‘My mother.’
‘Why am I not surprised. She’s a tough one. A year in, and barely remembers my name and that we live together, but yeah, she’s lovely.’ Emilian lifted a corner of his mouth.
‘Yeah, well, she wants us to come for tea, and when she talks, it means she’s planning something, or, I don’t know. Who knows. She’s a bit strange sometimes.’
‘When?’
She shrugged. ‘Eventually, she said. Could be in a week, or a month. Time to her is immaterial, apparently. She exists in a bubble.’
‘My mother is like that. Maybe it’s the Eastern European streak.’
‘Your mother is Hungarian, and your father is Irish. That’s a whole other set of issues.’ Slava mocked.
‘I know! Maybe she’s pregnant.’ Emilian offered, trying to lighten her mood. Slava was quick to anger, but she let go easily, and he knew the times that he could encourage her to. But in that moment, he saw Slava’s face shift and the blue in her eyes darkened. He came towards her. ‘Oh, c’mon. It was a joke. I didn’t— ‘
And then suddenly, she came back to him. ‘Science can’t even be that weird,’ she laughed. ‘You’re such a loon.’
Emilian softened. ‘But really, though, your dad is fine, she’s perfectly healthy, what could it possibly be?’
‘I don’t know.’ She walked to the bed, exactly six steps from the kitchen, and sat down, facing him. ‘I’d like to say that it’s a puppy but I’m too tired to try out your jokes.’
Emilian smiled at the effort, though he knew that something else was bothering her. There had been a simmering in her eyes recently, like the energy of a locked door. He knew better than to prod.
Slava pulled off her jogging bottoms. ‘Right. We have an hour and a bit before I have to leave.’ She looked up at Emilian. ‘What do you say we make the most of our second piece of furniture?’ And then she took off her t-shirt, and leaned her face towards his, and they spoke of nothing else.
Slava walked through the door of the aptly named Coffee Pot on the corner of 7th Avenue and 10th street, satisfied that Emilian believed her lie. The glass-muffled traffic surged noisily outside as she scanned the room and then she saw her at a table in the corner, sitting straight, winding the thin watch on her wrist.
Her mother looked regal, in a camel dress coat, her hair tied back in a high bun, revealing sharp cheekbones and bright eyes. It was easy to forget who she was: a woman with a proud spine and a cool distance in the way she carried herself. It was beautiful, and Slava wished she’d observed it more when she was younger.
She slipped her shoulder bag off and sat down heavily, shrugging her jacket off onto the back of the chair. The coffee machines squealed and steamed in the far corner of the room and the air smelled of cinnamon and sugar.
‘I’m late, Mama.’
Julia didn’t offer a reaction, and only checked her watch. ‘Yes, I am aware. 25 minutes late.’ She motioned for a waiter to come over.
‘No, more like a week.’
There was a hint of a smile, and then Julia leaned forward lacing her fingers together, eyes hopeful. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m never late. But then again, this could be a false alarm. I just thought I’d tell you.’
Julia waited a bit, and then nodded. ‘Well. Have you told Emilian?’
‘No. I didn’t want to start the ball rolling on that particular path.’
The waiter came over with menus. Slava raised a hand. ‘Oh, I can’t. Do you have any tea?’ He nodded.
Julia smiled. ‘Two please, thank you. With honey on the side.’
When he walked off, she continued. ‘I am not sure of all these ‘balls and paths’, but you must think about this. Sometimes, it doesn’t happen, but if it does, what a miracle.’
‘Oh God, Mama,’ Slava snorted. ‘You’re always so negative despite attempting optimism.’
Julia nodded. ‘That may be so, but all I am saying is be prepared either way. Life is funny.’
‘You always strike me as so wary, nervous.’ Slava folded and unfolded the napkin in front of her. ‘It’s like you’re afraid to be bold, but you’re also hard as nails.’
Julia didn’t respond. ‘You’d need to get your apartment ready.’
‘Hang on, slow down. You mean our closet space under the ground? Yeah, well, our lease is up soon and who the hell knows where we’ll move after that.’
Julia reached for her daughter. ‘Don’t you want children yet? Have you thought about it?’
Slava softened. ‘Well, not really. In an ideal world? No, not right now. I’d imagine that I’d be more ready than I am right now. Besides, there are options. I mean, an abortion wouldn’t be ideal, but— ‘
Julia’s face flushed and her voice rose. ‘Shhh! Don’t ever say anything like that! That’s disgraceful.’
‘Mama, calm down.’ Slava looked around, embarrassed for them. She was grateful the place was half empty. ‘Stop freaking out. I never said I would get one, but hey, welcome to 1974.’
Slava watched as Julia became visibly agitated, and when the tea was brought there was silence for a good five minutes as the women sat in their own thoughts. Slava stirred the honey into her cup, the spoon scraping the porcelain.
‘Mama— ‘
‘Slava, don’t. What you said is incredibly upsetting to me. You would be lucky to have a child. Incredibly blessed.’ Julia became almost possessive of Slava’s news, as if it were her own.
‘I know this, of course. But I also have a right to choose now.’
‘Choices are dangerous.’ Julia’s eyes shone.
‘Choices are good. It means you have freedom.’
‘No, Slava. You’re wrong. One choice could change your entire life.’
Slava had seen this before, her mother had a darkness to her that rarely came out, but when it did, it seeped slowly, as if it were an uncontrollable fire; smoke leaking out of a locked room. Today, it was more than she’d ever seen. She wanted to push her further, but instead, she reached across and gripped her mother’s hand.
‘Mama, hear me out. I just wanted to tell you— ‘
‘Why?’ Julia interrupted. ‘Why would you tell me about something that you’re not sure about?’
‘Because you’re my mother.’
Julia took a napkin and dabbed the corners of her eyes. ‘I know, sertseh. I’m sorry. I never got to tell my own mother these things, that’s probably why. There’s no need for so much emotion.’
Slava sensed the lie, but she left it. Julia composed herself and locked the darkness away again. ‘Thank you for telling me, no matter what happens.’
The same waiter appeared carrying a pad and pencil and two menus. ‘Would you like anything else?’
‘Milk, please,’ Julia replied, and smiled at her daughter, the pain dissipating. ‘For both of us.’
Later that afternoon, Emilian was out and Slava walked through the empty apartment, slowly discarding one shoe, then the other, then her bag and finally her coat. She walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the small mirror, spotted with toothpaste flicks from morning routines. She had six a mere six months to finish her master’s, had a steady job at Sloane Kettering, and Emilian had been promised a position at Smith Barney, working for his mentor from college. They had very little, but it was everything to them.
There was a large part of her childhood that Slava didn’t remember, and things that her mother had never told her. ‘Such a long time ago, how could I remember,’ she would say often. She’d been shown faded photographs of her smiling face in fields and farmhouses, tucked into the arms of her mother and father, but her own memories remained blank. And her mother never talked of the past, as if she’d moved on to another life when they’d arrived on the concrete paths of Manhattan. She’d lived a hard life, Slava assumed, and that was just the immigrant story. Keeping the past tucked away.
She walked out of the bathroom and over to the bed, where they had been, only six hours before. She lay
down and placed a hand on her stomach slowly moving it across the thin material of her blouse and back again, her thoughts growing quiet as she fell asleep to the sound of the rain hitting the street just above her.
It would be a week later that her period would come, and the tests would show that it was, in fact, a disappearing moment, and as Slava stood in the shower and reinserted herself back into her life, she felt she’d accomplished something that she’d never done before: she had revealed a little bit of the woman that sat across from her.
28
‘We are moving’, Julia announced a month later as she put her embroidery on her lap. The threads lay in a clump on her knees: black, cranberry red and kelly green. It was going to be a bouquet of poppies. Two other pairs of eyes were staring at her, and then Slava turned to Emilian and cocked her eyebrow. See? I told you. Ridiculous.
‘What?’ It was Saturday, the tea had been poured, Slava was arranging folders of lab results on the floor in front of her, the insignia of Sloane-Kettering Hospital branded on the top of each; she was inundated with work more and more lately because labs never shut on the weekends and now she had been promoted to supervisor. Emilian sat behind her on the couch; his place was still a spectator. She was looking at her mother in disbelief. ‘But why? You love the city.’
Julia smiled. ‘Our life, Papa’s and mine, it’s always been so busy. Not once have we stopped working, but we’re getting older now… he is 54, after all. He comes home like he used to: tired and covered in dirt. He never says ‘no’ to what anyone wants from him.’ She took a sip of hot tea and placed it back onto the coffee table.
‘Well, you can’t just move and… well, do you have a plan? Everyone needs a plan.’ She leaned back on Emilian’s legs and folded her arms across her chest.
‘Oh, Slava. Such focus. You remember how you used to shout at me Vava do it when you were 5?’
Slava blushed in embarrassment. ‘Not really.’
Julia continued. ‘Yes, there is a plan. You know the building that Papa bought on President Street a few years ago?’
‘Yes, the one that was a dump.’
‘Well, over time, there have been a lot of buildings that have been bought on that street and done up really nicely: painted and renovated and the original brick restored.’
‘So, what does that have to do with Papa?’
‘A few weeks ago, a couple of developers approached Papa when he was working and told him that they’d be interested in buying the rental off him.’
‘Holy God!’
The clinking of keys and the turning of the look interrupted them. Henry was home. He lumbered in, his frame appearing in the door.
‘Oh, Emilian. Slava.’ He took his hat off and hooked it on the back of the door. ‘What was that ungodly screeching? Was that you?’
‘Yes, Papa. Mama just told me about the house in Brooklyn.’
He peeled off his jacket and sat down heavily, nodding a hello to Emilian. ‘Well, they seem very interested, which is strange. But I guess the area will become popular maybe? I don’t know these kinds of things. But I’ll take good money if it’s offered. I’ve worked my bones raw in that building.’
‘What money, then?’
‘They offered four times what Papa paid for it’, Julia interrupted proudly.
‘She’s talking to me, Julia’, he admonished with a sigh. ‘Yes, it was four times.’ He turned to Julia. ‘Always money with you.’ Emilian and Slava shifted their bodies uncomfortably.
‘Don’t be argumentative just because you’re exhausted, Henry. I'm glad it’s a lot of money, and yes, it makes me happy to know that you’re rewarded for hard work just like every other reasonably-minded husband.’ She waved her hand towards him. ‘You can’t just fix pipes and grow orchids your whole life and expect that to be okay, now can you.’ As soon as she said the words, she regretted them.
Henry stood up. ‘You’re lucky I respect you that little bit not to dive into an argument. I don’t have the energy for it.’ He walked down the hallway towards the bedroom, and everyone heard a shuffling of papers and a drawer opening. Julia’s face went white.
‘Henry,’ she said loudly. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Something I found the other day.’
Julia stood up as Henry walked back into the room clutching a file with several pieces of paper in it. She sat back down and smoothed her blouse, the color returning to her face. Slava had watched her the entire time.
'Look,’ Henry offered to Slava, and winked at her. ‘Your mother likes a good number.’ Julia rolled her eyes.
‘Here we go again. Please, be nice, both of you.’ Slava took the papers and looked through them and showed Emilian. She shot a look at Julia. “Wow. Well, all the little comments aside, this is a good thing. Will you go through with it you think?’
Julia still stung from their words. ‘Yes, yes, of course he’ll take the money. We’ll use it to find a place out in Long Island, where there’s a nice little community.’
‘Ah. Where you and Papa disappear to sometimes?’
‘Mmm. Glen Cove. It has a little main street with shops, a cinema, a beach, a lovely church, and plenty of space. It’s what they call ‘new development’, and it seems to have a lot of potential for us. Somewhere we can breathe a bit.’
‘What will happen to this place?’ Slava looked at
the embroidered cushions on the couch and smoothed the faded oriental rug where she sat. ‘There’s so much history here.’
‘Well, that’s good that you like it, as Papa and I decided that you can have it.’
Slava’s eyes widened and looked over at Emilian. ‘Mrs. Rudnick, we couldn’t possibly— ‘
‘— And what should we do with it then?’ Julia interrupted. ‘Sell it to a stranger? Besides, we have already bought it from the owner of this building, years ago.’ Julia smiled. ‘We saved, and we bought it to have in the family.’
Henry folded his arms across his chest and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t your lease coming up soon?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Emilian answered. ‘But with all due respect we couldn’t—‘
‘Too late,’ Julia interrupted, clapping her palms together to end the thought. ‘It’s for you. It’s history, as you said.’ She looked over at Slava. ‘And you can’t rent if you have children.’
Slava rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Not again, Mama.’
Emilian looked at her and winked and looked at Julia. ‘I keep telling her.’
Julia frowned. ‘Marriage first. Do it properly.’
‘Oh, like everything you both have done is so proper,’ Slava snorted, shuffling her papers together and standing up.
Julia blushed; her face lost its smile. ‘Anyway, there you have it. That is our news.’
‘Thanks, Mama.’ Slava embraced her mother tightly. She always noticed how her body stiffened ever so slightly. She never understood it. Slava kissed her father on his leathery cheeks and waited for Emilian at the door as she put her coat on— it was one that her mother had given her: brown suede with white, red and green yarn woven in a flower pattern all along the edges of the sleeves and the bottom hem. It had been made in Ukraine by a friend of the family. It was history. They, and now Emilian, and this apartment, all of it was now her home.
29
Despite having brought only a bookshelf, a bed, and a mirror, the apartment still hadn’t been settled yet, there were carboard boxes and packing tape and dishes that hadn’t found a place to live yet. Her hands trailed over the dark wood of the hallway: her mother had left a few paintings hanging delicately, some wood etchings by Ukrainian artists that Slava knew nothing about. There were volumes of Pushkin, old maps, encyclopedias that she used to use for school, dust had collected on their spines. She was home.
Her parents had left them a few pieces of furniture and took the rest to Glen Cove in six separate trips, the process taking most of a weekend. Slava looked around, the lazy Sunday light flooding the windows of the living ro
om, the shadow of the fire escape creating a pattern on the floor. The dark walls held so many old memories of their arrival in New York: the tenants that roamed the hallways and gathered on the stoop below, in the summer heat; the radiators spitting and popping during the winters that frosted the window panes; the blare of sirens that they got used to so quickly, and seemed comforted by over time.
‘Do we want to keep these?’ Emilian strode out of the kitchen with an armful of embroidered napkins.
‘Yeah, let’s just put them in a cupboard somewhere.’
‘We’ll never use them though.’
‘Did I ever tell you that my mother made some of those?’
He looked at the pile of material in his arms. ‘Um, no?’ He cocked an eyebrow at Slava. ‘In her spare time? Sitting around and stitching red poppies?’
Slava smiled sadly. ‘No. In the war.’
Emilian flattened his lips. ‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry.’
‘She doesn’t talk much about any of that,’ Emilian responded, folding each napkin gently and placing it into a box. ‘Do you ever ask her?’
Slava shrugged, walking over to the small phone table by the door with a stack of letters on it. ‘I try to, but she shuts down. She once told me no one will ever know the real me and I found that really sad.’
‘Yeah, that’s weird.’
Slava fingered each letter absentmindedly, her thoughts elsewhere. ‘Well, I don’t know. I mean, it was a war.’ She stopped on one letter, addressed to Julia Rudnick. ’Too many painful memories I guess.’
‘Yeah, I get it.’ Emilian folded the lip of the box and pushed it aside. ‘What else you got for me?’
Slava ripped the edge of the envelope and reached inside. ‘This is for my mother. From...’-- she turned it back to the front and read the sender’s address-- ‘Townsville State Department.’
‘There you go!’ Emilian slapped his knee. ‘She’s on the run from the government!’ He laughed and stood up, walking past her into the living room, and opening a window. ‘I’m getting married into the Ukrainian mafia.’
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