I understand that I am in Andrey's arms, and he goes up with me to the porch of some huge country

house.

- Let me go now - I start screaming out of his hands - Do you think I'm completely unable to walk?

Andrei does not insist this time, having managed to open the door by this time and puts me on my feet in the hallway.

Silently I look around the house to which Andrey brought me. It's not even a house, but a mansion. Large, spacious, richly and tastefully furnished. It can be seen that the owner did not stint, making repairs to his home. I am in the spacious hall of a two-story house. There are high ceilings, large panoramic windows, and in the center there is an impressive chic spiral staircase leading to the top floor.

- Whose is this house? - unable to stand it, I ask a question that torments me. This is probably the house of Andrey's boss, the one whose car he drives. But why did my brother bring me here? Maybe, in the absence of his own housing, he lives on the territory of his boss ...

- My. - Andrey's short answer pulls me out of my thoughts.

Fuck... I just can't find other words. And I whistle out loud.

What are you, an aide to the president? I'm trying to be funny, but somehow it doesn't come out funny. No, seriously, what are you doing?

Yes, small business. - evasively answers the brother. Entrepreneurs make money normally.

- Can't you be more specific? - I'm starting to get angry that I have to pull every word out of him with tongs.

- Trade. - again, nothing definite. Well, don't care. He doesn't want to answer, so he doesn't have to. I don't want to talk to him either. - Okay, I'll go see what we're having for dinner tonight, while you go look at your room. Second floor, first door on the right. - and with these words he hides in one of the rooms on the first floor, apparently there is a kitchen.

Meanwhile, I trudge to the second floor. It's no less gorgeous than the first one. I am greeted by a spacious living room with a large leather sofa and a home theater, to the right of the living room there is a small corridor with several rooms. It must be the bedrooms. I go into the one Andrei pointed out to me and sigh in amazement. I will not prevaricate, I really like the room. Large, light, in gentle white and blue tones. To the left of the entrance is a wide double bed with a white, like light clouds, translucent canopy. The room is furnished simply but tastefully. Of the furniture, there are also bedside tables, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a plasma. Everything you need for life, while there is no feeling of clutter.

Again I go out into the corridor, in search of a soul. Intuition tells me that I will find it in the very last room, located perpendicular to the rest, and I am not deceived. I don’t dare to go into other bedrooms, feeling like some kind of spy, so I go downstairs to Andrey. His phrase pops up in his head that he went to check what's for dinner tonight. Turns out he's not the cook. Maybe he lives with a girl? He, it turns out, is already twenty-eight years old ... Yes, he may well even have a wife and a bunch of children to boot. Not for nothing on the second floor as many as four bedrooms ... With these thoughts I go into the kitchen.

Andrey

Nerves. Nerves. Nerves. I can't stop worrying while my sister is upstairs looking around the house. I don't know how to behave, what to say. I feel like a complete motherfucker and it infuriates, infuriates me, giving rise to ever-increasing rage inside with a slight aftertaste of panic. Damn it, I'm not ready to take responsibility for someone else's life, to become a caring parent for Katya, to educate, to endure teenage tricks. He begins to shake nervously in anticipation of the quirks of the transitional age that has not yet ended.

Hearing footsteps behind Katya, I quickly pull myself together and turn around, putting on an expression of equanimity. She stands on the threshold, looking in my direction with some apprehension in her eyes. He does not trust me, he is afraid, I think he even hates me. From the realization of this fact, one becomes sick of oneself. The poor child lived half his life in an orphanage, without proper care, without the attention of the family. This should not have happened to her. She was supposed to be with me, to grow in love, affection, attention. I immediately curse myself for the thoughts that hovered in my head a minute ago about unwillingness to take responsibility. Damn bastard. Thank God, or hell knows who, for the fact that my sister was even alive.

I give her a careful look. She is so small and fragile. The gaze falls on slender legs dressed in denim shorts, rises to the wasp waist, goes to a small neat girlish chest, goes further to the collarbones and swan neck, up to plump lips and stops at gray-blue eyes, looking angrily at me.

Have you finished looking? - the sister asks rudely, leaning against the door frame, and crossing her arms over her chest.

I leave the question unanswered, and point her to a seat at the table, where she obediently sits down while I arrange the roast on plates.

- And where is your family? They won't have dinner with us? Katya asks in the same angry voice.

I want to answer her that the only member of my family is now sitting opposite and withering eyes, but I answer only a short one:

- Single.

Who cooked dinner then? Oh, just don’t say that you yourself - the girl is being sarcastic, which causes me a wave of memories of our past with her. Exceptionally about his good moments, when Katya and I were alone, she was small and defenseless sitting on my shoulders and she was also sarcastic and laughing. These pictures evoke warmth - a feeling long forgotten by me, spreading somewhere in my chest and imperceptibly embracing the whole of me. I look at her, at her wide-open eyes, at the grown-up, but still painfully familiar familiar face, and all the fears about the unexpectedly surging responsibility evaporate, giving way to absolute joy from the fact that she is again with me, next to me, that I can see her , to hear, even if she is sarcastic, angry, even if she hates me now, I will fix it with time. The main thing is that we are together again and it seems so right

- No, not myself - I get out of my thoughts, remembering her question. - Maria Ivanovna cooked.

- Who is Maria Ivanovna? - Look at me incomprehensibly with your innocent eyes, again causing an attack of tenderness.

- Housekeeper. Comes three times a week, cooks and cleans. Enough questions, you need to eat - I remind my sister, pushing the plate closer.

Katya hesitates, judging by the expression on her face, she wants to say something else, but the feeling of hunger wins and she still picks up a fork.

Dinner proceeds in absolute silence. It seems that the air around us is electrified, heated to the limit, so much so that soon sparks of mutual tension will begin to pour from everywhere. Katya stares unblinkingly somewhere through space, chewing her food intently.