The Doctor And The Don

What We Carry

I met Sofia on a Tuesday, standing in the kitchen of the mansion in workout clothes, eating cereal straight from the box like she owned the place, which, as it turned out, she basically did.

“You must be the doctor my brother will not stop talking about,” she said, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

“He talks about me?”

“Constantly. It is honestly getting a little exhausting.” She held out a hand. “Sofia Moreno. His sister, and the only person in this house allowed to tell him he is being ridiculous.”

“I feel like I do that pretty regularly too.”

Sofia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I like you already.”

We ended up talking for almost an hour, about Miami, about my move from Chicago, about her brother in careful, curious ways that told me she was testing something without quite saying what. I liked her immediately, the easy warmth she carried that felt nothing like the careful control everyone else in the house seemed to practice.

“Can I ask you something?” she said eventually, her tone shifting more serious. “Has Marco told you anything about our father?”

“No. Should he have?”

Something crossed her face, quickly hidden. “It is not my story to tell. Just know that our father built the world Marco lives in now, and Marco has spent most of his life trying to survive the parts of it he never asked for.”

Before I could ask anything else, Marco walked in, and the conversation shifted instantly, the way conversations in that house always seemed to when he entered a room.

“Talking about me?” he asked, though it was clear from his expression he already knew the answer.

“Always,” Sofia said sweetly, grabbing her cereal and heading for the door. “Doctor. We should do this again.”

Once she left, Marco watched me with an expression I could not quite place. “She likes you.”

“She is easy to like.”

“She does not warm up to people quickly. You should feel honored.”

“I feel confused, mostly. She mentioned your father.”

Something shuttered closed behind his eyes. “That is a conversation for another day, Andrea.”

“You keep saying that about everything.”

“Because some things take time,” he said quietly, and something in his voice told me this particular thing was going to take a very long time indeed.