That seemed to be a common theme between the two of us. We fell into happiness but somehow while we were falling, we realized with a shock: I hate this person right now. This person broke my heart and ignited my rage. Just like that, the happiness evaporated and our surly attitudes towards each other returned.
Nikolai didn’t seem to notice.
“You can help me with another big boy job,” I told him, dragging my attention away from Elena. Paying attention to my son didn’t make me want to go ballistic. “In fact, some might say it’s the most important big boy job of them all.”
I had caught his interest, but his eyes kept returning to the burning stove.
“Laying the table.”
Both Elena and Nikolai gave me identical looks of that’s some bullshit. I wouldn’t be able to win Elena over, but Nikolai might be a bit more pliable.
“No, it’s not,” he grumbled.
“Yes, it is. Little boys can’t touch knives.”
The mention of the dangerous cutlery had Nikolai perking up. He laid his entire attention on me, face bright with interest.
In that moment, I saw the Tarkhanov in him. Excitement over knives? That was the pure Tarkhanov blood running through his veins.
Nikolai Konstantinovich Tarkhanov.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I had said his name. I had told the entire family and let it spread to the guards. I said it over and over until it was more noise than word, until it sounded like an alarm and not a name.
Nikolai Tarkhanov.
When Elena had said his name was Nikolai, the masculine version of the name Nikolia, I had been surprised. It had been the first indication that Elena was still entangled with this family. But then she had said his name...
Nikolai Konstantinovich Tarkhanov.
It didn’t feel like an ode to his father, a namesake for the sake of her guilt. It felt like she had named him with the intention of him using that name in the future. She had named him like I had been in the delivery room with her, like I had been the one filling out the birth certificate of my firstborn.
She might not have done it intentionally, I had reasoned with myself when that old familiar bulb of hope began to bloom once more. She was alone and had just gone through labor; perhaps her mind was still addled by the epidural.
Not for the first time I wondered what was going on in Elena’s head. What secrets she kept locked up behind that pretty head of hair and sharp green eyes.
I repeated the question I had been asking for nearly three years.
What is the real reason you left, lyubimaya?
15
Konstantin Tarkhanov
Sunlight streamed through the windows, warming the dining room in shades of gold and oranges. The smell of pancakes and bacon sizzled through the air, mixed with the clatter of cutlery. Everyone but Anton had joined together at breakfast, even Babushka made herself known. She sat on the window ledge closest to the children.
I watched Elena interact with the others. She was trying hard not to slip back into our fold, but I could see her struggling to keep up the façade. Just like when she had first arrived here, when she was that selfish beautiful woman, she tried to keep her distance.
But every member of the family seemed determined to drag her back in. You’re one of us, they seemed to say each time a plate was offered, or anecdote shared. Whether you like it or not.
When my attention wasn’t on Elena, I was watching Nikolai. He and Evva giggled between their mothers, eyes set on their uncle Roman. It quickly became clear why. Every time Roman looked away, Nikolai would reach out and steal something from his plate.
Every time he did, he would always share half his spoils with Evva. The two had plenty of food to eat, but it was the thrill of trouble and getting caught that made the syrupy blueberries so much tastier.
I smiled but didn’t bring attention to their little game. I didn’t want to ruin their fun.
Beside me, Danika’s phone began buzzing. She finished off her orange juice before fishing it out.
“No phones at breakfast,” I warned her.
She shook her head at me. “I’ll be quick. It might be Olezka.”
Artyom had also noticed Danika’s mobile. He opened his mouth to say something but fell silent when he met my eyes. Our relationship had remained sour; now one of tense cooperation rather than brotherly affection.
I did miss our talks, listening to his ideas and critiques.
There had only been a few times Artyom and I had been in a fight this bad. Usually, we knocked each other around, discussed it like diplomats, hit each other again and then the fight was over. We would be drinking vodka together before the next day.
My eyes fell on Roksana. She was the heart and soul of this family, the sister I’d never had, the only person at this table who appreciated my admiration for art. How strange it was to think that once I had been against Roksana joining this family, not only out of concern for Artyom, but also for her.
I thought she would break, shatter like the porcelain dolls she resembled.
But life put her to the test, and she came out stronger than I–or Artyom–had ever been.
I looked back to Artyom.
Perhaps it was time to offer an olive branch…
Danika held her phone over the table, movements robotic.
“Dani, what are you doi–?” Roman started but a cool voice cut through his demand.
“Let me guess,” said the woman on the phone, the loudspeaker letting her voice reach all our ears. Even the toddlers fell quiet. “It’s family breakfast. Pancakes and bacon, and blueberries. How could I ever forget the blueberries?”
Roman was mouthing hang up to Danika. She was frozen in place.
Gently, I took the phone from her. “It’s okay, Dani. I got this.” As soon as it was in my grip, Danika collapsed backward, falling into Elena’s arms.
“Tatiana,” I said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Kostya.” Her using my affectionate nickname made my molars grind together. There was no affection left between us. “It has been too long.”
Three years and not a peep from Tatiana. She had left that fateful day, never to be seen again. We had searched the country up and down, from maternity wards to mortuaries. That woman had remained a ghost, impossible to catch.
Why was she making herself known now? What was the catalyst that had set this off?
My eyes went to Elena. She was very still, eyes trained on Nikolai with enough intensity to silence the child.
“Not long enough,” Roman grumbled.
I smiled faintly. “If it is a catch-up you’re looking for, let me call you back at a better time. I’m with my family right now.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in the noise. “Ever the charmer, Kostya. What is it your mother used to always say? The prettier the snake, the meaner its bite?”
“Who can remember that far back?” I didn’t appreciate her bringing up my mother, though I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why.
“We are getting old,” Tatiana said. “Lots of history.”
“Indeed.”
Dmitri lost his patience. I was impressed he waited so long to say anything. “Get to the point, Tatiana,” he hissed.
“Is that my husband? My darling, how is Anton?”
His cheeks sharpened. “How is Anton? You–”