"Did you recruit anyone?" he asks in a thick Russian accent, lowering the book. An ardent supporter of the military despite losing a son to it, my father asks the same question every day.
"Not today."
"You should try harder, Petr."
I laugh.
"You should not take this so lightly," he chides me. "A country is only as -"
"- great as its military. I know, Baba. I did hook up another wounded vet with the Mikael Foundation," I say, referring to the charity the family established in my brother's name to help other soldiers and vets.
He smiles. "This is good. We will collect them all and help them."
I sit down at the other end of the leather couch where he's reading.
My father is a rare man. Born into relative poverty in Russia long ago, he managed not to let my mother's obscene wealth change him after they married and instead, urged her to create and support charities. He co-manages half a dozen and is on the board for another ten, everything from Mikael's Foundation to community and local programs to wildlife preservation.
I think that's part of what made Mikael and me go into the military. My father, like our mother before her death, maintains a strong sense of public service. Mikael and I graduated from Harvard and had the option of never working a day in our lives, thanks to our trust funds, but chose instead to channel our boyhood adventure seeking ways into an avenue that could potentially help a lot of people.
The other reason we joined: we were both diehard risk seekers. This edge is tempered on me now, though I do still love skydiving and scuba diving and any other sort of physical activity that lets me become an adrenaline junkie once more, even if only temporarily.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss Katya," I muse.
"She has gone on to make the life of another man interesting."
I snort. Married this past summer to my old commander, Sawyer, I'm half afraid to call my sister Katya and find out how she's adjusting. She went from a mansion to military housing, and I'm not entirely certain what mood she'll be in if I ask.
Thinking about it makes me grin. I don't doubt Sawyer is taking care of her. He's like a brother to me now, the man who helped Mikael save my life.
"They'll be back for the holidays, right?" I ask my father.
"Yes. I told Sawyer, if he needs to leave her here, he can."
"I think he says he has to do the cooking when he's in town." I laugh again. "That and something about how she borrowed his truck and he can't get the glitter out of the nooks and crannies."