She was never the kind of sister their father thought she was.
Her father often assumed his children were conspiring against him, or protecting each other in some way, which to Nina was absurd. “Why would Pia talk to me about any of it?” she asked, tone dry, expression bored. “You’re her sister,” he said.
Nina smoothed her hair, took a breath, and forced a cheerful smile as she slipped into a chair across from her father. He seemed 20 years older than his 68 years. He was in an expensive suit and tie, as always, but his hooded eyes and sagging cheeks made him look ready to lay in a casket.
“Where’s Pia?” she asked. Her sister had insisted on driving her father to the restaurant.
“Oh, she had to do something, so I drove myself,” he said. A proud and stern Filipino, Dr Santos did not like to appear dependent on his children. But Nina knew he was keeping track of every passing minute. He wasn’t that patient of a man, or that forgiving of a father.
“Sorry, Dad,” Nina said. “I would’ve…