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“You didn’t think to mention this?” The Russian asked, and stroked my hair as he looked from Claudia to me.
I swallowed. “We both have things to learn about each other … some secrets, I guess,” I said. He didn’t answer. I pushed him a little and said almost in a whisper, “I know that you almost had a child of your own, once …”
I watched as his eyes glossed for just a moment as he fought his emotion and the resurfacing of that inner pain – I caught him in an unguarded moment and he wasn’t prepared.
“Ancient history,” he said, and cleared his throat.
I turned back to look at the photos of my sister and me together; she was beautiful, feminine, petite ... so not like me. I don’t know why I hadn’t mentioned her to The Russian. I had created this other life, and it didn’t include the sadness at home, and the fact that my mother hadn’t always been as cold as she was now; or that from the age of thirteen she had forgotten me, her living daughter. I knew this wasn’t uncommon ... I knew a lot of mothers reacted to grief in this way ... I read a lot about it, and I couldn’t expect more from her, this was how she was coping. And this was how I coped – by pretending my worlds were divided.
“Okay, we don’t need to talk about this,” The Russian said, reading me and I suspect wanting to avoid revealing any more of his own secrets.
I nodded, and then heard Dad calling us.
“C’mon, let’s lunch and go,” I said, maybe too hurriedly, which drew another look of consternation from The Russian.
*****
Lunch was smooth sailing, and Mom was particularly charming to The Russian; all I could think of was that she had been worried no one would ever have me, and she didn’t want to scare him off ... hmm. She kept trying to overfeed him as if he was bound to starve to death in my company. Then The Russian surprised me, again, and Dad too.
“Michael, I was wondering if I could have a word with you ... even though it is Monday and probably your day off,” The Russian joked.
Dad looked delighted. “There’s no sleep for the wicked ... or me either,” he said, with a wink in my direction. Such a daggy dad. The Russian thanked Mom, praising her cooking, which she lapped up, then Dad and The Russian excused themselves and went into Dad’s study while Mom and I cleaned up. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall ... he was definitely getting grilled on the way home.
“He’s very nice, Carla,” Mom said, giving her approval.
“Yes, he’s very level-headed and not at all star struck,” I agreed.
“He has lovely manners,” she continued.
“His parents, especially his Mom, are quite strict. He has three sisters,” I said, filling her in while I was trying to keep one ear towards Dad’s study. It was hopeless, not a sound escaped.
I saw my mother’s lips thin and I knew a lecture was coming.
“Don’t scare him away now, Carla,” she started. “Just try and be a little bit less of a tomboy and more of girl, like your sister.”
Here we go. Like my sister, the beautiful, feminine and dead one.
“You don’t have to compete with him, or be so independent,” my mother continued, “let him feel like he’s the man and let him occasionally win – at sport, or give him the last word ... you know what I mean.”
I didn’t actually ... did she mean that I was so competitive that I wouldn’t support or empower The Russian, and what was she basing that on – all her observations of my relationships or a very young relationship with my sister which had never really had a chance to develop?
I just sighed and nodded; I wasn’t up for the fight. Dad and The Russian didn’t emerge for half an hour and by that time Mom had caught up on my life and I on hers. The Russian had barely gotten out of the study before I was thanking them, and he followed my lead and we were out the door.
We were driving away and I gave them a wave, and breathed out. I could feel The Russian stealing looks at me as he drove.
“What was that about? In a hurry?”
“I love my parents,” I said. That’s all I said. It was complex and The Russian living in his much-loved family cocoon probably wouldn’t get it.
“Babe, I think you better talk to me,” he said, glancing my way.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, “nothing to talk about. Hope it wasn’t too painful.”
“On the contrary, your parents are lovely, plus, I told you your Mom would love me ... mothers always do.”
I groaned and The Russian laughed.
“It appears I’m good with the Brooker women,” he continued, the big head.
