Chapter Eleven:

The exchange seemed forced. From where I was standing, it looked like my dad was hesitantly offering Evgeniya a seat next to him. She slid into the booth, and then their eyes traveled to my direction. I clenched my jaw, feeling the same lead sensation in my legs as I did at Sky Harbor airport.

Why did I do this? What a mistake!

I debated running for my life out of that damn restaurant, but my father was suddenly beside me before I could regain the feeling in my lower extremities. Sensing my infuriating aura, he took a step forward to speak lowly.

“Before you say anything, I didn’t know she was coming Vasha.” His expression was gentle. I narrowed my eyes at him, and stared into the same exact one’s I had to determine if he was lying. “I swear to you, Vasilisa. She’s here picking up supper for...” He faltered for a second, then shook his head with a scoff. “Anyway, while she’s here for a few minutes we might as well have a conversation. Yes?”

NO. I didn’t even know what I’d say at this point. I just endured a twenty six hour long flight overall and the last thing I wanted to do was make small talk with Evgeniya. Was it too much to ask that I get to have some dinner and a nap before being in the same room as her?

“I’m not ready.” I lowered my gaze, pressing my back against the wall because it felt safer to me in that moment. My father seemed tired, and I suspected I’d be dragged away from this spot soon. I was literally trapped.

“My dear, will you ever be ready if you keep pushing the opportunity away? Come. People are beginning to stare.” Dad took my arm gently and we began moving slowly back to our table. I didn’t like what he said, but it’s difficult to break old habits. Russians are private people, and that’s the only saving grace Evgeniya had right now. Since I was a lesbian living in America with the help of an Asylum Visa, I already accumulated enough tally marks going against my record in Russia. Why give anyone else a reason to notice me in a negative light?

The woman who calls herself my mother was fingering the material of her candy apple red petticoat jacket nervously. I willed the teapot in the center of our table to transform into a bottle of vodka as I sat across from her in a hostile manner. How could I be expected to be around Evgeniya sober?

“Yulia...” Her voice was husky with emotion, but I felt nothing but anger returning inside. Before I had a chance to correct her for the tenth time, my dad interjected.

“It’s Vasilisa now. Her birth documents were altered by you, and as a result that’s the only name she knows. Let’s show respect for our daughter please.” He spoke on my behalf, which made his EX girlfriend nod quickly.

“I beg your pardon...Vasilisa. We named you Yulia after your babushka (grandmother) on my side. I’m not trying to offend you, I just never thought I’d see you again-.”

“Neither did I.” I responded dryly without allowing her to finish, and my dad wordlessly poured Evgeniya a cup of tea.“This is the “babushka” who disapproved of my existence? If that’s the case, I’m glad you changed it to Vasilisa.” An awkward silence fell over us all, and I didn’t care. I told the truth. Why would I want the name of somebody who didn’t care if I suffered alone without a family? I don’t know of anybody who would. Regardless of culture or otherwise.

Searching for another topic, Evgeniya studied my appearance closely. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but her blue eyes kept raking over my hair in particular. I’ve been dying it for a very long time. Before I moved to the United States last year, I returned to dirty blonde for a short time but disliked the way it looked. Ever since, it’s remained dark. The way I prefer it. “Your hair is so black, and short. When you were a baby, it was so soft and blonde. Like your father’s and my own.” She smiled at the memory, and my heart melted just a little bit.

“Black suits me better.” I touched the left side of my bangs, feeling my stomach growl just as a fresh loaf of borodinsky (a dark Russian bread traditionally baked with molasses and coriander seeds) was placed in front of us. It came with a fluffy side of butter, and I began cutting into the loaf eagerly. When I’m hungry, it’s difficult for me to concentrate on anything else.

“Would you care to stay a while longer, Evgeniya? Here we have hot bread. Help yourself.” My dad waited until I tore off my piece to dig into the loaf. We both love borodinsky. It's sweet, sometimes tangy if it's been brined with vinegar. Crispy on the outside, very soft and slightly moist inside.

She shook her head, motioning for my father to move so she could exit the booth. “I’m afraid not, Andrei. My order must be ready by now and I have hungry children at home. Vasilisa, we should have this talk soon. Your sibilings are asking for you everyday now.”

“I’ll let you know.” I offered neutrally, watching the butter dissolve as soon as I spread it onto my hunk of bread. My parents lingered for a moment before walking toward the counter to retrieve Evgeniya’s food. Being the gentleman he is, I knew my father would open the door on their way out and escort her to the vehicle. All around me I heard whispers and tried to block them out. I’d gotten so used to living in peace in the United States, I forgot how degrading it felt to be judged for my outward appearance. Like I was on the outside, and everyone from the inside was pointing and laughing at me but I couldn’t hear what they were saying clearly. My tough skin hasn’t changed, and I glared at an elderly couple intensely until they finally looked away and returned to their soup. I heard the old man scruffily mutter something to his companion, and I shook my head and kept eating my bread.

Who cares if you think I look like a little boy? I’m bothering no one. Mind your own business.

If I were alone or otherwise not with my father, I would have said just that instead of keeping the thought private, but I had more tact than to disrespect him. It’s likely he’d return any second and I’d be ready to start a fight. As I was washing down my food with a sip of tea, I felt my phone vibrate in my jacket and pulled it out to check the notification.

Francine! Moya Detka.

My heartbeat quickened. “Detka? Hello! How are you over there?” I miss her so much.

“I wish you were here.” Her soft voice whimpered, and I deflated. Regretting my trip entirely so far, I stole a glance at the front door of the restaurant. No sign of dad yet.

“I know baby. Me too.” Once again, I held the conversation in English. If these people had no problem staring at my cropped hair and manly attire, I could only imagine the conclusions they’d draw about my private phone conversation. I think my girlfriend understood, because she hummed a little bit but didn't ask why I wasn't speaking Russian.

“Have you seen your mom yet?” Francine continued in Russian knowing I'd follow along much easier, and I rubbed my chin in thought.

“Yes. I don’t know what she wants from me. We ran into her at dinner. I’ll probably talk with her next week. Tell me, how is everything at home? Ember is ok? You’re not too sad?”

Francine sniffled, and I heard Liza’s voice in the background. “I’d feel better if you would’ve let me drop you off at the airport. It’s like you haven’t left yet, but you’re gone and I hate that...”

I nodded quietly even though my lover couldn’t see me. I’m not one to act on impulse usually, because I taught myself to weigh out each option before I do anything, but I can admit when I’ve made a mistake. I wanted to spare both mine and Francine’s feelings that morning, and instead I denied her the chance to hug and kiss me one last time before my flight. She's sensitive to these things, and I would've relived my entire journey to Russia again if it meant I could wake Francine up to take me instead of leaving a note and departing in secret.

“I ask your forgiveness, my ocean. I thought I was doing the right thing. I promise when I come home I’ll make it up to you, in any way it's possible. I didn't mean to cause you so much pain.”

Francine sighed softly, and I grinned. I knew that sigh— it meant she couldn’t stay angry with me. “Just...be careful, detka. I’m counting down the days before you’re with us again. Ember hasn’t noticed a change yet. Lizas been over every night since you’ve been gone...Brody broke up with her before she left for her mission.”

What!? Why would she do that? They were so close, so in love. Too perfect together. Why does everything happen while I’m away?

I frowned in confusion just as my dad was returning to the table. “I’m at dinner with my dad now, Francine.” I said her name aloud so he’d know who I was talking to. “Will you be awake in an hour?” We had a twelve hour time difference, and I was taking that into consideration.

“I should be, yeah. Tell Andrei I said hi. Call me back my love.” Francine yawned. I had no doubt she'd force herself to stay awake until she heard from me again. I pictured her alone in our bed and my chest seized painfully. Our first year together was spent apart, with me still living in Tobolsk and her in the States. Neither of us were willing to carry on a long distance relationship and it almost broke us up for good. It was painful being away from her now, after I relocated to begin our lives together. The string attached to our hearts pulled and tugged from being stretched so tightly across two oceans.

“I will. Give my best to Liza. I love you, I want to hear everything when I do.”

“I love you most.” Francine soothed, and promised to wait for me. She sounded so near, but so far. I tried not to cry.

I disconnected our call with a lump in my throat as the server arrived with the steamy mushroom soup. Just in time for me to lose my fucking appetite.