Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Anya
It has tall windows that let in copious amounts of sunlight, and the lightly stained wood floors compliment the morning ambiance.
It’s even better for dancing at night, with the moon shining in and the low hint of blue in the sky.
I haven’t experienced that view in far too long, and I probably never will again.
I only worked up to starting yoga five months ago, after all. My doctors all recommended exercise to help my body regulate on new medicine, but my fear of having asthma attacks steered me far away from picking my ballet shoes back up.
Yoga is relaxing, and can be done at any level of difficulty.
The same can’t be said for ballet, at least not for me.
Dancing to me has always been more than exercise.
It’s a demanding art form, and once you meet the level of excellence that I achieved, it’s depressing to regress.
And I can’t regress if I simply don’t try again.
“This is so exciting,” my aunt sings, walking into the middle of the room with me. There’s a pep in her step that has her blonde ponytail bouncing as she moves. “I never get to wear my pretty sets anywhere but home. I feel so sporty.”
I meet her smile with an attempt at one of my own. I’m more nervous than I should be, but her energy is helpful. It’s not calming, or infectious, but it’s nice to see. I love my aunt, and I like to make the people I love happy—though I haven’t been able to do very much of that lately.
“It’s a very cute set,” I tell her truthfully, looking at the clothing from top to bottom to assure her of my point. She’s wearing a baby-blue pair of leggings and a matching tight but long-sleeved top. Even her trainers match, with light blue and white accents.
She beams, waving a hand in front of me. “Yours is adorable too.”
I try not to let my smile fade as I shrug.
My outfit is less of a workout set, and more of a suit of armor.
Everything I wear is perfectly crafted to hide my discomfort areas.
Scars, and curves of any kind. Though I have a small build, since my activity level has decreased, I’ve grown in more areas than one.
I hate seeing the more womanly parts of myself—parts that were so greatly harmed in the past.
And despite how much I enjoy this space, it’s hard to avoid seeing everything in front of the wall of mirrors in my studio.
There’s no hiding from such a large reflection, and I’ve learned that lesson quite well.
So instead of a skintight cute set of leggings and a top, I do my yoga in sweatpants and a light sweater.
Not so depressingly, they’re both in my favorite colors. White bottoms, and a lilac purple top.
When you can’t fully enjoy your clothes, it’s always nice to have at least one thing you like about them. In my case, I typically aim for two. Comfort and color.
“Is there anything specific you want to do?” I ask, rolling out my purple mat next to her blue one. “I normally put an instructor on the projector so it’s more like a class, but we can do anything.”
“A class sounds fun,” Irina agrees, nodding happily. “As long as we do some cool down stretching after so we can chit-chat. I’ve missed our girl time, solnyshka.”
Sunshine. She’s called me that since I was a toddler.
“I’ve missed it too,” I admit quietly.
Before either of us can get too emotional, I remotely pull up an easy lesson on my phone and send it to the projector. Typically, I’d do a more difficult routine, but with my already racing nerves, I don’t want to make myself panic if I exert too much energy too quickly.
For almost forty minutes, my aunt and I go from pose to pose, and stretch to stretch, taking little designated water breaks in between. We hardly talk, aside from little comments as we go, trying to focus on keeping up with the video.
When it’s finally over, I’ve worked up a decent sheen of sweat, and my muscles feel languid and strong rather than sore.
Aunt Irina is breathing harder than I am, but I still keep the thought of my inhaler in the back of my mind in case I need it.
I bring it everywhere with me, even though my father has several stashed around the house.
He keeps one on himself, too, no matter if we’re near or far.
“That was the most I’ve moved in days,” Irina huffs, laying back on her mat to catch her breath. “How often are you doing yoga? I think I need to take after you, you’re barely sweating.”
I laugh lightly at her exaggerated expression and criss cross my legs to sit facing her on my mat. “I do a video or two at least three times a week, sometimes four. It’s good for my medicine, at least they say it is. I like it though. I hope it wasn’t too much?”
“No definitely not too much,” she rushes out, shaking her head.
“I’ve been slacking with keeping up my activities.
I wanted to spend as much time as I could with Nadya before she left and most of that time was shopping and movie marathons.
We were very naughty, it was the best. Your Uncle Lev was not best pleased by all the snack-ish dinners. He missed his steaks.”
“He acts like he can’t just order whatever he wants,” I joke, almost rolling my eyes. For a hardened enforcer, the man can pout like no one else.
Aunt Irina giggles. “That’s what I told him!”
“What’d he say to that?”
“Oh, you know your stubborn uncle,” she tells me, waving a hand. “He grumbled about it and then ate candy and popcorn with us while he put a prepped lasagna in the oven.”
“Of course he did.”
“He’s such a baby when he’s hungry,” she complains happily. “It makes me feel blessed that we have Nadya and not a little boy who learns from him. I would go very crazy having to deal with a mini Lev.”
She’d love a mini Lev, and we both know it. But I don’t argue with her playful jibes at him.
“And what of your Matteo, hmm?” she asks, giving me a conspiratorial grin. “Does he make you crazy?”
My face would be flaming red if it wasn’t already flushed from the yoga. “He’s not my Matteo,” I remind her, mumbling. “And he doesn’t do anything to drive me crazy. He…”
“He,” she prompts, not discouraged from my correction.
“He FaceTimes me now. With the kids, and without.” I brush some stray hair behind my ears and shrug. “He’s easy to talk to. A good friend.”
“Good friends are a rare gift,” Aunt Irina says, sitting up to face me. “I should like to meet this young man someday.”
“M-maybe you will.”
“Yes?” she asks, tilting her head. “Does he plan to visit?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, biting my lip. Deciding to confide in her, I lean closer. “But we’re trying to make our fathers become friends.”
Her eyes widen with a mischievous glint. “Oh, is that right?”
“They don’t have many friends. I thought it was a nice idea.”
“This was your idea, hmm? And your Matteo is happy to help?”
“He’s not my Matteo,” I correct her again, blushing harder.
“And he said he thinks it’s possible, but that they’re old and long-distance friendship would be more difficult for them.
We think Father should go visit there soon, to see the twins.
I even said that now might be a good time since you and Uncle Lev could stay over? ”
She petals with laughter. “He called your father old, did he? He’s funny, and brave.”
He is, I agree internally.
“But do you not wish to go visit as well?”
“Oh, no,” I tell her immediately. “The wedding was difficult. I don’t feel ready to branch out like that again so soon. I like staying here, I like my routine.”
“Hmmm, I understand. It would be better if he visited you instead, would it not?”
“I…don’t know.” I wince, and then correct myself. “I mean, yes. But we haven’t talked about that. Only about our fathers meeting more often.”
“Lev will find it very amusing that you’re trying to set your father up on a playdate with Dante Moretti,” Aunt Irina remarks with a sweet smirk.
I find myself drawn to her excitement, wanting to share in it. “As long as he won’t give away our plan.”
“Of course he won’t,” she vows seriously. “A husband must share his wife’s confidence. Your uncle is quite good at keeping my secrets.”
“Do you have many secrets, tetya?”
“Only enough to keep life interesting, my girl.” She giggles, placing her index finger over her lips and winking conspiratorially.
I meet her laugh with one of my own and enjoy her playful personality coming to the surface. I’d almost forgotten just how spirited she can be.
“I think it would be nice if he traveled to see you,” my aunt suddenly adds. “We could show him how different things are in the west. Perhaps he’d like it more than his gloomy Philadelphia.”
“I wouldn’t be able to show him much of it,” I reply with a sad lift of my shoulders. “He’d probably be bored, confined to one house.”
Aunt Irina pretends to be offended, making a show of gasping. “This is quite a lovely house to become bored of. There are many things to do.”
Well…she isn’t wrong about that.
“And besides, you’re doing so well, my solnyshka. You will want to venture past these walls sooner than you might think. You are braver than you give yourself credit for. I see it in you, and soon, you’ll see it too.”
My throat grows tight and thick with emotion. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so.”
Aunt Irina extends her arm out, her French-manicured fingers stopping mid-air, giving me the option to make contact. I don’t fear her touch, so no part of me protests when I allow her to grasp my hand in hers.
She squeezes me gently and smiles. “Any time you want to try and leave the house, even just to go for a walk on the beach, or for a car ride, I’m only a call away.
We’ll surround you with more power than kings and queens roam around with.
And if you grow to feel safer with your Matteo than any other, I will fly to that dreary city and bring him to you myself. ”
A startled wet laugh leaves me, and I use my free hand to brush away tears on my cheeks that I hadn’t realized fell.
“You know they live outside of the city, don’t you?
Father says they live in a house bigger than our own, almost all of them together in that palace of a place.
I think that it’s likely not very dreary. ”
Aunt Irina makes a dismissive sound and shrugs with a sassy bop of her shoulders. “All the same, it’s no match for California beauty. And we have something they do not. Gorgeous Morozova ladies. There are only a few of us, but we’re our very own brand of goddesses, are we not?”
She certainly is.
“I’ve missed you,” I say tearfully, rather than answering her question. “I’m sorry that I haven’t asked to spend time with you sooner. I wanted to. I just didn’t know how—”
“None of that, my lovely girl,” she hushes me, squeezing my hand once more. “You have nothing to apologize for. I understand more than you know about needing space to heal and figuring out how to operate afterward. We’re together now, and nothing else matters.”
The weight of the sincere words feels like a warm hug.
“Do you want to stay longer?”
“I’d like nothing more.” Irina grins. “Perhaps if I stay long enough, your Matteo will call and I’ll get to meet him.”
“As long as you don’t call him my Matteo to his face.”
She mimes zipping her lips and when we stand up, I wrap her into a long overdue embrace. By the time I let her go, both of our faces are wet and not from sweat.
“I think we’ve earned a snack, don’t you? What’s on the menu today?”
It’s Wednesday, so: “Apple slices with almond butter. You can have something else, though. If you want.”
“Are you kidding? Sounds delicious. Uncle Lev always steals my almond butter for his fruit bowls in the morning. We’ll have to refuse to share with him or he’ll eat it all.”
Laughing, I nod in agreement. “Deal.”