Chapter 60
CHAPTER SIXTY
VIKTOR
We just finished dinner in the courtyard. I stack the plates largest to smallest and with the used cutlery aligned at twelve o’clock, then carry them to the kitchen. This routine calms the noise in my head—noise that’s left after my work day.
After depositing the dishes in the sink, I walk down the hall to the den where I find Grigory and Nikolai arguing about a card game while Matvey deals to the large group of men around the table.
In the den sits a book I’ll continue reading tonight. It’s about companion planting and good soil health. The first chapters are already flagged with sticky tabs placed just so. I sit in my favorite armchair and pick it up.
“Viktor?”
Sofia’s soft voice draws my attention. She’s just come into the den with Avelina.
The little girl is standing before me with a book hugged to her chest. The cover is bright and depicts a cat with wide eyes, and the title reads All Cats Have Autism.
It’s the book that I got Sofia a while ago.
Until now, Sofia has barely looked at it.
She steps closer but not too close, stopping at a distance we both can process without our bodies firing alarms. Her thumb taps rhythmically onto the cover. “Will you read this? With me, please,” she says. “Here.”
I glance at the table. But the others are busy with their card game. I’m nervous about reading a book that mentions autism in front of the others, but they’re not paying any attention to us. Sofia’s shoulders are hunched up. Hope and worry war inside her. “Sure,” I say. “Come sit next to me.”
Her shoulders drop a little. We sit on the couch. I place the book squarely on my knee, aligning the spine with the seam of my pants—because if the world’s going to tilt, I need one straight line.
Avelina slides onto the armrest beside Sofia, her fingers brushing her hair once.
Sofia gazes at the book and leans against me like I’m someone she trusts. Queenie hops up and settles herself in Sofia’s lap, and automatically, Sofia begins to stroke her fur, drawing comfort from the rhythmic movements and softness beneath her fingers.
I open the book. The first page shows a cat lazing in a sunny garden by itself.
I start reading. “Some cats like quiet. It helps slow their racing thoughts.”
The next page shows a cat lining up toy mice in a perfect row. Sofia frowns at the picture.
“Some cats like things in order. Lined up just so. It keeps them calm,” I continue. “Like my gardening tools,” I say to Sofia.
Her little nose wrinkles. “And like my coloring pencils,” she murmurs.
We move through the pages. A cat hiding when new people visit. A cat who doesn’t like the feel of its new collar. The book is gentle. Sweet. But real in how it depicts things.
“What does it say there,” she asks, pointing to a cat swaddled in a blanket.
“Cuddles and big squeezes can feel like a shield. Weighted blankets too.”
She nods. “It’s not just me.”
“No,” I say softly, “It’s not just you who feels like that.”
The next page shows a cat staring at a clock.
“Schedules help cats. When they know what’s coming next, their minds and bodies feel calmer.”
“Queenie likes her breakfast and dinner at the same time every day,” Sofia says thoughtfully. “I’m the same. If I don’t know the schedule and plan, my chest gets all…buzzy.” She taps her chest. “Like the way soda fizzes.”
“We can tell you the plan. Always,” I reassure her.
Her eyes flick to the men. Grigory gives a small nod in agreement, and Matvey and Nikolai confirm this with a two-fingered salute.
Then Sofia turns the page herself. The picture shows a cat on a windowsill, watching rain.
“Sometimes, cats need a perch. High enough to see. But far away enough to breathe,” I read.
“Busy places feel like too much sometimes,” Sofia tells me. “I can ask you for a hug, right?”
“Yes,” I say with no edge. “And if I can’t give it at that moment, I’ll tell you.”
“That’s good, Viktor,” she says, patting my large hand with her tiny one. “You just tell me if you’re struggling too much to give me a hug.”
I clear my voice. “Cats are different to people. But different doesn’t mean alone.”
She inhales and looks to Avelina who’s staring at us. “Mama, I think I have autism too.” She doesn’t whisper it. She just puts the sentence out there.
The room silences around us, and Avelina gives her a small nod, something shimmering in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. My voice is steadier than I thought possible. “Me too.” A few seconds tick by. The quiet is deafening. “I have autism too.”
The house holds its breath. The kind of pause that tells me everyone is listening.
Then Grigory exhales. “Finally. About time. And all it took was a self-help book with cats.”
Oxygen returns to the room.
Matvey smiles.
“That explains Viktor’s lists,” Nikolai mutters.
A couple of the others nod.
But no one laughs.
And no one looks surprised.
Grigory folds, throws down his cards, and pushes back his chair.
On his way out of the room, he passes me and silently places his hand on my shoulder for a long moment before disappearing through the door and toward the office.
And I’m left stunned that the men don’t look more shocked or suddenly treat me like I’m a freak.
I shake my head and finish reading the book to Sofia while the men carry on with their game. I reach the very last line. “You don’t have to be the same to belong.”
By the time I close the cover, Sofia is heavier against me. The kind of way kids get when they’re comfortable and trusting.
“Again?” Sofia asks.
I glance at the clock. My brain divides the evening into blocks. “Again,” I agree.
We read it a second time, Sofia supplying some lines before I can. When we finish, she presses her forehead to my arm and whispers, “Tight hug?”
“Yeah,” I say, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. “You can ask me anytime.”
She squeezes me back for exactly four seconds, then she lets go, satisfied. “Can we keep the book by the couch, Viktor?”
“Yeah. It stays here.”
“Bedtime,” Avelina tells her.
“Can we tell Babulya?” Sofia asks her mom. “About the autism?”
“Yeah. We can tell who you want and when you want,” she replies.
She considers that, then nods. “Teeth brushing time.”
I nod with a faint grin. Because Sofia and I both love sticking to our schedules.
Avelina lingers beside me as she watches Sofia disappear around the corner.
“Thank you, Viktor.”
“For reading?”
“For making it all…so normal.”
“It is normal,” I say simply.
Her smile gets bigger. “You just taught her that.”
Something shifts under my sternum. It’s a click I know well from weapons, locks, and engines. Parts aligning. Not fixed. Just fitting together. “I didn’t plan it.” I want to look away because eye contact this long feels like a cliff’s edge. But I don’t. “I know that it doesn’t make me weak.”
“No. It’s just part of you. And that’s exactly what she needs to see. And you’re a strong role model for her.”
“Me? A role model? No, I’m not that.”
“Yes, you are, Viktor. You’re showing Sofia every day that having autism doesn’t mean that you’re not a strong person or that you can’t achieve whatever you want to in life.”
And her words make me wonder if despite my autism, I can really achieve the one thing I really want—love.
My chest tightens in a way that isn’t pain and isn’t panic.
It’s pressure from the inside.
I follow Avelina up the stairs as the men carry on with their cards. I think about the question that’s been gnawing at the back of my mind. Whether whatever I feel counts. Whether I’m building a thing with her that I can call love.
Maybe I can’t feel things in a ten out of ten way. But my heart is beating steady—and for once, the rhythm feels like it could be beautiful music.
Can I do this? Can I love even if it looks different from how others love?
In the quiet of the upstairs hall, the answer isn’t a trumpet or a revelation. It’s a simple ‘yes.’
Yes to what I can give. Yes to learning the rest. And yes to being seen as I am and not being less because of it.
Avelina’s silhouette turns to me in Sofia’s doorway, her hand held out.
And I go to her. With all my heart.