Home is not a Place

15• The Alfa

ETHAN

"How has work been recently?" My father promptly says from where he sits across from me at the dinning table. We are in the middle of a restaurant that we have never been to before, an omelet steaming on a plate in front of him and buttered pancakes sitting in front of me.

I take a bite of my pancakes, delaying the time until I have to answer him. My father and I don't talk often, and we aren't that close. We should be, after everything we've been through, but we aren't. My dad's life is his work, and technically, his work is my work.

He is the boss of bosses in the CIA. He's one of the highest ranking agents. He's closed cases that nobody has ever been able to close, and at fifty, he is looking great in his suit and tie. He has gray hair now, cut short in a buzz cut. He has had the same haircut ever since he was a teenager going into the Marines. He doesn't approve of my hair style, but then again, he doesn't approve of much.

"Work has been interesting." I reply as I sip at the orange juice in front of me.

My father's bushy, gray eyebrows furrow, his rough skin showing his age. "Because of the woman Jerome is having you train?"

"Yes." I answer truthfully, knowing I will get away with no lies around my father.

"I approved the training. It's a good way to keep her quite about the whole situation." My father approvingly nods, his voice a little scratchy this morning.

"She would've kept quiet about the situation anyway. Her father is Jerome." I reply shortly, shoving another bite of pancake into my mouth.

"That doesn't mean anything." My father mutters, motioning a nearby waitress for his check.

I'm not really sure what my father is trying to get at, but I refrain from thinking too much about it. "Okay. Well, we're keeping her out of our loop. She knows nothing about us except our names and what we look like..."

"But, I think that the decision to have her working with us is a bad choice. Knowing our names and our faces is more than what the general public is supposed to know." I try to reason with my father as I set my fork down and gaze into his old, gray eyes. "She's a liability, dad."

"Don't let her be." My father shrugs as if it is no big deal. "Don't tell her anything. You can even tell her that your names are made up if you want."

I stare blankly at my dad. "My team doesn't like her."

"Why?" My father's eyebrows snap together. "Do you think she's not who she says she is?"

I shake my head, glancing down at my food that has barely been touched. "Well, the truth is, I don't know who she is. I've read what information we have on her, but I don't know her. That's the problem."

"Then, get to know her." My father suggests as a waitress hands over our bills separately. My father has always been so kind as to let me pay for my own meals.

"No, dad. That would mean she has to get to know us." My words slice the air quickly. "And, I'm not letting that happen."

"Well, you could always tell her things about you that aren't true." My father responds, tucking his credit card in the folder that his receipt is in. I do the same.

"That doesn't feel right." I say quietly. "My team and I have to lie to everyone. I don't want to add her to the list."

"Why not?" My dad questions, looking at me as if I'm the dumbest person alive. You'd think I'd be used to his condescending manners, but they still bother me. "I thought she was a nobody, son."