I didn’t lie to Yulian before: I know exactly what Otets would say if he were here now.
No man can be prepared for the collateral damage when he doesn’t know what he’s sacrificing.
The restaurant I’ve picked is loud, the kind of place I usually avoid. But tonight, I want noise. I want conversation and laughter and life. I want to forget that I’m contemplating leaving my life behind and to forget the exceptionally bad decisions I’ve made in the last few months, one after another after another.
Freya scopes the place out when we arrive, looking less than thrilled about my choice of venue.
“The food is good,” I promise, reading her expression. “Their dumplings are to die for.”
“They better be,” she mutters.
Her words are half-drowned out by the boisterous table of frat stars hanging out
