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Dinner goes by quickly, and I don’t actually do anything absolutely hideous like drop my food in my lap, and I apparently get the seat of honor next to Matty. The kid’s been asking me a ton of questions about my tattoos, harping on the fact that they hurt when you get them and then going around and asking everyone else if they have tattoos.
Hunter has some, Sera no, Katie not if you put a gun to her head, Dean yes, Alex yes, Theresa, no, and Josh and Elias just shake their heads, Elias admitting that he has a phobia of needles to the table at large.
Everyone’s drinking beer or wine with dinner—lemon chicken and roasted potatoes, apparently Greek-style which I find out is delicious and I want to have this particular dish always.
I didn’t know little kids would talk this much, but Matty sure does talk a lot, chatting with everyone in the room, and it just puts my sneaking suspicion that he’s an only child further to the test, and makes me believe I’m right.
It’s cute, though, and the way he talks to Russia and Dean, like he reveres them, right up there with his dad. He’s a little cooler with Josh and Elias, so I guess he doesn’t get to see them as much.
“How come you don’t have long nails, like Aunt Katie?” Matty asks, glancing down at my hands currently over my belly, knowing I need to save room for dessert, trying to convince my body and my will that we’re aligned in wanting to eat dessert when it shows up at the table.
“Huh? Oh, because I tattoo, and it’s hard to tattoo with really long nails. They’re pretty, though, huh?”
Matty’s cheeks go red, and he nearly fumbles his glass of water, making a pained wheezing noise as he rights it, nearly sloshing it all over the place. He looks at me quickly to see if I’ve noticed, and I make sure to keep my gaze pinned to my empty plates, biting the meat of my inner cheeks so I don’t do something stupid like laugh in the kid’s face.
“So how’s the tattoo going, Russia?” Hunter asks, rubbing a hand through Matty’s hair, the length of his head, just a gentle pet that the kid loves and follows the pressure against his dad’s hand.
Russia carefully wipes his face in that way he does, squaring up the linen, using one side to wipe, then folding it over before dabbing it delicately at his mouth, placing the dirty side up on the table, to be used again. “Ah, good?”
“Yeah, tell us, did he cry from the pain?” Josh asks, holding up his beer for me as if we’re going to cheers but I don’t have anything to cheers with, so I pretend I’m holding an invisible beer bottle, not wanting to leave him hanging.
“Uh, no. The upper back’s painful. I know so.”
“What? You have tattoos there, too?” Matty yells, and everyone shushes him, and he puts a finger over his lips, hiking his shoulders up to his ears, glancing left and right with his blue eyes—like his dad’s—covering up his mouth with both hands.
Cute.
I glance up to look at Russia, sitting across from me, a smile on his face as he watches me and Matty interact, hands steepled in front of his mouth so I can’t see the lower half his face, just have to infer by the rounding of his cheeks that he’s smiling—or maybe it’s a pained grimace, I just don’t know.
“I’ve got tattoos pretty much everywhere, buddy,” I say, nodding at him.
“How come so many? You have like hundreds!” he waves his arms around, nearly socking his dad in the mouth. “Oh, sorry, Dad, sorry. Hey, Mom, when I’m eighteen, which is forever from now, can I get a hundred tattoos, too?”
I keep my grin in place, not wanting to open up that can of worms.
“Hey, Sophie, please explain to my kid here how tattoos are done,” Sera says, wrinkling her nose at Matty, whose neck nearly cracks when he turns his head to look back at me.
It’s Russia who answers though, my mouth hanging open on a terrible would-be answer. “Sophie has to use needles to get the colors in your skin,” he says, voice a little rough, a little thick.
“Aw, man. Needles? More needles? Ugh.” Matty leans his head back, glaring at the ceiling like it’s gone and betrayed him. “How can you like needles, Sophie?”
I shrug my shoulders, knowing I have to be careful here. I mean, the kid’s not eighteen yet, and most shops won’t let you get a tattoo without parental consent if you’re under eighteen, so it’s not like he’s going to get tattooed tomorrow, but still, but still.
“I don’t really like needles, I just like the tattoos I get from them.” I wince, afraid he’s going to ask another question, but his dad and I make eye contact, and I get a thumbs up from Sera, who’s leaned over onto the table practically to see around her husband.
“Oh, okay.”
I ignore the cold sweat forming along my spine, in between my boobs at the prospect of dodging a bullet with the kid.
“Hey, how do you know Uncle Tommy?” Matty taps his hand against my shoulder, his eyebrows pulled down in a frown, looking between me and Russia, swivelling his head, trying to work it out. “Are you his girlfriend?”
I choke on air, coughing into my hand.
Way to be called out by a kid!
“I’d like her to be,” Russia says, making me hack into both hands, and Sera’s shoving a glass of water towards me, rubbing a hand down my back, and how the hell is this happening? How? Why? Is he playing with me, too?
He’s an asshole if he is; he really is.
“Here, I’ll take her outside for some fresh air for a minute so we’re not too loud for the baby,” Sera says, somehow manhandling me until we’re walking outside in our house slippers, me almost wheezing at the tickle in my throat, sucking back the fresh, cold air like I’m seconds away from drowning.
“Holy shit, holy shit!” I wheeze. “I know how to breathe like a normal human being, I swear.” I’m embarrassed, and nervous, still trying to get air into my lungs.
Sera stands beside me, looking anxious. “Are you okay? Russia always tends to say what’s on his mind, and it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks.”
“Yeah, I’ll say. Shit. Why does he have to call me out like that?” I thump the area over my chest, trying to clear my airways even though I’m already breathing that much better, the cold starting to seep in my bones.
Sera tilts her head at me, arms crossed over her chest, huddled against the cold, and it’s making me feel bad. “He’s gotten better about it, about just saying whatever pops into his head, especially when it’s going to get him punched.” She grins, shivering a little.
I can feel my eyes going wide, bigger than basketballs as I bring up my finger to point at her, realization finally dawning.
“You? His crooked nose?” I point at my own nose, the bridge of it that certainly isn’t crooked like Russia’s.
Sera laughs, shrugging her shoulders. “He was an asshole to Hunter, and I punched him. Broke a knuckle, if I remember right.” She makes a fist, and we both look down at it, like it’s some sort of precious and powerful relic. “He likes you, you know. Couldn’t keep his eyes off of you for as long as we’ve been here.”
“Yeah?” I croak, hope leaping in my chest, trying to quash it down, trying not to really think about it, overanalyze and look at it from all angles.
“Yeah, of course. I honestly thought you guys were dating already, the way you’re so comfortable around each other.”
I can’t believe she just comes out and says it like that.
“Oh, that’s the whole tattoo thing. I’ve already seen him half-naked already, right? Plus, I touched him quite a bit to get the ink in his skin, so.” I shrug, like it’s supposed to explain everything. “There’s that.”
Sera shakes her head, frowning at me. “It’s not just that, though. You were practically fangirling over him, or so Katie said. You live with Little Elena, right? I love that kid.”
I bristle at the word kid. I can’t be that much younger than her, but still, I also call whoever’s at least a year younger than me a kid, so. “The traitor.”
Sera brings her hand up, giving me a wave, hunching forward against the bite of the wind. My face is still on fire, and I’m trying to control my body temperature. “Hi, I’m Sera Delos, and I’m the original fangirl.”
“Yeah, but have you ever fangirled over your client? Like, what is that? So unnecessary,” I sigh, following Sera inside, but we stay in the entranceway, away from the conversation still happening in the dining room, a little alcove of privacy.
“I mean, I can’t say that I have, but I knew my fair share of heartbreaks from loving fictional characters, and I think that’s worse.”
I laugh and it feels like we’re connecting, like this could be the beginning of a friendship, maybe.
Just maybe.
“I...I’m kinda overwhelmed when it comes to him,” I admit to myself, to her, because what better way to forge a friendship than telling Sera that I wanna bang her friend? Ha. “And even though he says now that he wants me to be his girlfriend, he never really asked me, never really said those words to me.”
Sera sighs, exhausted. “That’s Russia for you. Running ahead and expecting you to be right there next to him.”
“I like him, I do, it’s just, well, for the longest time I thought he wanted somebody else, and it keeps niggling in the back of my brain, you know? Like, is that a thing with him, am I just a placeholder? Did he choose me because I look so very different from the woman he’s in love with?”
“Are you talking about me? It feels like you’re talking about me,” Sera says, not even beating around the bush.
I hunch my shoulders, the cold still clinging to my clothes. “I didn’t think you’d know. Were you not supposed to know? I don’t know what’s going on.”
“So let me give it to you straight, all right?” Sera nods to me, and I find myself nodding back. I just...trust her, for some odd reason.
“Russia...Russia’s been my friend since before I started undergrad, like we were eighteen, nineteen, I think, when we first met. I’ve known him for a long, long time, yeah? Do you believe me when I say that?”
I nod, bobbing my head up and down. “Yeah, I do. I do.”
“And I was an easy option for him, even if I didn’t meet his standards at the time.” Sera’s looking at me like I should understand, but I don’t.
“Standards?” I tilt my head. “I don’t get it.”
Sera licks her lips, nervous. “Russia used to be really into his image, how he would project himself to the world. It was very important to him then. And he’s gotten better, he has; he’s changed a lot over the past few years. But I’m not going to lie, he was an asshole, just like I’m a bitch if you get between me and my kid.” Sera clenches her jaw, and she goes from friendly to killer in a second and it’s giving me whiplash.
“Uh...”
“I’m telling you this because he’s...softer with you. And the old Russia, he’s had some misconceptions about looks and projecting an image, a façade to people. I think it’s how he was raised.
“His parents are back in St. Petersburg now, have been for a while. And he’s been watching all of us get married, have kids, and it’s made him think about who he is, where he’s going. He has been thinking about all of this for a while, I know he has. What I’m trying to say is that Russia doesn’t love me, not really, because I would have been just an accessory to him, a ‘girlfriend’ he could show off but chose not to. He’s grown up a lot. Hell, he’s probably changed the most out of all of us.”
I squint at her. “Have you seen the tattoo on his forearm?” I ask, slapping my own inner forearm, trying to jog her memory.
Sera shakes her head. “Outside of gatherings like this, I don’t really see Russia. I have a nine-year-old, Sophie, and he takes up so much of my time, and then I have my husband, who looks like a grump but he’s really a sweetheart. And then I have Katie, who I have to watch over more than all of them because Dean just finds it hilarious when she goes off.” Sera sighs, a mom tired of her kid’s antics for the millionth time, especially when that kid is a grown-ass adult.
“Come on, let’s go inside before my nipples freeze off. Even standing near the door is too cold for me.”
“Yeah, the barbells get really cold, and it feels like it takes me forever to get warm,” I say, not thinking, freezing when I bump into her back, leaving the door wide open to the inner portion of the house.
“You’ve got...on your nipples? Oh, that’s so cool. Shit, that’s so cool.”
I don’t know what to do since she’s still blocking the doorway and with another laugh she steps inside with me following at her heels.
“I mean, I could do it for you, if you wanted. The tattoo, too. Again, if you wanted.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Sera says, leading us back to the kitchen and dining room area, rubbing her arms up and down.
“Don’t tempt what?” Russia says, standing now with his crutches under his armpits, sagging his weight onto them so he’s sort of hunched over, standing by the table, like he was coming to look for me. “Don’t tempt you for what?”
“I’ll kick your ass if you don’t treat her right and punch your nose again,” Sera says, pointing a finger at Russia, jabbing the air in front of his nose so he has to pull back in case she stabs him with her finger alone.
Damn it, I love Sera Delos. It’s so hard to hate her.
She’s given me a lot to think about, a whole lot.
I’ve gotta talk to Elena, I’ve gotta talk to Katie, and I have to talk to Russia.
He can’t just lay down girlfriend bombs and expect me not to take cover.
But first, I have to think.
And then of course, there’s dessert and I want to try everything.
“You told her about that? Come on, Sera, you were supposed to take it to the grave.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got the right to yell about my clout when it comes to that nose of yours. I’m going to shout it from the mountain if you’re an asshole to her.”
“I’m always an asshole,” he says, and it sounds...sad.
“Hey,” Sera says, her voice softening, and she looks like she wants to pull him into a hug, but stops herself, glancing over at me like I’m going to have a problem with it.
I mean, there is a squirmy feeling in my stomach, and I don’t know what to do with it, or about it, but it doesn’t get worse when Sera decides to forego touching him.
I honestly didn’t think I was that person, but I like him, I like him a lot, and I know I’m screwed, screwed, screwed.
“That’s not true. It’s not, shut up and listen to me. Let’s go back inside and eat some dessert, see how it ranks against my own galaktobouriko,” Sera says, turning me to explain what the odd-sounding word is.
Turns out it sounds delicious, and Sera takes my hand, says something like ‘Run!’ but I don’t know why I have to run into the kitchen? Isn’t that some kind of hazard with Matty running around and Pongo? Isn’t that a bad idea?
She’s a mom, for Christ’s sake, what is she doing, adding to the anarchy!?
I glance back though, shooting Russia a smile over my shoulder, ignoring the way he smiles back at me and my dumb knees want to buckle at the sight of it.
But first, dessert.
Russia eventually heaves himself into the seat next to me, earning him a death glare from Matty across the table, the kid now sitting between Katie and Dean, but his nine-year-old anger is palpable enough that Russia promises to take him to a hockey game as recompense.
“Really? Just me and you? And Sophie?” he asks, but Hunter’s swift to come to my rescue.
Matty has health issues, ones that need to be taken care of. He can’t be away from his parents unless someone knows what they’re doing and I’m sure I need some kind of training to understand what’s going on with the little guy. The whole idea of being alone with him makes me nervous.
“Maybe your mom can bring you to my work one day? You can see me tattoo Russia over here,” I say, and the kid beams at me, making me feel like the most powerful human being on the planet, his awe and happiness my power source.
Shit.
I love the kid, too. There’s no doubt about it.
We eat dessert, and I’m able to hold the baby for a nanosecond (while seated because I don’t tempt fate like that, no sir), nervous the whole while that the potato starts to squirm and squawk. Russia takes him from the pillow in my lap, expertly cradling him in his arms, clearly having done this before.
It’s cute, and it shouldn’t be cute, but it is.
I stop my brain in its tracks when it wants to take me down a memory lane that doesn’t exist yet, one where Russia and I exist in a potential future together, where maybe one day I push out a little girl, or a little boy, and he holds them just like this, looking utterly in awe of the life he’s holding. If I even want a kid, if I’ve changed my mind about that.
It ruins me when he starts speaking in Russian, calming and soothing words that I don’t understand of course, but I like the sound of them, the cadence, the way he croons to the baby and the potato responds, squirming and reaching for Russia’s beard, holding him close.
I glance away, giving myself a breather from the sweet scene, trying to relax myself and not jump to conclusions.
Russia and I say our goodbyes a couple of hours later, and I find myself liking everyone genuinely enough that I wouldn’t mind coming back. I’m invited back to Alex and Theresa’s house any time, just let us know, and Sera gives me a bear hug that I don’t think I deserve and vows to call me at the shop for some questions she might have.
“What questions? What are you talking about?” Hunter asks, and Sera just grins at him.
Matty holds his arms out, too, wanting a hug, which I stoop down to give him.
“You come by the shop with your mom when you can. I’ll show you what I can do.”
Matty nods hard enough that I fear for his neck, but waves at me and Russia with both hands.
Russia and I both put our boots on, but none of those sounds are loud enough that you can’t hear the “are they gonna fall in love, Mom?”
Shit.
We both sit in the car, waiting for it to completely warm up before I get us going, the silence almost unbearable as the windows start to fog.
I swallow my pride. “Russia, we need to talk.”
