Chapter 16 - Anton #2
Six places out of the ten-chair dining table are occupied between us.
It feels significant. I just can’t tell if it’s good or not. That locus of tension is what continues to plague me while everyone around me settles in and digs into a meal so elaborate that one would never know Maxim and Boris’ attendance is an unanticipated circumstance.
I pick at the pickled vegetables distractedly, piling a forkful onto a spongy piece of buttered bread.
But I can’t linger on the flavors. My attention splits between Darya and Boris, the latter of whom engages in conversation with no one.
Though it should be said, neither do I. It heartens me to see Darya get along so smoothly with both Galina and Stasi, even ribbing Maxim, as we all do with him being the youngest of us.
I don’t miss that every time she makes one of his children laugh with that caustic sense of humor, Boris’ expression grows more and more dark.
A storm is on the horizon. I’d venture a blind man would be able to feel it. I’m certain everyone at this table can, too.
Yet, for some reason, we go on pretending none of us does. Because it’s the appropriate, tactful thing to do, I suppose.
“—I’m telling you!” Maxim insists, gesticulating with his fork.
“These Providence motherfuckers have gotta be some of the most optimistic fucking criminals I’ve ever encountered in my life.
Truly fucking ballsy, man. Almost to a delusional degree.
They were operating out of a laundromat, but had the nerve to push on our boundary like we wouldn’t notice? What the fuck? Do your brothers—”
It’s to Darya that he directs this.
I can see Boris’ jaw clench, his stare stony. “Ah, come now, Maxim. The Yuris are impervious to such commonplace inconveniences. Such is the charming benefit of those Yuri wiles. Isn’t that right, Darya?”
Oh, Jesus.
Truth be told, on one hand, I’m impressed he lasted halfway through the main course. On the other hand, I can’t fucking believe he just said that. What the fuck?
By my side, I can feel how still Darya has gone.
Maybe I do know her. It’s precisely how I’d expect her to react.
It was, after all, how she’d taken it in stride when I’d been a fucking dick to her, reducing her words to nothing but platitudes.
She could bite back. She’d draw blood. If anyone needs proof of how sharp her tongue can get, I’ve got many a scar to show off by now.
It goes to show that her not going to those lengths here is a choice. It’s an exhibition of restraint.
I’ve got no doubt she’ll wait, sit with this, steam and seethe, and concoct a way to get even when the time is right. That’s how she is.
But she shouldn’t have to.
“Uncle,” I say coldly. It surprises me, too, given how immovable this man has always felt to me.
A man who’s consistently been impossible not to obey, given that he’s essentially an extension of my father’s will.
Historically, it isn’t often that his ideas and mine go down divergent roads.
When they have, in the past, we’ve gone his way out of respect for his experience.
He is an elder. But this time, he’s also so fucking wrong.
What kind of Pakhan am I, if my own brother can go behind my back, and my own uncle can insult my wife to my face?
The kind with a mole selling sensitive information to the highest bidder.
“That’s the last time you speak to her this way. To her face, or behind her back.”
Boris chortles, raising his glass of frosted vodka. “See? Wiles at work.”
My brow lifts. “You have no idea,” I agree. “I’d say I’m thoroughly ensnared in those wiles already.”
God. My poor mother chokes on a bite, and Darya, looking more stricken than I’ve ever seen her, helpfully pats her back.
Swallowing a sigh, I add, “So, if anyone has a problem with that, then—” Then what? Boris’ eyes dare me. “Then that’s just too fucking bad.”
That shuts him up. Unfortunately, it shuts everyone else up, too.
No longer are any of them able to pretend nothing’s amiss.
As is to be expected, dinner doesn’t last much longer than that.
Nevertheless, I make sure to add, just for good measure, a final jab: “If anyone needs me, my wife and I will be in my study sharing a fucking nightcap.”
When I look over at Darya, a question in my eyes, all she responds with is a nod. She looks almost somber. There’s no quip from her, no addition, not even a shared smile. She doesn’t say a word all the way down the hallway, matching my stride.
The lull lasts past my opening the door to let her in first and walking to the bar set-up in the corner of the room.
She isn’t even looking at me. If she were, I’d be able to feel it.
It’s peculiar, is what it is. She likes to watch me.
I fucking love that she watches me when I’m not watching her do it.
In its absence, there is a void that’s dark and cold and bleak.
I can’t tolerate it any longer. Pivoting sharply, I storm over to her with her drink in one hand and mine in the other. I want her to notice that I remembered to pour out mezcal for her. That I’m aware she doesn’t like whiskey and I fucking care about that.
“Did I do something to upset you?” I ask.
Darya looks up at me, sunken in the corner of my couch. Her gaze drops only momentarily, taking in the glasses in my hands. The look on her face isn’t one I’ve seen before, and I can’t fucking translate it.
I suppose I can take that as a resounding Yes.
“Just tell me,” I insist. “I can take it.”
There’s such a heavy hush that’s spread through the room; every breath feels like swallowing shards of glass. This is what she has reduced me to. The least she can do is be honest with me.
I knock my drink back and slam the glass down viciously on the end table by her side. “Tell me,” I roar, at the end of my goddamn tether.
Darya just stares on, with that undecipherable look on her face.
Until, finally, she says, “I can’t drink that because I’m six weeks pregnant, Anton. I found out last week. I have since confirmed it with a blood test. You may have the rest of the evening to be surprised.”
Such calm, matter-of-fact words. Spoken so flatly, devoid of any hike in pitch or cadence. This is what it is, her tone says.
In a handful of these words, she rips the ground beneath my feet wide open. I’m too frozen to even plummet to my knees.