by Sophia Henry
“So psycho,” I interrupted in English. I didn’t know the Russian word for psycho.
“It wasn’t psycho. It was pain, Audushka, real pain. I knew where it was coming from.” He knelt in front of me and slid his palm over my cheek, his thumbs rubbing my temples, his fingers weaving into my hair. “Everything changed for me after that soccer game. I knew I’d fallen in love with you.”
“What?” I gasped, the L-word taking the breath from me.
“I told you that after my parents died I had nothing left but hockey. That’s not true anymore. I have you now. Everything I do and everything I am is all for you, Audushka.” His eyes blazed with the blue of deep ocean waters. “I am so in love with you. I love you.”
Aleksandr’s declaration slapped me across the face.
My response was automatic, because you shouldn’t lie after something slaps you across the face. By that time, you’ve already gotten the worst of it.
“I love you, too.” I’d never felt more real, more exposed, or more vulnerable.
Aleksandr leaned into me, kissing my face, cheeks, eyelids over and over, before settling on my lips. He pressed with an intensity that had become increasingly harder to contain.
“Can I get something out on the table, since you officially love me and all?” I asked, pulling back breathlessly. Leave it to me to open my mouth, quite possibly ruining the best moment of my life by bringing up the past.
“What’s that, love?” Aleksandr kissed my neck, and I almost forgot my train of thought.
“Don’t ever cheat on me, okay?” I said, stroking his hair. “All the stuff with that bunny is—whatever. I know girls are going to throw themselves at you, that’s just part of your life. But when you’re in Charlotte, I won’t be around when you come home from a game or a road trip. So if you ever feel tempted, I’d rather you tell me and break it off than cheat on me. It’s the one betrayal I could never forgive.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, ready to engage my brick-wall coping mechanism.
“The one betrayal you can’t forgive is being abandoned.”
There’s an old saying: The truth will set you free. Well, in my life, I’ve always known the truth to punch me in the gut. But Aleksandr knew how to deliver the blow so that it felt like a caress, rather than a jab.
“Leaving is your job. I’ve known from the start you’d leave me.”
“Take yourself out of it, Audushka. I need to leave for my job, and yes, that means leaving you, but I’m not leaving because of you. You understand the difference, yes?”
I nodded. Logically, I understood the difference, but his leaving took the same toll on my emotions whether or not I could separate the two.
“I know you’re opening up because you think this will be the end. You thought I’d be out of your life in a month, so why not? But it’s not that easy to get rid of me.”
It always floored me when Aleksandr called me out, knowing exactly what I was thinking. All these years I thought I was a complicated mess of a person who no one would understand. Guess it just took someone who was as much of a complicated mess.
How could he blame me for thinking it was the end, when he was the one who’d waited until he was leaving me to declare his love?
“Nothing is forever, Sasha,” I responded, smoothing out the collar of his dark gray peacoat.
I hated that Pavel Gribov had gotten into my head, but his words had only reinforced what I’d already believed. “Nothing is forever” had been my mantra since the age of seven. Independence was one of the first defenses I’d learned to fend off feelings of abandonment. If I were alone, no one could abandon me.
“That is where you are wrong, my sweet, silly girl.” Aleksandr stood up, then lifted me off the swing and into his arms. He patted my rear prodding me to hop up. I obeyed, wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He cradled me with ease, his hands clasped under my butt.
“When we met you could’ve acted like a different person, hiding yourself from me. You could’ve fallen all over me, coming to my games in my jersey and boots and nothing else.”
That made me laugh. Out loud. Aleksandr tilted his head as if to say, Work with me here. I pressed my lips together in a tight line, my smile dissolving—sort of.
“But you didn’t. You made fun of me, and you put me in my place and you opened up to me about things you don’t talk about to anyone. You trusted me enough to bring down the walls you’d built. You allowed me to see the real you and you liked me for me.”
“Loved,” I interrupted.
“You loved me for me,” he corrected before dropping a kiss on my nose. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not cheating on you. I am in love with you. It’s very hard to get a Russian man to back down once he finds his true love.”
I raised an eyebrow, cocking my head to one side.
“You didn’t know this about Russians?” he asked, the skin around his eyes wrinkling.
“I thought you were stoic badasses?”
“Yes, we are until it comes to love. In love, we are passionate and stubborn. My father was thirteen when he met my mother. He fell in love that day and never, ever had a second thought. I never understood it until I met you.”
“You have to leave tonight, don’t you?” I asked.
He nodded. “I have to meet the team in Pittsburgh.”
“I’m so proud of you.” I squeezed him. “Go kick some Penguins ass!”
It wasn’t about me right now. It was about him. His accomplishment. His life’s work all cumulating to this point in time. He deserved to enjoy it and be excited about leaving, instead of worrying about my insecurities.
“I love you, Audushka.” Aleksandr leaned in thisclose to my face, stopping shy of my lips. He understood my need to be in control. He wanted me to close the gap. He wanted me to trust in his love. I could feel his breath on my face, his lips hovering in front of mine.
“I love you, Sasha.” I leaned in, meeting his lips with my own.
Chapter 17
“Nasty,” I grumbled, wiping my gravy-covered hand on the towel I had draped over my shoulder. After I had gotten most of the congealed brown slime off, I resumed my task, placing dirty dishes into a large plastic bin sitting on the table I was cleaning.
“Saving that for later, sweetie? I can get Chef to make you a plate, you know?” Loretta, one of my fellow servers, joked, plucking a large chunk of bread off my rear end as she passed.
“Ha-ha,” I said, but I did laugh as I straightened up, hefting the bin of dishes off the table and carrying it through the kitchen doors. How the hell had a roll gotten stuck to my ass?
I’d been back at school for over a month. It had been a month and a half since I’d seen Aleksandr. He was still in Charlotte playing for the Aviators, which was amazing for him but hard on me. The original objections I had for not getting involved with him in the first place were pounding in my head. Separation was inevitable, whether he got called to Charlotte or not. There was no hockey team in my dinky little college town, and I couldn’t transfer anywhere in my junior year.
Absence must be easier for my brain to comprehend when I’m the one walking away.
How could I even think about transferring schools for someone I’d known for a little over a month? Thank goodness I’d never been in love before. I probably would have been on the first season of Teen Mom.
“Apple pie, coffee, and a fruit plate, right?” I asked my grandparents, who had taken a seat in one of the booths in my section at Johnny’s. They were in town looking at apartments. They’d put their house in Detroit on the market after the first of the year and would be moving to Bridgeland when the house sold. Slower pace. Closer to me? And I fantasized about moving to wherever Aleksandr happened to be. Guess I missed the Number One Granddaughter Award. Again.
“Did you get your loan check?” Grandpa asked. For someone who wasn’t helping me pay for college, he was overly concerned
about my finances.
I was well aware of my grandparents’ stance on financing higher education. If I wanted to pursue anything past a high school diploma, I was on my own. I’d been okay with that because I’d had my small athletic scholarship to play soccer. The academic scholarship I received for my grades and test scores, coupled with student loans, covered the rest of my expenses.
Grandpa was concerned for me because I’d lost my soccer scholarship, but having to answer to someone not helping fund my education annoyed the shit out of me.
“Should be here any day,” I told him. “I saved most of the money from translating for Aleksandr.” Then I added, “I do well here, you know.”
“What about that opening at the steakhouse Kristen told you about?” he pressed.
I should never have told him about that. Johnny’s Diner was my first waitressing job. Sure, tips would be bigger at the steakhouse, but the diner opened only for breakfast and lunch, so the hours were great for working around my class schedule.
“It’s always busy during my shifts. Good tips and quick turnover work for me. Plus, I’ve got customers that come back just to see me.” I winked at my grandma.
“I’m sure you do,” she said, glancing at my purple shirt. Did my grandma just check out my rack?
“Hey! I’m the reason you guys will be regulars, right?” I asked, casting my eyes downward to make sure my uniform polo was buttoned up. Didn’t want my grandparents to think I got my tips in shady ways.
“No, Audushka, it’s the cooking. You can’t get home-cooked food like this at those chain joints,” Grandpa said as he perused Johnny’s menu. His wheels were turning, probably planning on dragging my grandma back here tomorrow before they left town.
He hated chain restaurants. He loved dumpy little dinners like this one claiming they served “home-cooked” meals. My grandma dealt with it because she hated to cook. Don’t get me wrong, she cooked throughout my childhood, but once Grandpa retired, her cooking became scarce. I had a feeling that once they moved to Bridgeland, they would be eating out quite a bit. I didn’t blame her. Almost forty years of putting meals on the table had to have gotten old.
“I have to run and get an order. I’ll be right back.” I spun around, flitting to another table, letting the two older men sitting there know I would be right back with their lunches.
When I pushed back through the doors of the kitchen with the sandwiches, I noticed another one of my regulars had taken his place at a table in the back of the restaurant. It was the same table he always chose, back against the wall, facing the restaurant. I figured it was a cop thing.
Jason Taylor had become a regular after we’d met at Aleksandr’s game. In our short interactions, I’d uncovered a few things about the strapping hunk of law-enforcement eye candy. He’d moved to Bridgeland after graduating from college because he didn’t want to be a cop in Detroit. Said he wanted to help people. He came from a big family. And he coached a youth hockey team in town.
“Be right with you, Officer,” I called, flashing him a smile as I delivered the sandwiches. I wouldn’t call him a friend, but we got along well and he was a good tipper.
Jason waved in acknowledgment.
“Who is that, Audushka?” my grandpa asked, staring at Jason.
“Officer Taylor. He’s another regular,” I told him as I filled a glass for Jason. Cola, no ice. Every time.
“Are you gonna switch it up today?” I teased, setting Jason’s drink in front of him. He always ordered a Cola without ice and a club sandwich with mustard instead of mayo.
Jason smiled and shook his head. “Not today.”
“Come on, man, live a little.” I winked as I jotted his order onto my little green pad. I wasn’t interested in him, but he was too cute not to flirt with. I spun around and took the ticket to the kitchen.
My grandpa was still staring at Jason when I came back to the table with my grandparents’ desserts.
“Dedushka, please stop looking at him. He could arrest you, or something,” I said, though I’m sure Jason couldn’t arrest him for staring. But he could stop eating at Johnny’s, and I could lose a regular customer who tipped me well.
“He looks familiar.” Grandpa leaned back so I could set his pie in front of him, but he didn’t take his eyes off Jason.
“He’s from Detroit. His brother plays with Sasha on the Pilots. Landon Taylor.” I glanced at Jason as I spoke. Voices travel, and he could probably hear us.
“Enough, Viktor. Let the boy enjoy his lunch.” Grandma poked Grandpa’s wrist with her fork.
“Ow.” He laughed, shaking and flexing his hand.
I saw him shoot Jason one more look before he dug into his pie.
“He’s handsome,” Grandma said, spearing a strawberry from her plate and bringing it to her mouth. “Reminds me of you when you were young.”
Did Grandpa just blush? Time to find something to do. Thankfully I was at work, where I had many excuses to take leave.
Oh, look, table six needs to be wiped down.
“Are you coming to dinner with us tonight?” Gram asked.
“Nope. I have band practice.”
“Band practice?” she repeated, taking a sip of her water. Grandpa stopped chewing.
“Yeah. This guy heard me sing at karaoke and asked me to be in his band. Pretty cool, eh?” I answered, stretching to wipe the far end of the booth behind my grandparents.
“Your mother was in a band,” Gram said.
“Excuse me?” I whipped around, knocking my funny bone as I stood up. It took every fiber of my being not to curse in front of my grandparents. Instead, I grabbed my elbow and rubbed it briskly.
“In high school. She had a beautiful voice.” Gram shook her head as if coming out of a daze and speared a melon from her plate.
It was a Twilight Zone moment for me. My grandparents never offered information about my mother. And I never heard that my mom had been in a band during high school, not even from my aunts and uncles. I wasn’t surprised about all the things I didn’t know about her, I was surprised that Gram actually shared the information.
“Well, now I know where I got my voice. I mean, I’ve heard Dedushka sing in church and I knew I didn’t get my pipes from him.”
That got a smile out of both of them, so I spun around and retreated to the kitchen.
Joking was my favorite defense against awkwardness. You’d think by age twenty I’d jump on the chance to talk about my mom by asking more questions, especially since Gram was the one who brought her up. But no. She’d caught me off guard, and I tucked my tail between my legs and avoided the situation. If I tried to revisit the conversation at a later time, I’m sure their mouths would be closed tighter than a brand-new pickle jar.
The ever-revolving door of grief.
Chapter 18
“Here.” I thrust a small stack of papers at Greg. Using Gram’s rare revealing moment as inspiration to open up, I’d just handed one of my bandmates, someone I’d met less than two months ago, a collection of deeply personal and emotionally raw poems. As soon as they left my hands, I wanted to snatch them back. And burn them.
An eyebrow caterpillar crept across Greg’s forehead as he scanned the first page and flipped through the others.
“I write poems,” I explained, casting my eyes to my feet. My scuffed black boots had never been so interesting. “Not good poems, but, um. I didn’t know if you could use them for lyrics or whatever.”
Poetry had been a passion since I was a kid, but because they were an insight into my warped mind, I’d never been brave enough to share them with anyone. Slicing open my emotional wrists and allowing others to see the blood flow had never been a desire. Then I met Aleksandr, and removing the piano-sized weight of pent-up repression from my shoulders sounded like a good idea for the first time in my life.
Greg shook the papers at me. “This is awesome, Aud.”
I raised my head to meet his eyes. “That tune will change when you actually read th
em.”
He laughed. “I just meant it’s great that you write. And, yes, I can use them.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
Greg dropped to the floor in the living room of the house he shared with the guys. He patted the carpet. “Pull up a patch of”—he paused as he inspected the area—“gross, green, shag carpet from the seventies. We’re jamming tonight.”
Aaron was already on the ground, his long jean-clad legs sprawled out in front of him as he leaned against the most hideous sofa I’d ever seen.
“Oh my.” I held a hand to my mouth, eyeing the couch as I plopped down in between him and Greg. “That’s an unfortunate piece of furniture.”
Aaron let his head fall back against the light green couch littered with gaudy pink flowers. “My great-aunt died last year and this old girl is what my mom saved for me.”
“It’s ugly as shit, but none of us had any other furniture, so—” Greg shrugged.
“You have other furniture,” I said. “I see a lovely modern piece over there.” I pointed to a black, faux-leather beanbag across the room.
“That’s mine. I’m the one with style,” Josh joked as he walked into the living room carrying three white pillar candles. He squatted slowly, dropped to his knees, then set each candle down in the middle of the circle of seating we’d formed. It looked like a preteen sleepover about to have a séance.
“Are we gonna call on the spirits of rock legends gone too soon?” I asked as Josh settled into an Indian-style position.
“No,” Josh snorted. Then he lifted his eyes to Greg. “You think it’d work?”
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuuuck up,” Aaron sang, using guitar chords to emphasize his point.
I stuck my tongue out. He winked and strummed the opening riffs of “Making Believe.”
“Oh my gosh! You learned it?” I shrieked, and pounded the carpet in excitement.
“Thank Greg,” Aaron said, casting his eyes Greg’s way. “He told us to learn it for the next gig. It is an awesome song, though.”