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I shuffle into the kitchen, eyes half closed, bumping into the kitchen island, reaching around blindly for the empty mug of coffee that Elena usually leaves out for me when she wakes up before I do (which happens five times a week), but my mug (the one that has a cute little fox on it, and says ‘For fox sake!’) is not where it’s supposed to be.
Confused enough that I squint my eyes open, too much sunlight streaming into the kitchen—that really shouldn’t be happening ’cause our kitchen’s set farther back, closest to our entrance door, and we don’t get the morning light, just the afternoon.
And when I blink my eyes fully open, I realize I’m not in my kitchen, and yeah, yeah.
Except I’m alone in a place that is not my apartment.
Oh. Oh.
Huh.
I spin around on my back foot, squeaking against the floor, wearing a T-shirt that also isn’t mine.
Yup, I slept over at Russia’s last night, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I freeze, like a mouse frozen seconds before making the fatal decision to grab the cheese in the trap. The door is unlocked, revealing Russia holding a box of donuts aloft, like he was going to present me with some fancy and sparkly jewelry.
Nope, not yet.
“Uh, hi,” I say, giving him a wave, blushing all the way down to my toes. Russia gives me a grin that says things. Ugh.
“Don’t you look beautiful in the morning,” he says, and I flap a hand at him.
“Please, not this early, you can’t be cheesy this early in the morning. I need to eat breakfast first, okay?”
Russia laughs, dropping his keys in the catch-all bowl by the door, toeing off his boots and coming inside his apartment. He sets down the donuts on his kitchen counter, passing me by with nothing but a kiss on the cheek.
It’s glorious, just glorious.
I watch Russia putter around the kitchen, making us breakfast (which consists of delicious coffee to eat with the donuts), and he pours me a glass of sparkling water—the very best kind of water, in my humble opinion.
I murmur my thanks, acutely aware of my bare legs, acutely aware that I should dash into his bedroom and try to find my underwear and some pants to pull on, even a pair of his boxers will do, but I’m feeling adventurous this morning, happy that we’ve found some common ground, a launchpad where we can both stand and head towards the next step.
The next step, and the next, and the next...
There are no real plans for the day—it’s my day off, and Russia was just going to run some errands and be working from home because he can do that, unlike some of us.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, however long you like.”
I snort, thinking of that one line in the animated version of Mulan, my favorite Disney movie of all time. “Yeah? How long would you like me to stay? Is forever an option?”
Russia smiles and there’s nothing on his face that speaks to panic or worry, and I like it, I like it a lot.
This time is going to be different, I know so.
His blue eyes light up, his smile becomes playful. “Yeah, of course. However long you want.”
I narrow my eyes at him, blowing steam off my mug of coffee, the smell of it going to my head, and I’m still trying to make a decision of which of the dozen donuts I’m going to eat first. Ah, shit, there’s a chocolatine there with choco-hazelnut spread and the world’s going to end if it doesn’t get into my belly right now.
Russia laughs as I enthusiastically vacuum the adult breakfast loaded with carbs and sugar on top of glorious fried dough (the best kind of dough).
“Cute,” he says, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. “I was going to make pancakes, but I don’t know if you wake up feeling very hungry or not, so this was the next best thing.”
I grin at him and give him a chocolatey kiss as a thank you.
Breakfast isn’t even the best part of the day—there’s cuddles on the couch, watching (but not really watching) Home Alone even though Christmas had passed us by, there’s more food, Korean cuisine, which I’ve never tried before, but really like (an adventure for me instead of just eating pasta most of the time).
We even decide to take a long walk around the mountain, Russia getting chased by a few angry squirrels (who have zero problems with humans), looking for food.
We make plans for the next day, and the next, and the next.
And it’s amazing.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
***
THE DOOR TO RUSSIA’S condo opens, and there’s Russian (obviously) being spoken, a heavy bass of sound that’s still kind of musical. I’m still learning, and I keep the litany of how to formally introduce myself to Russia—Tommy’s—parents in my head on repeat: hachoo pretstavitsa Sophie Kincaid, hachoo pretstavitsa Sophie Kincaid, hachoo pretstavitsa Sophie Kincaid!
And I choke, of course, jumbling the syllables together as I greet his parents for the first time, wearing a cute polka-dotted dress for the occasion, my arms bare. Russia (Tommy, Tommy, Tommy) gave me a death glare when I tried to tell him I found this amazing foundation that could cover up my tattoos if he wanted me to, laying down the offer, but he wasn’t picking it up.
I see his parents eye my arms, the part of my chest that’s exposed by the square neckline, moving down to my red-painted toenails in my cute little sandals, making me almost as tall as Tommy for the occasion. The nail polish on my toes matches my lipstick, and my eyeshadow is neutral and understated since I’m going to be hitting them with all the color on my skin at first glance.
“Oh!” Tommy’s dad, Georgiy, crows, his voice sounding a lot like his son’s but grittier somehow. “I’ve got tattoos, too!”
And I feel so much relief I think I could pass out, right here and now.
Tommy’s arm winds around my waist, anticipating the weakness in my knees, and holds me up as I get my bearings. The true test is if his mother, Galina, likes me.
Please like me, please?
Elena gave me a pep talk about meeting the parents, how it doesn’t matter if they end up hating me, that if Russia wants to be with me, then he’ll defy his parents in this, but that just seems like extra obstacles we’re going to have to hurdle over, and I don’t want that, not for him, not for me, not for us.
I hold my breath, waiting.
Galina looks like her son in the way that they both have those unsettling eyes, that intense blue that’s their defining feature, and I feel her look into me, reading me, searching out the heart of me until she gives a brisk nod, and I clutch onto Tommy’s hand that’s circling my waist.
I passed the test; I know I passed the test!
“Tommy,” she says in her heavier accent, the one she never shook off despite having lived in Canada for decades before moving back to St. Petersburg. She swings her gaze over to her son, and Tommy stands taller beside me, waiting for the final verdict.
I’m starting to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but you know, worth it.
“When’s the wedding?”
I glance down at my left hand again where the engagement ring sits, and all the wedding preparations that will have to be done in the coming year as the new decade is going to be ushered in, all of us leaving the 2010s behind.
“We’re getting married in May,” I say, a little breathless, trying to catch my breath once and for all. May’s technically just around the corner, a little more than six months away.
And nothing’s going to stop me from marrying Tommy Ivanov in May of next year.
There’s wedding discussions and plans that need to be made, and my parents meeting his parents in a more formal setting in person now that they’re back from their home country instead of doing it over a video call with all four us in Charlevoix, squished onto a couch with shitty Wi-Fi to get a decent call in edgewise.
Tommy holds my hand the whole time, coaxes me through the whole evening while we eat, and I try to compete with his mom with the vodka shots but tap out three shots in.
“You can get married, myshonak,” Galina says to Tommy. “Sophie can’t best me at drinking.” She places her shot glass down and gives me a radiant smile. “This is a very good thing.” Tommy told me that his mom is old school, and a little tricky, so when she says that to me, I’m elated.
My heart starts up again, and my blush eats up the entire real estate of my face, and Tommy’s laughing his head off and so are his parents, and while I feel a little woozy and that I need to have the heartiest meal right now to soak up all the alcohol I’ve consumed in such a short amount of time, I find myself smiling at everyone, at everything.
“You know what?” I whisper to Tommy when his parents start talking in Russian to each other, being all cute and shit.
“What?”
“I really, really love you. Like a lot. More than vodka. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, meelaya. That’s more than okay.” Tommy kisses my nose. “You still want to do this, still want to marry me? There’s going to be a lot of religious stuff to do, too.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind. I really, really don’t. I just want to get married to you, lock you down for the rest of our lives.”
“You will, you just have to wait until May. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting married to you in May. Nothing.”
I smile, kiss his cheek, and get back to the conversation at hand.
I’m ready, for whatever the future brings.
