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“Good point.” Ithanked him internally, especially after yesterday, for letting me purge what had been weighing on me for years. “So, my dad held my mom in afinancial prison. He convinced her not to study or work, that he’dtake care of whatever she needed, and once they got married, he made her his metaphorical punching bag.”
Telling this story again brought on awave of grief for my mother, the kind woman who suffered from the one man she loved so much. “He made sure to tell her and me how useless we were every single day. Ishared this part of me with Greg, and he used it against me.”
“I’msorry.” He handed me another tissue.
“You see?” Iheaved awatery breath, feeling the room close in on me. “That’swhy Ididn’twant to bring up my dad.”
“Because Isaid Iwas sorry?” He tilted his head.
“That and Ican see it on your face. You pity me.” Ihad to stop crying if Iwas so hell-bent on him not pitying me. Ibit my tongue to keep more tears from flowing, and gradually they stopped, and my breath evened.
He narrowed his eyes, capturing me in his gaze. “Don’tconfuse compassion with pity.”
“How else am Isupposed to interpret that look?”
“As someone who understands the difficulties of life, as someone who hates being pitied.”
Istared at him, confused. “You have everything, Thomas.”
“On the surface. Look, you’ve been honest with me and I’ll be honest with you in return.” His gaze softened while the rest of his face stayed somber. “Ihope you’ll see my life wasn’tthe easiest, and that Iadmire you, anyone, who went through hell and came back stronger.”
My heart rate evened, the need to flee from what Ithought was pity decreasing. “I’mlistening.”
“Building acareer from scratch means working hard, sometimes for years until you see results. Trying to do it as an artist in another country where only ahandful of people speak your language is harder. Not to mention learning the Cyrillic letters. But Ihad to do it, Ihad to escape from here. The relationship Ihad with my parents… We didn’tget along. Ihad enough and by leaving for the unknown, Iwanted to prove to myself that Ididn’tneed them.”
He trailed off, growing distant as he delved into his memories. “No one there knew Iwas achild prodigy like Iwas here, Ihad no friends, almost like in the years Ilived here, and no money to call Zach for support.
“For years Ipainted in my tiny apartment, then sold my paintings on the streets. The little money Itook home and the income from selling my paintings barely held me above water, and some days Iskipped meals in favor of paint tubes. Ilearned the language eventually from anyone who’dtalk to me, even those who weren’tinterested in buying my paintings. I’dtalk to anyone.
“More than two years passed where Iperfected my skills. More people arrived at my stand until Imade it to the newspapers as the talented, skinny American boy. That was when my first big sponsor came to see what the fuss was about.”
Thomas had me enthralled in his story, one so completely different from the one of him Ihad in my mind. When he paused to take asip of his coffee, Iwanted to shake him to keep talking; Iwas so curious to hear the rest of it. Ipracticed patience, and luckily it didn’ttake him long to continue.
“Her name was Katerina,” he uttered her name softly. “She was in her fifties, from what Igathered. She wore abrown fur coat and amatching Ushanka.” Thomas offered me atranslation, mimicking the shape of atall hat on top of his head. “It’salarge Russian fur hat.”
Iscrunched my nose at the mention of fur on an impulse, hating how animals were tormented in the process of making clothes for people.
“Not afan of fur either.” He read my reaction, his mouth twitching to the side. “Never owned one, even when the temperature dropped to freezing cold. Katerina did, and she was my boss. Inever questioned her choices.” The twitch Ithought Isaw turned into asmirk with no malice in it.
Thomas delivered me his message without being mean, and Ilistened to him without being in his face. Iwondered what our beginning would’ve been like if only we’dstarted this way. If we could’ve been friends.
He kept talking and Idrank up each word. “She was aremarkable woman, from her looks to her attitude. The day her heels clicked and then stopped in front of my stand changed my life. She browsed through the paintings, then examined me from head to toe, because you can’tnot stand and respect awoman like her, and you wanna know what she said?”
Igulped, not aware of time and space. He enthralled me in his story, and Ibobbed my head up and down, not wanting to break the spell.
“She said in aheavy accent,Thomas, I’mgoing to take you in, give you ahome and job, and you’ll be famous and more rich than you ever dreamed of. And that was that; that was the woman she was.”
“And?” Even though Iknew his answer, the way he told it held such magic that Iwanted to hear everything from his mouth.
He curled his fingers around his mug, asofter hold than from amoment ago. “Icouldn’tsay no. No one said no to her.”
“And did you ever…?” It wasn’tmy place to ask, but he’dbeen so forthcoming, Ijust had to.
“No, no.” He shook with low laughter, breaking his character. “Katerina was like amentor to me. Ineeded that at that juncture, even more than Ineeded money. She put me in her mansion, introduced me to all of her friends and acquaintances, and herprophecywas fulfilled. What I’mtrying to say is we both went through some rough shit and here we are. Survivors.”
The story wrapped up with Thomas’sconclusion, and it was as if something clicked. The both of us were hiding behind so many—too many—defenses, to even see the other person. Surprisingly, yet again, Thomas had been the one to take the first step, to be the mature party, and it gave me hope this year wasn’tdoomed after all.
He might’ve not been the boss Iwanted, but apparently, he was the boss Ineeded.
