Phyllo and Fallout

Day 21

Day 21 – “phyllo and Fallout”

(Continued from Day 20)

We didn’t speak much on the drive. My sister kept drumming her fingers on the door handle, like there was something she wasn’t saying. I let the silence stretch between us.

“I hope I didn’t get a ticket,” she muttered as we pulled into the cafe parking lot. “I left it for what, twenty minutes?”

“You Ubered home.”

“Right.” Her voice was thin. “Right, I did.”

She got out and headed for her car, parked in front of a meter blinking EXPIRED. I stayed in mine, watching. The heat shimmered off the pavement. When she opened her door, something spilled from the front seat—an empty pastry box, white string dangling off one side.

I got out.

“What’s that?” I asked.

She froze.

“Just… just leftovers. I was going to bring them back for us.”

“You had pastries in your hot car all day?”

She looked down, then kicked the box under the seat. “I didn’t think it through.”

“You’re not making sense.”

She didn’t look at me. “You should get going. I’ll meet you back at the house.”

“No.” My voice was sharp. Too sharp. “You’re not meeting me anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

Her shoulders tensed. She turned, slowly, and leaned against her car like her legs wouldn’t hold.

“They said they’d hurt you if I didn’t help.”

I stepped closer. “Who?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know! It started with a text. Just… a text. And then a phone call. I thought it was about me—I thought it was about what I did back in Chicago. But then they started asking about you. Where you eat. What time. What doors you use to go in. What kind of car you drive. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m the screwup.” Her voice cracked. “Because you were finally getting your life together and I didn’t want to be the one to tear it down. They knew everything, everything I did. They threatened to go to the police. They said they’d make sure you lost everything—your job, your name—unless I did what they said.”

I stared at her.

“And what did they say to do?”

She wiped her face. “Track you. Get you to certain restaurants. Leave stuff. Pick stuff up. I didn’t even know what it all was—I didn’t ask.”

“And the picture in the mailbox?”

“I didn’t put it there. I swear. I found my keys in the mailbox and that picture was with them. I think it was a warning—for me.”

I didn’t know if I believed her. But I could see the guilt swimming just below her skin.

“You made the stuffed peppers,” I said.

Her chin trembled. “I did.”

“You knew they were Mom’s recipe.”

“I thought it would calm you down,” she whispered. “I thought if it felt like home, you wouldn’t ask questions.”

I leaned back against my car, my pulse in my ears.

The sun was starting to dip behind the buildings. The shadows stretched long. I looked at her and didn’t see my sister—I saw someone I couldn’t quite name.

She reached into her purse and pulled something out.

“I brought baklava,” she said softly. “It’s from the place you liked. I thought we could sit on the porch. Talk.”

I didn’t answer.

Not yet.

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Baklava Recipe

Because someone’s always hiding layers.

Ingredients:

1 package phyllo dough

1 cup melted unsalted butter

2½ cups chopped pistachios or walnuts

1 tsp cinnamon

1½ cups sugar

¾ cup honey

½ cup water

Zest of 1 lemon

1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a 9x13 pan.

2. Lay 10 sheets of phyllo, brushing butter between each.

3. Sprinkle ½ cup nut mixture (with cinnamon) between every 5 layers. Repeat.

4. Top with remaining phyllo, buttered. Cut into diamonds.

5. Bake for 45 minutes.

6. While baking, boil sugar, honey, water, lemon zest, vanilla. Simmer 10 min.

7. Pour syrup over hot baklava. Let sit uncovered overnight.

Pairs best with secrets and silence.