"Mike," said Connie at the office one day, "what am I to you?"
Mike paused before answering. "I'd say that you're my girlfriend. Why are you asking?"
"And do you think that there is any chance that our relationship has reached the more than platonic stage?" Connie said.
Mike rolled his eyes. "Connie, quit beating around the bush. What are you trying to get at?"
She stood up and faced Mike. "Then don't you find it weird that we haven't met each other's families?"
Mike stopped what he was writing. "Connie," he said slowly, "my family is so neurotic, I try to pretend that they don't exist. Trust me; you don't want to meet them.
"Oooh," said Connie. "Now I'm curious. Okay, I'll bet your parents were socialists. Real liberals. They probably named you something like… Freedom jumper or something. You probably then lived on a nudist colony, and moved off and changed your name when you turned eighteen. They accuse you of selling out to the establishment. All of your brothers and sisters did the 'right' things in life, and you were that one screw-up."
Mike turned and looked at her. "I wish. My parents are quite the opposite – I think that my family is so conservative; my parents were probably good friends with Senator McCarthy at one point. All the expectations, the hopes, the dreams and the grandchildren were dumped on me after my older brother decided he was gay, moved away, became HIV-positive and became addicted to laughing gas."
"Wow," said Connie. "You make my family look not insane."
"Okay," said Mike, "in all fairness to me, it's your turn to spill the beans about the skeletons in your family closet."
"Okay," sighed Connie. "My dad married my mom to get a green card, and stayed with her just long enough to knock her up twice, and then left for another woman. For some reason, my mother then converted to socialism and moved us out of the city. She's not horribly happy with the paths that my sister and I have taken in life – she paid both of us through university and law school, and as far as I know, my sister Isabella is sitting at home with her abusive husband."
Suddenly, the phone rang. It was the reception. "Someone is here to see you, Ms. Rubirosa."
Connie looked confused. "Who is it?"
"She says her name is Innes," said the receptionist. "Should I send her up?"
"Sure," said Connie. She turned to Mike. "Innes is my ten year old niece. I wonder what she's doing here."
Fifteen seconds later, a diminutive little girl stepped in to Connie and Michael's office.
"Aunt Connie?" she said, in a high squeak of a voice.
"Innes, dear, how on earth did you get from here to the Bronx all alone? Mommy would have a fit." Connie said, giving the little girl a hug.
"That's the problem," said Innes. "I haven't seen mommy in three days. Daddy is gone too. The police came and got him last Monday. Mommy always told us to come to you if we were in trouble."
Connie stood in absolute shock. Isabella was missing? "Mike," she said turning around to face him, "My sister is missing. Call Lieutenant Van Buren and Detectives Green and Lupo, and maybe put a call in to CPS to find a place for these guys to stay."
"No!" Innes shouted. "I want to stay with you, Aunt Connie!"
"Innes," Connie said, "You can't yell in here. I have to focus all my energy on getting your mommy back right now, okay?"
Innes nodded.
"Go wait outside," said Connie. "I'll come get you. We'll go back to your apartment and get John and Andrea, okay?"
Innes stepped outside.
"Oh my God," Connie said. "I can't believe this." She was so numb.
Mike grabbed her and pulled her close to him. "Connie, I will deal with this, okay? You focus on taking care of your nieces and nephews."
Connie nodded and smiled, but it was forced.