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“All right. I’m listening,” Russia says, turning towards me. What I was really hoping for was for him to take the conversational hot potato and hold onto it for a bit longer before throwing it back to me.
Fine, then, I’ve gotta be the one to take the reins.
I gulp, arrange my sunnies on the top of my head, flip the visor up because it’s gone twilight-ish by now, and pull into the street, getting lost in the local traffic of Alex and Theresa’s neighbourhood. I forgot to input the way home in my GPS so I can get out of here, trying to remember the way out.
“I want to talk about what you said,” I say, glancing left and right, trying to find the street names and signs. “At dinner. Well, after dinner, after we all ate. At the table, to Matty.” Jesus, could I have made that anymore awkward?
Russia snorts, rapping his fingers across the dashboard in a steady rhythm, not so much impatience but what feels more like a grounding technique.
It blows my mind since I think it’s because I make him nervous? Is that right?
I get us onto the highway where my foot knows where to go, so I can sort of drive on autopilot following the signs to bring us back to the downtown core, glancing at him every so often.
“Silence is not an answer, Russia. Come on, just say what you want to say.”
“I’m of a mind that you’re driving right now, and I don’t want to upset you.”
“So you were talking the talk, just lying to the kid’s face like that. All right, all right, I’ve clocked you,” I say, switching on my indicator and changing lanes after checking my blind spots.
“No, that’s not it. You just started choking and it’s not like that did wonders to my ego.”
My turn to snort. “Ego. Ha. Can’t we just have a straight conversation?”
“Fine, I would very much like if you would consider being my girlfriend.” Russia leans forward, turning his upper body towards me, giving me his full attention even if I can only glance at him in small slivers of time. I’m driving, after all.
Silence, the kind that makes me hunch over and ten and two my hands on the steering wheel, staring resolutely ahead.
“Uh...” I say intelligently. I don’t know what I was thinking, like, I asked for an answer, but he just came out and said it, and we’re sharing the same space and it’s suddenly a lot, too much in such an enclosed space with the heat cranked up as high as it is.
“See? You still don’t want to give me an answer.”
He’s right, he’s right. “Didn’t we skip the whole dating thing? Why?” I ask instead, blurting it out and not looking at him.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to date me?”
Russia settles back into the passenger seat, heaving out a heavy breath that I’m not going to call a sigh, nope, not doing it. “Why wouldn’t I want to date you?”
I huff now, worried. “Don’t throw back a question with another question, what are you, thirteen? Matty’s got better manners than you.”
Russia snorts, laughing outright, trying to cover his smile with a fist, and I glance over, those butterflies mutating in my stomach into one giant wildebeest that keeps growing and growing until all I want to do is attack Russia with affection, and kiss that smile off his face.
Jesus Christ, really?
Really? This is happening?
“I feel like asking me to be your girlfriend and dating me are two different things?” I ask, turning to look at him, getting sucker-punched with his blue-blue stare that I have to look away and concentrate on the road or else I’m going to go up in flames.
“You’ve already seen me shirtless.”
I honk out a snort. “Ha! I mean, true, true. We did go about it a little backwards, I guess.”
Russia’s smile is as big as a house when I catch myself looking at him, and he catches me looking at him. “Cute,” he says, and my cheeks catch fire all over again.
If all of my blood could just not rush up to the surface of my face, that would be really, really great. Really great.
“Fine, whatever. It’s all fine, totally fine.” I white-knuckle the steering wheel, hunching closer to it like I want to become one with the car. Right now, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea.
“Do you not want to date me?” It’s only then that I hear the question behind the question—do you not want me?
And that isn’t the case, not one bit. But I’m not Sera Delos, as awesome and amazing as she is, and I don’t want to be anyone’s replacement—I want to be their first choice, and I’m not entirely sure that’s the case with Russia, even after my talk with Sera.
Hell, I wouldn’t know what to do if I was someone’s first choice. I’d probably run in the opposite direction as fast as I could.
We only know people so much, only know what they tell us, the rest is inference and some sort of perception and not all of us excel in those areas.
So, for now, I’m going to take it at face value but be careful and cautious.
“I didn’t say that.” I nod to myself, set on the course that I’ve put us both on, just like the same way I’m driving back to Russia’s condo.
“Then what are you saying? Come on, Sophie, throw me a bone. A bone? Throw me a bone, right? Or am I having a stroke?” I glance over at him to see him frowning hard enough that his forehead’s going to stay wrinkled that way.
“Throw me a bone, throw me a bone. No, that’s right. It gets worse when I’ve been speaking with home all day. My parents called from Russia, and I find myself questioning every English word that comes out of my mouth.”
“When did you and your family come to Canada?” I don’t ask why they came to Montreal, that seems kinda rude to begin with. I stifle a yawn, just because I’m tuckered out from the day, a little heartbroken from seeing what poor little Matty has to deal with, and the conversation with Sera is still running around in my head, enough words in there that I can’t seem to dodge them outright.
“I was twelve, almost thirteen when I got here, and my English was very poor. Don’t even get me started on French,” he says, waving his hand at an invisible foe, or like he’s rubbing his hand across a whiteboard, erasing whatever’s written there.
“Yeah? English is tough. I mean, I’m a native speaker, but it’s tough. A lot of the rules don’t make sense, and it doesn’t help that like fourteen other languages make up a lot of the root words. What is that?”
“I know!” Russia slaps at his knee. “It’s infuriating. And I still get my expressions mixed up sometimes or use the wrong adjective. Matty was talking to me about My Little Pony before, and I knew what a pony was, in my head, but what I said was ‘micro horse’ like an idiot. Made the kid laugh, though, so there’s that.”
I stifle a laugh, too, just because it’s funny, not because I’m laughing at him. “I’d like to learn Russian, hell, I’d like to learn any language. I was able to take Spanish in high school for four years, but you know, if you don’t practice it, you lose it. I’d like to learn more languages, though, seems like you could make a lot more friends that way.”
“Is that what you’re missing—friends?”
I nod slowly. “It’s harder to make friends when you’re older, no? Elena and I talk about it all the time.”
Conversation goes back and forth like that until I’m finally pulling up to his condo building, sitting in front, double-parked with my hazard lights on, locking up my car after helping Russia out of the passenger side, walking him up the few stairs it takes to get to the entrance of his building.
We’re both inside the inner doors to the building, but Russia hasn’t used his fob to enter the lobby yet, and we just end up looking at each other, like we’ve exhausted all the topics of conversation in the car, or now that we’re out in the air, conversation is just that much harder in such an open space.
There are other people coming into the building, boisterous and loud, and Russia hangs onto his crutches, staring down at me like I’m the question to his answer.
“What?” I ask, tilting my head at him, scratching at my cheek. “What is it?”
“I want to see you again,” he says, followed by, “Can I see you again? Tomorrow night? I can make us dinner.”
“Here?” I point down to the ground at my feet, like Russia’s going to conjure up a kitchen and start cooking right here and now. Obviously not. “I mean, at your place? Uh, well,” I rake my brain for details about tomorrow’s shift, and honestly I should be done around seven-ish, right around supper time. I could, I could definitely make it tomorrow.
The question is, should I?
Why not, though, why not?
I’m tired of wanting and waiting when I can have him right now, even if I get heartbroken, even if this ends up going nowhere. I’ve been whining about having something special, but I don’t think I’m going to get special unless I try for it first.
Isn’t it worth it to take the chance?
I don’t look like I’m a scaredy cat, I know. The tattoos and the predilection for that kind of transient pain in inking my skin or piercing parts of my body for shits and giggles takes a certain kind of bravery to embrace the pain for fleeting moments and then get on with life.
But this?
Heartbreak, too, is transient, it doesn’t last forever, it’s not never-ending.
So why am I hesitating? “Depends on what you’re cooking,” I say, choosing my words carefully. If he knows how far gone I am for him, that’s it, that’s the end of the road, I’m sure of it.
Russia frowns, thinking about it. “Steak and potatoes?” he suggests. “I make really good gravy for the steak.”
I grin. “I bet Dean taught you how, and that’s not a thing you actually know.”
Russia smiles at me, the smile turning into a grin—game, set, match. “I don’t know, I guess you’ll have to find out.”
Yup, he has me there. “I guess I will. You have my number. Let me know what to bring.”
Russia shakes his head. “Just yourself. That’s all I need.’
And damn it, do I blush hard enough to become a beacon from outer space.
I cough into my hand, clearing my throat, and do an about-face and turn away, waving my hand in the air, awkwardly waving goodbye to him from this angle. I call out another bye and head outside, get inside my car and start the drive home, knowing I’ve got some company.
Elena greets me at the door, Beckett standing on our couch, jumping up and down like a little kid (even though it makes more sense that adults would do it all the time since no one can tell them not to—kind of like getting to eat cake for breakfast), punching the air in front of him, watching the hockey game currently on screen.
He bellows once and then falls back and flops onto the couch, impersonating a dead fish, before kicking at the air and snarling.
“Told you!” Elena yells, moving over to him and running her hand on his belly and tickling him, which honestly, is adorable, but I also don’t want to choke on all the noxious affection and love permeating the room.
Maybe it’ll be different once I fall in love, once and for all, finally. I don’t know.
I’m not really holding my breath.
Their affection with each other is gross in the way that eating too much cake is gross—it’s awesome in small doses, but then you get kinda queasy when it gets too much, drowning under all that sugar.
And boy, do they have sugar.
But I love that for my best friend in the entire universe, I really, really do.
“Hey, Beckett,” I say to the living room, the two of them turning into snuggle-bunnies on the couch, and I hope nothing starts to come off that shouldn’t be coming off.
I glance back at the back of the couch, Beckett’s mitt rising up in a wave and then flopping back down with a smack, and it doesn’t take all of my brain power to figure out what just happened.
I won’t get sexiled—Elena’s still shy about that even though I told her I have the world’s best noise-cancelling headphones (not the best best, but pretty close) and won’t hear a thing, but it’s a no-go most of the time, and Beckett’s always patient with her, always, always, and I just really love them together.
But right now, I need my best friend, I need to talk to her, to unload, and Beckett’s in the way.
I sigh, heading to the fridge for the case of sparkling water we keep in there, all bubbly and delicious, and wish fleetingly yet again that I’d stolen one piece of that dessert gala-something for lunch tomorrow at the shop. That would’ve been great.
I plop my bottle down on the counter, looking out over the island and into the living room, at the TV where the game keeps playing, and the two of them are ensconced in a world of their own making, and I don’t want to disturb that. Elena deserves that time alone with Beckett, and my whining isn’t going to necessarily put her in the lovey-dovey mood with her boyfriend.
Except Elena springs up from the couch like an Italian version of a lemur—or is it a meerkat—those critters that just lift their heads and look around in the Serengeti, I think, blinking at me as if I’ve gone and called her name.
“What’s up?” she asks, sitting upright, then swinging her leg over Beckett to come over the back of the couch, sit on the edge and look at me, legs swinging.
“Did you have a good time? Cousin Katie’s still there, I think. She had a lot to say.”
Good thing I wasn’t drinking any sparkling water, or I would have drowned for sure. “She did not. Don’t make shit up right now. I’ve had a rough day.”
Elena shakes her head, a knowing smile on her face, like she knows everything. “That’s not what Katie told me,” she sing-songs, kicking her feet in time with each syllable. She glances back over her shoulder, the period counting down, the last minute of play for the Habs against the Bruins, and I know not to talk when the last minute of play is on.
Hopefully there won’t be any whistles blowing, therefore stopping the play and making sixty seconds feel like forever.
I clear my throat, watching the TV but not seeing anything, running through the day in my head, and the final blow when Russia asked me over tomorrow.
God, he’s asked me over to his place tomorrow and I’m going to go crazy starting from now.
What do I wear, what do I dress like, since I’ll be going right over after work? Heh, I won’t even have to move my car. I’ll keep it parked behind the building in the lot and just walk the six blocks to his building.
Yeah, yeah.
I come back to the here and now with Elena waving her hand in front of my face. “You okay?”
I nod slowly, still not sure myself. There’s a lot going on in my head, in my heart, and I need to figure it all out sooner or later.
“Let me say good night to Beckett, and I’ll come meet you in your room, okay?”
“I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“You’re not ruining anything, you never ruin anything. Sisters before misters,” she sings, like that guy in that movie. She flicks me in the forehead, and I nearly bop her one until she prances away, and I leave them to their kissy goodbyes, wishing I could do the same with a certain someone, too.
I run through my routine and remove the day from my body – makeup, leave my hair loose and run a brush through it, and change out of my clothes. I’m rubbing at my aching scalp when I hear the door close, the lock twist and the security chain slide home. Seconds later, Elena’s knocking on my bedroom door (like she’s always ever done), and flopping down on my bed, face first, kicking her legs up and down in utter joy.
It’s a good look, even if I can’t see her face.
“What happened?” I find myself asking, lying down next to her, belly down, up on my elbows and feeling that twinge in my back even if I’m too lazy to do my stretching exercises right now.
“Beckett. He’s just so...so...ugh. I love him a lot. I hope I continue to love him a lot.” Elena nods, brow furrowing a little as she thinks about it.
“Of course you will. Obviously.”
Elena sits up on her butt, and I roll over onto my back, making a Sophie bed angel, swiping my duvet with arms and legs, my left wing getting ruined by Elena sitting cross-legged next to me.
“So? How did it go?” Elena asks, smacking down on my hand until I stop moving. “I was just teasing before, you know? I know you always make a good impression, even if some dicks have bad first ones of you.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that, not that at all. Everyone was really nice to me, sweet even. I got to hold a baby. I broke out into a cold sweat and I was sitting down, but I did it. He’s so tiny, Elena. A potato that makes noises and cries and has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen.”
Elena nods, keeps nodding when I glance over at her.
“Tell me what really happened.”
She knows how to cut through the bullshit, my best friend, even if she can’t see it for herself sometimes.
“Well, I met Sera.”
Elena claps a hand to her mouth. “Shiiiiit.”
