Chapter 11 #2
“Oh, nice going, Lev!” Aunt Irina scolds, softly whacking his stomach with the back of her hand. The two of them are standing by the back gate, watching us. They were trying not to interrupt the moment, I imagine.
“I sneezed,” he protests, throwing his hands up. “Now I can’t sneeze? What was I supposed to do?”
“Hold it in, you oaf,” his wife rebuts in a huff.
“Hold it in? It’s a sneeze—”
“Ugh, enough out of you,” she interrupts, waving him off. Opening the gate, she lets herself in and makes him catch it before it closes in order to follow her. “Sorry about that, loves. We’re just stopping by on our way home from dropping Nadya off at ballet camp.”
“And now I’m in trouble for sneezing,” Uncle Lev grumbles, trailing behind her. “We should have just gotten coffee on the way.”
“Ahh, so you’re not here to visit, you’re here to steal my coffee?” Dad teases, standing up to greet them. “Why am I not surprised?”
“No one makes better coffee than Grigory,” Aunt Irina states, defensively sniffing. “I’ve tried to bribe him to leave your service in favor of Lev’s but he never gives in.”
Grigory Kucherov has been our family’s cook since Dmitri was born. He’s a good friend of our doctor’s family. The Petrovs and the Kucherovs are technically family through a distant marriage, but they don’t call each other brothers or even cousins.
Either way, at Dr. Petrov’s recommendation, my father hired Grigory and he’s been with us ever since.
He’s got to be in his sixties now, but he’s still cooking three meals a day, preparing snacks, and apparently making the only coffee Aunt Irina considers worthy.
I wouldn’t know, since I avoid caffeine at all costs, and never developed a taste for it to feel inclined to try decaf.
He makes all my meals without complaint, though. Even though it usually means cooking my food separately. He does it every single day without fail, and his consistency is comforting.
Dad chuckles. “Grigory is far too loyal to be swayed by a pretty face.”
My aunt smirks. “Anton, you flatterer.”
“That’s enough of that,” Uncle Lev grumbles, tugging his wife backward so that she has to lean into his front. “Let’s go get you a coffee, zhena.”
My aunt sends me a smile. “Join us?”
The denial leaves me before I can stop it. “No, thank you. I still have to meditate and shower this morning.”
Her smile doesn’t falter, but I see the disappointment in her eyes. Hating it, more words pour out of me. They’re unplanned and not even close to being thought through, but they leave my lips all the same.
“I’m doing yoga tomorrow morning, though. If you want to join me.”
Surprise brightens her expression and she nods immediately. “That sounds great. I’ll be here. Text me the time?”
I swallow my nerves. “Yeah, okay. Talk soon.” Before I allow my anxiety to show, I excuse myself and walk swiftly inside. I make it to my room in record time, jogging up the stairs to get there as quickly as possible.
I don’t feel a rush of panic trying to claw at me, nor do I feel like I’m going to be sick. Taking a few deep breaths to check in on myself, I try to start my routine for the day.
Unfortunately, after nearly an hour of trying to clear my mind enough to meditate, I give up. Anxiety doesn’t plague me, but a busy and worrisome mind does. I’ve gotten used to solitude, and inviting my aunt to do yoga with me feels more like a giant leap than the small step that it really is.
My shower is much more relaxing than my failed attempt at centering myself on my yoga mat was. It’s steamy warm and the relaxing flow of water over my skin is enough to distract me into thinking happier thoughts.
Thoughts of Matteo.
I think of what I’m going to text him the entire time I’m getting ready for the day. While I’m finishing my shower, drying my hair, doing my skincare, and through my daily no-makeup makeup routine.
When I’m sufficiently pampered and dressed, I finally pull my phone out and decide to send only a simple greeting to start.
Anya
Good morning :)
His response comes faster than I expect.
Matteo
A morning, it is. More like hectic than good, though.
Matteo
Are you up for a FaceTime? Typing is a bit hard right now LOL.
Curious but open to the proposal, I set my phone on the vanity. I was going to go lie in bed to text him, but he replied so fast that I haven’t even gotten up yet.
Anya
FaceTime works.
I answer his call too fast to be considered cool, but I’m too surprised by the image that fills my screen to regret it.
Two babies in his lap, one reaching up to grab the arm that holds his phone out, and the other peacefully resting.
“Sorry, my hands are full and this one is a menace, as per usual,” Matteo grumbles but there’s no anger behind it. It sounds more like he’s trying to be stern when he wants to laugh instead. “Jade abandoned me with the heathens so I’m trying to juggle them alone.”
“Are you babysitting?” I laugh softly, watching with wide eyes as Cesar tries to wiggle forward and grab the phone from Matteo’s hands.
“Is it babysitting if I’m not being paid?” Matteo asks, huffing as he softly maneuvers Cesar’s hands down. “You can’t pull her from the phone, bud. No, you can’t eat my phone either. Close your mouth, you’re going to get drool all over your shirt again. I just put this one on you.”
Isobella sits peacefully on her uncle’s lap, totally unbothered by the way her brother wiggles around and squirms. She’s holding a babydoll with brown pigtails that match her own, cradling it close to her middle.
I wish I could reach through the phone and pick her up. Instead, I have to settle for watching them and asking, “Are you watching both of them all by yourself?”
“Sure am,” Matteo says, finally distracting Cesar with a small toy phone.
It lights up and makes quiet beeping sounds as he smashes his tiny fingers into the plastic.
“Jade didn’t get much sleep last night and wanted a nap.
Everyone else is doing random shi—stuff.
Training, errands, and all that noise. So, Uncle Matteo gets to show why he’s the favorite yet again. ”
“Are you sure this is a good time to talk?” I ask, amused by his flippant cockiness. “It can’t be easy to hold them both and your phone at the same time.”
“Are you kidding?” He chuckles. “This is the best. My two favorite kiddos and my favorite new friend keeping me company? I’d multitask for that any day.”
My face feels warm at his words, but thankfully doesn’t project a blush over the camera.
“Besides,” he continues. “I told you I would video-chat with them. They’re going to recognize your voice the next time they see you. Isn’t that right, Isobella?”
She blinks at him and lifts her doll to show him as if he’s never seen it.
“Oh, sorry, principessa. I didn’t mean to ignore your dolly,” he tells her with all the sincerity of a man who genuinely means it. “Do you want to show Aunt Anya, hmm? Maybe tell her your baby’s name?”
Isobella looks contemplative for a moment, her tiny eyebrows scrunching closer as she thinks. “Mama.”
“That’s right,” Matteo cheers quietly. “She looks just like you and mama, doesn’t she?”
Brown hair, blue eyes, soft features…I suppose the toy baby does look like a Moretti.
“Uncle Armani had the doll made for you, isn’t that right?”
“Mani,” Isobella agrees in a tiny whisper. I almost don’t catch it.
“Such a smart girl,” her uncle says, dropping a soft kiss to the crown of her head.
“She is,” I agree, feeling warm with emotion. “I read that babies start learning more around their age. Does she know many words? You told me some of Cesar’s favorite words at the wedding, I remember.”
Mama, dada, milk, socks, no, and fuck.
“The regular ones, and a couple extra,” Matteo answers with a proud smile.
“Pink and dress are up there. Plus she has some kind of nickname or sound she tries for each of us. Cesar does too. Sometimes it’s more like babbles, and sometimes it’s very clear.
Mani for Armani, Co for Nico, Ma for Matteo, Mo for Remo. Stuff like that.”
My heart gives a funny flutter, hearing all the attempts they make at their uncles’ names. It makes me wonder what they call Ivan, or what they’d call me if they had the chance.
“They recognize all of you? That must be really nice for them, to know that they have so many people who love them.”
I imagine that being a baby surrounded by so many aunts and uncles every day would be comforting. I doubt Cesar and Isobella have ever felt an ounce of loneliness.
Matteo hums. “I don’t think they can tell the difference between Elio and Emilio but to be honest, Emilio is never here, so that’s his fault.”
I’m never there either, I think sadly.
“Do you have any plans with the kids?” I ask, needing to shift the topic. “How long will you have them?”
“We’re just going to chill out, maybe sing a song or two. Dmitri and Ivan are going to be home soon to steal them away from me.”
My smile wavers at the mention of my brothers but I force it to stay in place.
“You sing songs with them?”
“Oh yeah.” Matteo grins wolfishly. “I sing the heck out of the ABCs, Anya. You don’t even know. Old McDonald? My rendition could go triple platinum.”
His serious tone sends a giggle bursting from my lips.
“Your aunt doesn’t believe me, Isobella,” Matteo says, shaking his head with a tsk. “Tell her I have a beautiful voice, won’t you? Defend my honor, principessa.”
For the first time, I watch as my niece really smiles. Her tiny lips spread and her shy blue eyes sparkle as she looks up at him. I know she doesn’t fully understand what he’s saying, but she looks so incredibly happy just hearing him speak to her.
“I believe you,” I tell him, feeling something warm and fuzzy settle in my stomach. “You just surprised me. I’ve never heard a made man sing.”
Especially not nursery rhymes.
He shoots me a cocky smile. “Ahh, that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll keep surprising you. I’ll bet you’ve never met a made man quite like me.”
I have no trouble believing that.