Chapter 2

I've never seen him act like this. Granted, it's only been three months, but in that time he's always been composed, calm—even, well, kind to me. I don't think he's ever raised his voice at me- despite all the times I probably deserved it.

I would prefer yelling to this. My father used to act this way when he was upset and now I can understand why it drove my mother crazy. It's been over two hours and Phillip has stayed hidden in our bedroom perfectly silent the whole time.

I try to focus on reading the notes Phillip left on the table about his upcoming orders. It seems they're sending him to a lab in New York. Unfortunately, I didn't get much beyond that. With the constant dizziness and Phillip's drama in the next room, I can't seem to get much work out of the way. He's becoming such a distraction.

The door to our room creaks open and I sit up on the couch in response.

"Hey!" I say cheerfully; a small attempt at an olive branch.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he walks toward our refrigerator and whips open the door. The light from the refrigerator illuminates his grim face.

"You hungry? You want to get some dinner?" I call to him.

He stares into the refrigerator as if he were studying the milk and jam on the shelves. He's really not making our job easy, is he?

I make yet another attempt at peace, "We could go out? There's that new restaurant you wanted to try down the street."

He still doesn't respond.

"Or I could make you something? I know how much you liked when I cooked for you last time." I say.

I can see him fighting back a smile at the second offer. I tried cooking for him our first week together in the states. I had too much grease in the pan and nearly set fire to our apartment. We had to leave every window in the apartment open for a good week and a half just to get the smell out. Our handlers wouldn't be thrilled if they didn't get their security deposit back. Even then, he didn't yell at me. He just smiled and said, "It's okay. It's nice having fresh air in the apartment."

It was the middle of January.

I turn to my last resort. It's the one thing I can do that I know will get a response out of him. I stand up from the couch, "You can't stay mad at me forever."

I wait for him to react-not to what I said, but to that fact that I said it in our native tongue.

His eyes widen and he slams the door to the refrigerator shut, "Are you insane?" he says under his breath.

"At least now I have your attention." I say.

He marches toward me, "If they heard you talk like that the mission is over!" he whispers.

"Then you won't ignore me again." I say.

"You shouldn't have done that." He says.

"Relax. There's nobody listening!" I say.

"You don't know that!" he says, "We have neighbors on every side of us!"

"I don't think the old lady with the five cats is spying on us."

"That's not the point. You know the rules."

"I can't speak English all the time. It makes my head spin."

"You don't have a choice. The other language doesn't exist to us anymore. We don't speak it. We don't understand it. Not at the store, not when we hear it on television, never. We can't respond to it. It's too risky. When you do that you put all of us at risk."

He knows he has my attention now, "Don't say all of us!"

"It is all of us. You, me…"

"Don't say it!"

"And the baby."

I cross my arms and look away, "You know I don't like that, Phillip!"

"What else am I supposed to call it?"

"Another phase in the mission. That's what you call it. It's just another step we were ordered to take in a much bigger mission."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I'm doing my part for my country the only way I know how. We're not playing house. We're not a family! It's not our child!"

"It is our child."

"No it's not. Not to me."

I can see the color drain from his cheeks. His eyes roam around the room, avoiding looking into mine. Finally he speaks.

"You know we haven't met that many people in this country. We could easily move and nobody would remember our faces. Maybe it's time we look into getting matched with other people."

"What?" I say, shocking even myself with my gut response.

"I'll talk to our handler tomorrow and see what can be done."

"You don't mean that."

"I do mean it!"

"But you can't do that. It's too late. What about the…"

I cut myself off. It's too real when I say it out loud.

He glares back at me, "When you have the baby I'll have him sent to live with my new wife and me. I'm sure anyone would love him more than you would."

"You don't really believe that." I say.

"I don't know what to believe anymore! You know the day I met you I was relieved. I was actually relieved. You were so confident, so focused, so passionate about our mission."

"And now?"

"And now, now-I just wonder, is there any part of you that is passionate about anything else."

"The mission's why were here." I say.

He hesitates for a moment, "That's what I thought."

He begins to walk away before turning back at me, "I guess I just don't understand what's so terrible about me, about us, that you can't even bare the thought of having a family together. What is so scary about having people around to love you?"

I look up and meet his gaze, "Its more people to lose."

"Well now you don't have to worry about that."