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“Good afternoon, Mr. Volkov, it’s good to see you. Your mother has been looking forward to your visit all week,” Katniss, my mother’s housekeeper, greets. “Your grandfather will be joining us this evening, as well.”
I hide any surprise at the mention of my grandfather. It’d been some months now since I’d heard from him while he continued to enjoy what he considered semi-retirement despite not having been in the office for over six months.
“It’s good to see you, Katniss. Where is my mother?” I ask.
“Where she usually is. In the rose garden courtyard,” she says as she removes my suit jacket. “I’ll go brew some tea and bring it out to you both.”
“Thank you. How’s her condition been?”
“It’s been a good month, sir. She’s even been having a few more outings with friends.”
Relief washes through me. Good.
Walking through the mansion brings back memories. My mother and her staff raised me from the age of five until I moved out for college at eighteen, and I missed the naivety of those days.
I walk to the back of the mansion and through French-style doors. White pebbles and shortly trimmed hedges guide me to the table and chair. In the bed of each are different colored roses beautifully grown and nurtured. My mother is bent over with pruning scissors, a blue dress fans around her, no doubt filthy and covered in dirt. Gardening had been something that always made her happy.
I approach her cautiously, making sure to not creep up or spook her. The large white-brimmed hat keeps her protected from the sun, and I wait until she looks up to wipe her brows.
“Hello, Mother.”
She still jumps, that twist of terror marring her features before she blows out a sigh of relief. “Oh, my boy. Don’t scare me like that.” She laughs it off. When she goes to stand, I step to her side to assist her. “You look pale. Have you been sleeping?” she asks, cupping my cheek.
“I’ve only been here a few minutes, and you’re already on my back.” I press a kiss on her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”
“Well, it’s a mother’s job to be concerned.” She swats at my shoulder teasingly but breaks out in a smile. “So, how is everything? What’s my handsome son been up to in the Big Apple? I hope you’re not breaking too many hearts,” she jokes as she realizes her light blonde, changing to grey hair has come undone.
Her fingers are dirty, so I take her place. “I can do it for you.”
Katniss places a tray of tea and an assortment of savories and sweets on the table. I was in many ways grateful to her for caring for my mother when I failed and when I was absent.
My mother smiles, embracing the luxury I offer as Katniss brings a warm bowl of soapy water for her to wash her hands. I tighten the braid and continue it down to the tip. “You’ve always been such a good boy,” she encourages.
I offer her a smile. “That’s because I have a good mother.”
She offers a coy smile. “I’ve been many things a good mother might be a bit of a stretch.”
“As it is to call me a good son.”
She laughs and swats me away. It’s nice to see her like this, full of life, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. But it’s not always like this.
I take a seat in the chair and lean back with ease, grateful to see her in better condition. Some trips were worse than others. The time she got into the gun cabinet was terrible when paranoia kicked in. They’ve since been locked away from her reach.
“Did you hear your grandfather will be joining us this evening? When was the last time you saw him?” she asks as she picks up her favorite China cup and takes a sip of the sweet herbal tea. Her favorite kind. I take a sip from mine.
“Not since he left me high and dry to run the company for ‘semi-retirement’.” That happened four years ago and he hasn’t appeared in the office for months now to check up on it.
She chuckles. “As if you didn’t want him out of your hair.”
I casually shrug. True. I’d been working with him since I graduated and learned everything I could from him.
“I worry about how much you work. You look paler than last time. If you keep working yourself into the ground, you won’t have time to make me any grandbabies.”
“I always told you I have no intention of a family. Which is why maybe we should get you a dog instead.”
She nonchalantly shrugs and takes another sip. “Everyone says that until they find someone special. And I hope she’s a riot on your hands.”
I smirk, very much thinking of that particular woman who I had to leave behind in New York. I place the teacup down and study my mother’s side profile. I’d seen photos of her when she was younger. She was only twenty-five when she met my father, married and pregnant the year after. The photos taken after we’d returned from Russia showed a different version of her. The sparkle of life in her eyes had diminished, and even now, there a dark cloud forever loomed over her.
