5. Evgeny #4
He grins and says, “Probably not.” After a few seconds he adds, “In case you’re interested, she loves listening to Elvis, prefers musicals to any other movie genre, and for some ungodly reason likes butterscotch creamer.” There’s a lot of amusement in his eyes when he says, “Just like you.”
“I don’t prefer musicals,” I say, “and who doesn’t love Elvis? The butterscotch creamer just means she’s a bright woman, but we already knew that. She wouldn’t do what she does if she didn’t have a sharp mind.”
“Maybe you’ll learn to love musicals,” he says.
“And why would I do that?”
He shrugs. “Keep your enemies close and all that.”
I huff out a breath and shake my head. “Never going to happen. She’ll get bored and stop. You’ll see.”
He lets it go as we both walk out to join everyone else. Saying goodbye is a long process, and after I’ve managed to hug all my family members, they start getting in the elevator to leave while my mom and dad hang back to spend a few more minutes with me.
Veya runs over with a drawing in her hand, and when she holds it out to me, I take it, smiling at the elephant she drew me.
She’s always loved elephants, and she’s drawn me many pictures of them.
In this one, the elephant is standing in a field of flowers and Veya is riding him with her brother and sister.
They’re all three smiling while the elephant lifts its trunk like it’s trumpeting.
She’s written I love my Uncle Ev underneath it.
“I love it,” I tell her, smiling at the colorful image she’s drawn for me. “Thanks, Veya. It’s perfect.”
“So you won’t forget us,” she says, and her words threaten to rip my heart out.
I kneel down so she can see me better. “Hey,” I tell her. “Forgetting about you or anyone else in this family is never going to happen. I know I’m busy with work a lot, but I’ll try to visit more.”
When her eyes meet mine, I add, “I promise,” knowing I’ll do anything to keep my word.
The pain in her eyes is not something I ever want to see again.
I know I’ve been working too much, and this is the reminder I needed to get my head out of my ass and spend more time with my family.
I pull her in for a hug and kiss her cheek and tell her I love her.
“I love you too, Uncle Ev,” she says.
“You better call me,” I tell her when I stand back up. “I mean it, Veya. You can call me anytime you want.”
She nods and when I look over at my sister, I can tell she’s getting emotional. “She’ll be okay,” she says when Veya goes to stand by her dad.
“I’ll be over more,” I tell her. “I won’t break my promise to her.”
“I know you’d never do that,” she says.
When Veya goes into the other room to play a game with Valentin, I hand the drawing she made me to Yel.
She smiles at the colorful image and then walks over and puts it in a folder that she then hides in a drawer.
It’s filled with all the pictures the kids have made me over the years.
Yel keeps them safe for me because I refuse to have them in my house.
I refuse to have anything that might be found by someone else and used to hurt my family.
Even though I’m careful to keep my own criminal ties hidden, I represent a lot of nasty people, and those people have enemies.
I’m well aware that I could easily become a target.
I certainly didn’t make any friends by turning DeMarco down.
Shit happens, and if it does, at least it’ll just be me that’s standing knee-deep in it.
“Thanks, Yel,” I tell her.
She gives me a hug and says, “My hope is that one day you’ll be able to hang them on your fridge.”
I hug her back and swallow the answer that it’s never going to happen. She knows I’m thinking it, though, so she squeezes me tighter and says, “Don’t worry. I believe it enough for the both of us.”
Letting her go, I step back and hug my mom and dad. My dad has an arm wrapped around my mom, keeping her close because she looks like she’s about to cry.
“Call me anytime,” I tell them, repeating what I’d told Veya.
“Here,” my sister says, running back in with a container of leftovers. “You can strap it to your bike, right?”
“I’ve got a backpack I can throw it in,” I tell her, taking the container before she hurries off to grab more.
She returns with two more containers and a bag of homemade cookies. Smiling, she says, “You said you had a backpack.”
My mom looks relieved when I take it instead of arguing.
“I’m not starving to death,” I remind them. “I do eat, and I sleep.”
“Just not enough,” my mom says.
I look at my dad, but he looks just as worried as she does. “I’ll visit again soon,” I tell them. “I promise.”
They all nod, doing their best to believe me. They know how busy I get, though, and they know I have a history of working myself too hard, so it’s not a worry they’re going to be able to discard easily.
After I leave, I shove everything into my backpack and get on the bike.
The plan was to meet Pavel and then head home and work for the rest of the day, but instead, I drive around for a bit, taking a scenic route that’s near a park, enjoying the evening and forcing myself to forget about everything else for a little while.