“You still live with your family. Is that cultural?”
“What culture?” I asked. “The bird people scientists nerdy girl one? I live at home because I can’t afford to move out.”
“I didn’t want to assume . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You can assume anything you’d like. They’ll probably be true.”
He frowned slightly. “Our chemists are paid well.”
“I think I was paid below entry level. At least according to . . .” I nearly said Catalina’s name and knew how jumpy C-level executives got about people sharing salaries and didn’t want to get her in trouble. “A former colleague. But I guess it was okay, considering.” Considering how much my boss hated me, it was surprising I got paid at all.
Marco looked irritated, and I knew it wasn’t directed at me. I wondered if Jerry and Craig were about to get a talking-to tomorrow. Marco struck me as a man of action.
Would that get Craig in trouble? I didn’t want that. I felt compelled to explain that my salary wasn’t the only reason I was broke. “My grandparents’ home is pretty old. About six months ago, the water heater died, and we discovered that all the pipes in the house had to be replaced. They didn’t have the money to cover it, and since it was due to age and not an accident, insurance wouldn’t help. I emptied out my savings to fix the house. My grandpa insisted they could take out a loan, but I paid the plumber. They’ve said they’ll pay me back, but they’re part-time professors and volunteer for nonprofits. They won’t be able to, and that’s okay.”
He stayed quiet for a moment and then said, “That is . . . exceptional. I don’t know many people who would do that.”
“They’re my family. I love them.” I felt wiggly, a bit awkward, at the expression in his eyes, and I shifted in my seat. “Plus, I have a taste for expensive lab equipment. I have my eye on a used high-shear mixer. It’s three thousand dollars, so I might be my grandparents’ age when I can finally afford it.”
Especially if I didn’t find a job soon.
The food arrived then, and our waiter slid it onto the table in front of us and told us to enjoy. We both thanked him.
My pizza looked very hot, and I wasn’t eager to burn my mouth （or my skin accidentally）。 I expected Marco to dig in, but he was still studying me carefully.
“So, I wanted to talk to you about something. But first . . . last night seemed pretty terrible for you.”
We were finally getting to the question I’d had on my mind since he’d shown up unannounced in my room, but I still didn’t quite understand what he was getting at.
“Oh, I think it would be number three on my Worst Days Ever list.” I pried apart two pieces of my pizza, grabbed one, and lifted it to my mouth.
“What was number two?”
“In high school, I was helping the cute quarterback with his chem lab project. He had missed the deadline, and he knew I had a key and could get him into the lab to help him do the experiment. He was very distracting, and I made a mistake—instead of pouring a base into a burette . . .” Better to explain so that he’d understand the story. “A burette is a long glass tube that you use to—”
“I know what a burette is,” he interrupted me.
“Oh.” That was surprising. He seemed to be full of surprises. Like a handsome jack-in-the-box. “Anyway, I was distracted and accidentally poured sulfuric acid into the burette, and my hand slipped and it got all over our clothes. We had to disrobe and shower, and the janitor caught us and thought we were doing something else, and he called a bunch of people . . . Anyway, that story ended with me losing my chem lab key and being suspended. Which was torture, because I really loved school. I was worried it might go on my permanent record and keep me out of college.”
He fiddled with the straw in his glass. “Your worst day on your list. Was that when your mom passed?”
His question surprised me so much that I held still, my mouth wide open, momentarily unable to move. I set the pizza slice back down.
“How did you know that?” I whispered. His question shocked me, like being pierced by an icy stake. I might have said a lot of things while drunk last night, but I was positive I hadn’t said anything about my parents dying. I didn’t talk much about them. Even Catalina had very minimal details and knew not to press me for more. Had he done a background check on me or something?
“Last night, you mentioned your mother, and I just heard something in your voice that I understood. That kind of loss causes the sort of pain that’s easy to recognize in others. I don’t know why they say time heals all wounds when years later, the wound still hurts just as much. The only difference is other people expect that it won’t.”
That so perfectly encapsulated how I felt about my parents’ deaths that I was again stunned for a moment. “Who did you lose?”
“My mom.”
“How did she die?”
Marco continued to mess with his straw, not making eye contact with me. “Cardiovascular complications due to anorexia. She was a model who thought she had to be perfect. She was the first face of Minx Cosmetics.”
“Your mom was Giana Ricci? The original Miss Minx?”
He nodded as I took that in. She had been very beautiful. The company had used her image recently in a throwback campaign when they’d reissued some 1990s makeup.
“She was gorgeous,” I told him. I imagined that it was probably hard to be that beautiful and have to stay that way at all costs. Feeling like you had to turn to disordered eating. It was much easier for women like me. Maybe not so much in the dating department, but the guys who fell for us wouldn’t expect us to look like supermodels for the rest of our lives. It must have been so hard for her.
And so hard for poor Marco to lose her. “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”
“Four. I don’t have many memories of her.” He paused a moment and then cleared his throat. “What about you? How old were you?”
And even though I didn’t usually share this part of myself, given that he knew exactly what I’d gone through, I found myself saying, “Twelve. And it was both of my parents. A car accident. The man who hit them was doing the trifecta of bad driving decisions—drunk, texting, and ran a red light.”
Now it was his turn to say, “I’m sorry.”
That pang of overwhelming grief, the one that as he’d pointed out never really went away, pushed down against my chest. “It’s fine. I had my grandparents. I’ve done okay. And you still had your dad, right?”
“Seven weeks after my mom died, he married Tracie, my stepmother. Craig’s mom. And my dad is the CEO of KRT Limited.” That was Minx Cosmetics’ parent corporation. I remembered Catalina’s claims of nepotism. Was this what she’d been referring to? Marco continued. “So he was working nonstop and left me with a woman who wanted to replace me as his heir with her own son.”
There was something in his voice, something that sounded angry and hurt. I wanted to know more, but Marco gave me a slight smile and added, “Speaking of my half brother, that’s why I asked you to meet with me. I need your help.”