That time, when Maria reached out, she did close the distance between us. Her fingers rested lightly on my arm. “I’m so sorry, Lev,” she breathed. It was so far from what I’d expected her to say! My head reared back like she’d slapped me. I was the one who’d come to apologize.
“It must be hard for you,” Maria continued. “Feeling like you’re the only support that she’ll turn to.” Her expression wasn’t quite a smile, but it was kind. “I’m guessing she won’t go to anyone else?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’ve tried to encourage her to talk to her parents, I know they care, but...” I had no explanation. Yeah, Kira and I were... we’d always been close. When things had been good between us they’d been great. It was one of the reasons that kept me going back over and over again.
But I was starting to realize that it didn’t help. I went and I did things for her, Kira seemed better and then she didn’t. It was a cycle that she didn’t know how to get out of. And I didn’t feel like I could get out of it. Not without letting her down. I didn’t want that.
“It is hard,” I admitted. It was the first time I’d ever actually said that. It felt like betraying Kira. I should be strong for her because... Well, that’s what Russian men did. Challenges and hardships were there to overcome not succumb to.
I gave Maria’s hand a small squeeze. “I shouldn’t have left you on your birthday, I know how much birthdays mean to you.”
Her lips parted slightly as she pulled in a breath. “Birthdays do mean a lot to me,” she agreed. “But… I’m not unreasonable, Lev. If you’re the only person that Kira can lean on and she needed you, then, of course, you had to go.”
She was repeating what I’d said back to me. I couldn’t not go. It sounded so much more reasonable coming from Maria.
The corners of her mouth pinched in, a slight frown creasing her forehead. I braced for the questions I was sure would come. What, exactly, was wrong with Kira? Why didn’t she go and get professional help?
Part of me hoped that Maria might have some suggestions for how I could help her not to feel so sad all the time.
“Are you okay?” she asked, surprising the hell out of me. “You’ve been looking after Kira for two days. That’s a lot of responsibility. Do you - Is there anything that you need?”
I honestly didn’t know how to answer that.
My needs weren’t something... it wasn’t that no one asked - my mama always asked if I was okay and if she needed to fly out to feed me. It felt different to have Maria ask. I knew she meant it; she wanted to make sure I was okay.
“Coffee and cake will help,” I promised her, giving Maria a small grin. “I’m... I’m really glad you’re not angry at me.” Even if I still thought she had every right to be. I wanted to apologize again but bit my lip. She had already told me it was okay. I didn’t want to push it until it wasn’t.
Looking around, I noticed the hot chocolate gift set that had been in my box of presents for Maria. “Did you like your birthday present?” I asked.
She grinned. A smile that actually reached her eyes, for the first time since I’d walked in. “It was amazing,” she gushed. “You got me way too much, Lev, but I love all of it.” Her smile softened. “Especially the photo frame. That was thoughtful. I put it by my seat in the living room. I’ll show you later.”
I liked the thought of the gifts I’d brought already being part of Maria’s life, settled in her apartment. “I haven’t put anything in it, yet,” she admitted. “I wanted a picture of us doing something. I realized we haven’t really taken any.”
That made me give a small chuckle. It felt like we’d known each other for years, been friends for years. In reality, it was barely a few months. Still, enough time that we should have had at least one picture of us together.
“Why not frame a picture of me playing hockey?” I asked teasingly. “I’m very good at hockey.” Honestly, I liked to think I was also pretty good at being a friend. Most of the time, at least.
Shaking my head, I gave a small sigh. “Will you let me take you dancing again?” It was partly an apology but also... I had enjoyed learning to dance with Maria.
Maria’s cheeks flushed, reminding me of how alive she had looked when they were pink from the exertion of dancing. She’d moved like a flicker of flame in my arms, so quick and so light on her feet. I could still remember it now.
“Of course I will,” she agreed. “You were very good at dancing, too. I think your lessons at school gave you more skill than you anticipated! You were nearly as good as Jaque.”
I laughed at that. I was sure it was not my lessons from school, nor did I imagine I was anywhere near the sort of level Jaque had danced at. “I am pretty good at avoiding bumping into people,” I pointed out. I was sure that had helped a lot in moving around the dance floor.
Smiling at Maria and having her smile back at me, it felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. I had expected this to go... a lot worse. The idea that Maria really was fine with this, that she was understanding... it blew my mind.
“Thanks,” I said. “For being such a good friend.” Because she was an excellent friend, better than I felt I deserved.
She shook her head, but she was still smiling at my compliment. “I am great,” she teased. “But you’re pretty great, too. None of my other friends bring me Russian honey cake.”
I laughed at that, as she lifted a forkful of Anya’s cake to her lips. From the expression that flashed across her face as she tasted it, I guess that Anya was right. It was the best cake this side of Moscow.
“This is delicious,” she praised. “Do you think Anya would teach me to make this, too?”
“Maybe if you have six spare years,” I said. “I’ve seen mama make this, I think you need a degree first.” It was a great deal easier to just buy it. But saying that, I knew that if Maria made one, I would definitely try it.
As we ate the cake, chatting about what other Russian foods were too complicated to make yourself, I found myself so grateful for Maria’s friendship. I had thought that after leaving her on her birthday - leaving her to look after Kira - Maria would be angry. Or disappointed. That she wouldn’t even want to talk to me.
Yet, here she was. Listening to me list the types of foods she could try to make. Maria was great! I wondered what I had done to deserve her friendship.
Chapter Twelve
It took me almost a week to finish all of Anya’s honey cake. It was so rich and sweet that a small slice over coffee at the end of the day was all I needed. It became a ritual. No matter how stressful and hectic my day, I knew that at the end of it there would be a cup of coffee and a delicious treat. It was meditative, as I let the flavors explode across my tongue.
It didn’t empty my mind. Far from it. Every day, it gave me an excuse to think about Lev. I had promised him that I would accept his word when he said he was okay. That was what I was trying to do. I still worried a little, especially now I knew what the situation was with Kira.
I couldn’t say that I knew what Lev was going through. I’d ended things with all my exes very thoroughly. Not always because things had gone badly, but just because most of them belonged to a very particular part of my life. A time that had passed. I could look back on some of them with pleasure, but I didn’t want to still see them.
I definitely didn’t want them to still lean on me.
And I couldn’t quite forget how stunningly pretty Kira’s picture on Lev’s phone had been. Lev hadn’t said they were dating now, but I wondered if that was what he wanted. If he hoped that by showing up for her, he could get her to a stable enough place to resume their relationship.
They weren’t thoughts I wanted to have circling round and round in my head. So, after I’d finally eaten the last scraps of the honey cake, I decided to take my mind off Lev.
By going to Babushka. My grand plan to think about something else for an evening lasted all of twenty minutes before I sent Lev a message to let him know that I’d be
trying my hand at Russian cooking for the first time.
When he offered to come and taste what I made, I didn’t say no.
First, I had to actually make it. “Good evening, Anya,” I said, once Maxim had shown me to the kitchen. I felt a little shy. Even though I’d talked to Anya in Russian before, I’d always had Lev with me to translate anything that I couldn’t convey.
Tonight, I had only myself to rely on. “Thank you for the honey cake,” I said, trotting out my carefully rehearsed opening sentence. “It was delicious. Lev said it’s too difficult for me to learn.” I pouted at that, but I trusted that he was correct. “But will you teach me a soup? An easy soup. My cooking is not very good.”
Anya laughed at that. “Yes,” she promised. “I will teach you how to make soup. We can work our way up to a honey cake,” she added. It was nice that she thought that I could learn how to make a honey cake. Soup was definitely going to be easier to start with. I appreciated how Anya took the time to speak slower, to pronounce the words carefully so I could follow.
“I trust you know how to chop things?” Anya asked and then frowned. “Not everyone does.” Which I supposed was my opportunity to say if I didn’t, but Emily had been very good at teaching me how to chop things.
Handing me a bunch of things to chop, Anya began to prepare something else. “So you forgave him? Whatever he had done to need a honey cake for?”
I smiled at the question. It was nice that Anya cared enough to ask. Sometime over the last several weeks, she’d become a friend. Not as close as Lev was, of course, but still she was interested in my life.
Or maybe Lev’s life. But I was a part of that. It made me feel good to know that I was included.
“I would have forgiven him without the honey cake,” I assured Anya. “He… thought it was worse than it was. Does that make sense?” I wasn’t sure I’d communicated myself very clearly. It had been a long, long time since I’d needed to discuss anything more complicated than food and hobbies in Russian. My ability to talk about interpersonal things had always been my weakest point.
Anya hummed. I wasn’t sure if that meant that it didn’t make sense or that she was just weighing it up to decide. She must’ve seen the confusion on my face because Anya offered me a smile. “Yes,” she said in English. “I understand.” I appreciated that she tried to assure me in English, like she wanted to make sure I definitely understood.
“So has he asked you out yet?” Anya asked, switching back to Russian. “I always think that the two of you would make a very good couple.”
Instantly, I blushed. “No, no,” I said in English. And then, too quickly. “No. We are friends. Just friends.” I remembered the way Lev had pulled me close while we were dancing, the feel of his strong, steady hand against my back.
The desire to reach up to meet him, to whisper something in his ear, had been so strong that I could still feel it.
But when he’d come to apologize, Lev had thanked me for being a good friend. I didn’t think he’d used that word by accident.
“He is not going to ask me out.” I felt sure of that. Even if my heart did skip a beat at the thought.
This time, when Anya hummed it was definitely because she didn’t believe me. “He should,” Anya said with such certainty that my stomach flipped. She seemed so sure. It made me wonder what it was she saw that... Maybe I could see what she saw, too. Lev and I did get on well. It wasn’t hard to imagine how that might come across to someone who didn’t know that we were just friends.
But we were just friends.
Anya sensed that this wasn’t something I wanted to discuss. Instead, she came over to show me how to cut up the pickles better. “I’ll teach you how to make the broth next,” she told me. “You’re doing very well,” Anya added assuringly, making me smile.
She was a good teacher. And the cooking vocabulary I had learned definitely came in useful. While the broth was simmering, I asked Anya about her marriage to Maxim, and how they’d come to start a restaurant.
Even when we couldn’t quite make each other understand the words we wanted, I could sense Anya’s happiness with her life. She didn’t hesitate to include me in it, and I wondered how much of that was down to Lev.
This trip to Babushka definitely hadn’t worked to keep my mind off him. But I hadn’t really expected it to.
I was looking forward to tasting the soup that I had made. But more than that, I couldn’t wait to share it with Lev.
It was late by the time Anya helped me to finish the soup, serving it into bowls with a dollop of sour cream. The restaurant was empty, apart from Maxim and Lev, who were sharing a copy of The Moscow Times.
Anya pulled her husband away, leaving me to carry the two bowls of soup to Lev’s table.
“I hope you ate already,” I said, with a laugh to cover the way my stomach filled with butterflies. I was just excited about the soup. At least, that’s what I told myself.
The soup both looked and smelled just like Anya’s regular solyanka, but I was terrified I’d done something to ruin it. I didn’t want to have failed. But surely, Anya would have spotted any mistake I made?
Deciding to be brave, I dipped my spoon into the thick liquid, lifting it to my lips before Lev could deliver his verdict. I was almost surprised by the way it tasted - sour and savory in exactly the right mix, just like Anya’s.
“It’s good!” I crowed, delighted by my own success.
Lev seemed amused by how pleased I looked. He didn’t hesitate to take a spoonful of it himself. He smacked his lips in a way that a child might show satisfaction with food. It was very intentional, I knew from the grin he gave me.
“It tastes really good, Masha,” Lev told me genuinely. “You’ve done well,” he praised. I beamed at him. My worries evaporated easily. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it again without Anya’s help?” he asked, already two more spoonfuls in. At least it left me under with no doubts that he definitely was enjoying it.
I ate more slowly, savoring each spoonful as I considered Lev’s question. I’d been so distracted by talking to Anya, and thinking about Lev. I hadn’t thought about how I should commit each step to memory so I could replicate it at home without Anya’s help. “Maybe,” I decided. I had a recipe. That would probably jog my memory enough. “It might not be as good, but I think it would be edible.”
Which was more than I could have said before Anya’s lesson. “Anya was really great,” I said, glancing over to where she and Maxim were chatting in low voices. “It’s clear that she cares about you a lot. Just how often do you come here?”
I saw the small flicker of surprise that moved across Lev’s face before he smiled. “Too often, evidently,” he teased. His expression softened as he glanced around. “I guess, I do come here fairly often. It reminds me of home, especially since I get to hear people speak Russian around me,” he explained.
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard Lev talk about that, so I nodded. “I think I’ve probably come more since I met you, though,” he pointed out. “Anya’s pretty sure I’m trying to convert you,” Lev joked.
That wasn’t all that Anya was sure of. I blushed, wondering whether she had mentioned to Lev that she thought he should ask me out. And what would he have said, if she had? Had he made it clear to her that he only wanted to be my friend?
“If a year in Moscow didn’t make me feel Russian, I’m not sure even coming here every week could do it,” I pointed out. In some ways, coming to Babushka with Lev, making friends with Anya, made me feel more at home than actually living in Moscow ever had.
I took another spoonful of soup. “I guess it’s easier, coming here,” I said. “I don’t feel homesick, because I’m still in America. And I don’t feel as… strange and isolated as I did in Moscow.”
I could see an understanding frown appear across Lev’s forehead. Of course, if anyone understood the homesickness that came with living in another country it would be Lev. “I’m sorry Russia didn’t turn out to be
everything you had hoped for,” he said. I could tell he genuinely meant it. Lev always spoke so highly of Russia that I didn’t doubt he was sad I hadn’t instantly loved it.
“Do you think if it hadn’t been for the soulmate stuff, you would have liked it more?” he asked, spooning up a piece of mushroom.
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think that was the problem,” I admitted. It wasn’t something that I talked about often. But Lev had told me about Kira. He had opened up to me about something that I knew must be difficult for him. Part of me wanted to offer that same level of vulnerability back.
I just couldn’t think too hard about why.
“After the first shock, the idea that soulmates weren’t important was… refreshing,” I admitted. “It meant that I wasn’t in Russia, to meet one person and only that person. It meant I could meet anyone.” And I had. As a stranger, I’d decided that the best way to make connections was to say yes to anyone that invited me anywhere.
That was how I’d met Vasily. “I suppose part of me still wanted to fall for someone,” I said. “I wanted what my mom had had, what Emily had with Tanya. Even if it wasn’t a soulmate, I thought that I could still find something special.”
I couldn’t quite read the expression on Lev’s face. It seemed sympathetic. He had told me about Kira and their relationship now, but I didn’t know a lot about what it had been like when it had been good. In fact, we’d never talked about soulmates. We’d only briefly touched on whether Lev was interested in a relationship with someone.
“And what happened?” he asked, his tone gentle. It was as if Lev was afraid that if he asked the wrong way, I wouldn’t tell him. I probably would. Besides, Lev was very good at asking things the right way.
I sighed. I didn’t think my story was particularly unique. “I met Vasily,” I answered. “He was born in Russia, but out in the countryside. He’d moved to Moscow only a few weeks before I had. He wanted to see the city, visit all the museums and galleries. We went together. That’s how we started dating.”
Final Score (Madison Howlers #5) Page 12