21. Nona
NONA
Alex was already gone when I woke up this morning. After waking up in his arms for all this time, the bed felt so cold without him. I guess that’s the topper to last night’s revelation.
If he had offered me my freedom weeks ago, I might’ve jumped at it. Now, all I can think about are all the reasons I should want my freedom and why it’s silly for me to think that this was going to end any other way. This is the kindest way that he could ever release me.
I’m up and dressed, standing in the bathroom as I run a comb through my hair.
It looks shinier and a little more coppery in this light.
Or maybe it’s my hormones. I’ve read that pregnant women glow or something like that.
I always thought that meant that you would suddenly be so beautiful that you’d be as bright and terrible as the sun.
But when I look at myself, all I see is me with shiny red hair. My freckles are still there. My skin is still as soft and white as cream. And my eyes are still green. I’m still me.
And when this is all over and my father is presumably dead, then I’ll be me somewhere without Alex.
My hand goes to my stomach, where this little life is growing inside me.
What am I going to tell you about him when you get here, little one?
I don’t even know if I’m going to tell him at all.
I don’t know if he wants children or if he even likes them.
Bratva men aren’t exactly known for their reputation as good fathers.
I’ve acquired quite a few bruises over the years to prove that.
I guess I’d better get some breakfast. I’m not particularly hungry, but it’s probably not a good idea to skip it. I’m eating for two now and all that.
As I leave my bedroom, I become immediately aware that the house is not as empty as it usually is.
I can hear footsteps on the wood floors under me and the sounds of conversation muffled behind walls.
I walk to the staircase and look down just to see two of Alex’s men walking through the foyer with cups of coffee in hand.
Judging from the smell coming from the kitchen, someone’s made a fresh pot.
I have a latent memory from when I was a little girl of my house being like this.
Full of men walking around, speaking in Russian about things that I had no concept of.
The mixed smells of cologne, hairspray, and sweat.
I never knew what was happening, but I knew that whatever it was, it was important.
I’m getting that feeling now as I walk down the stairs, only this time, I’ve got a little more information than I did back then.
Now I know what it means when the Bratva fortifies its heart.
This is the home of the new Pakhan. If he falls, if any of his close loved ones fall, then cracks will form and he can be conquered.
I suppose I should be grateful that he didn’t ask me to leave now. He could have done that and I doubt anyone would have blinked an eye.
The kitchen is empty when I enter it, so I toast myself a bagel and make my way back to the stairs.
I thought for a moment about sitting on the back stoop just to get a little sun.
There is high fencing around the small yard, so I imagine it’s probably safe from snipers.
Maybe. I probably shouldn’t take that chance.
As I walk down the hall, I pass the gaming room and hear the television. Two women are arguing and cursing loudly. Portions of their words are bleeped out every few seconds.
It makes me slow down and peek in with curiosity. It sounds like a reality show or maybe a soap opera, something I know neither Alex nor any of his brothers would be into… At least not openly.
The television is on. The women on the screen have resorted to throwing things at one another while cursing loudly. On the couch, I can only see the back of the viewer’s jet black hair.
It’s Yeva. She’s slumped down almost entirely on the couch and I can only really see the topmost part of the back of her head, but it’s her. I walk in, clearing my throat. She turns and looks over the back of the couch.
“Morning,” she says and turns back around.
I walk around the couch to see her sitting there in an old band T-shirt and gym shorts, candy wrappers surrounding her and an empty bowl of popcorn seeds on the coffee table.
She’s got a half eaten box of cookies on her lap with the crumbs littering her shorts.
“Yeva,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“Lockdown,” she says. “Haven’t you heard?”
“No, I mean, what are you doing in here watching reality shows and…” I pause as I look over the mess around her. She glances up at me and gestures over it all.
“Behold,” she says. “Sloth in its natural habitat. If you take a photo, you could probably sell it as art.”
She chuckles, and that makes me follow suit. I sit down on the arm of the couch. “Have you been here all night?”
She nods. “I’ve always hated lockdowns,” she says.
“Always. Even when I was a little kid. It’s like being grounded when you haven’t done anything wrong.
” She grabs a cookie out of the box and takes a bite.
“Only it’s worse now that I understand what it is.
I had plans this week. When I was a teenager, that would hardly stop me.
I’d sneak out of windows in the middle of the night, steal Dad’s car.
It got so that he eventually started nailing my bedroom window shut and locking me in my room at night.
” She laughs and shakes her head slowly.
“I miss my youth. You know, I decided to take a gap year.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”
She nodded as she finished chewing. “After Dad died, I really didn’t see the point of going back to school just yet.” She sucked her teeth. “Should have gone to Ibiza. Maybe if I had, all this wouldn’t have happened.”
“How do you figure that?”
She pauses, her fingers gently touching the cookies as they sit in the little plastic tray.
“Ever hear of the butterfly effect? The wings of a butterfly flapping in America can cause a typhoon in Japan… or something like that?” I blink dumbly.
She rolls her eyes. “Every little action we take changes the course of history. If I’d gone to Ibiza, Dad would have sent Alex or Rikki or one of his other goons after me.
And if they’re there chasing me around Greece, then they’re not dealing with this mess.
Imagine if it was Gedeon who he sent. Or even if he came himself.
” She reaches for the half-empty bottle of beer at her feet and takes a swig.
“He might still be alive. Maybe if Alex came, you wouldn’t have had to marry him for this fake fucking peace treaty. ”
I didn’t pick up the smell of beer before now. Nor did I notice her bloodshot eyes and sallow skin. She’s completely smashed. “Have you been up all night drinking, Yeva?”
“So what if I have? It’s not like I have to drive anywhere. And nobody’s going to try and stop me.”
That was a valid point. Even if I had the balls to try, I don’t think I would. If I weren’t pregnant, I’d go get a beer myself and join her on the couch.
“And the worst thing?” she goes on. “The absolute worst thing is that I met a guy. A really nice one. Nice hair, nice ass… We were supposed to go on our third date last night. Canceling sucked, but telling him I didn’t know when he’d be able to see me again sucked even more.
Guess that means we’re split up.” She looks over at me, her tired and dulled blue eyes looking me up and down.
“At least you’ve got Alex,” she says. “For better or worse or whatever. I mean, it might not have started off like a real marriage, but you two seem to be getting along…” She trials off, and I realize that she’s looking at me, studying my face. “You are getting along, still?”
I sigh. I probably shouldn’t tell her any of this. I should just tell her that everything’s fine and leave her to wallow in her own caged bird depression. I need someone to talk to, though. I can’t just keep this awful feeling bottled up.
“Last night, he told me that I’m free to go,” I say to her. “After all this is over, I, uh, apparently don’t have to be married to him anymore.”
She sits up slowly as she continues to read my expression. “And that isn’t good news… is it?”
My eyes start to burn and I shake my head.
I clear my throat, trying to push back the tears.
“You know what’s weird is that before all this, I wasn’t even thinking about marriage.
I mean… I wasn’t really thinking about anything.
I had, maybe, a year left of school, and I still hadn’t settled on a major.
I couldn’t even imagine what was next after I graduated.
” Saying that out loud sounds so much sadder than it sounded in my head.
I sit with that for a second, then I say, “I guess I thought I’d just go back to my dad’s house and to my old life.
Even after he told me about this arrangement, I thought, ‘Okay, I’ll do this, then eventually when our Bratvas are solidly in peace, I’ll just come back home. ’ Isn’t that crazy?”
She shrugs. “I can’t judge you. I’m supposed to be at least part of the way through my master’s program and I’ve been spending too much time partying instead.”
“You’re going for your master's?” She nods. “In what?”
“Don’t laugh. You have to promise not to laugh.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
She sighs and says, “Librarianship.”
I have to cover my mouth to keep from giggling out loud. She rolls her eyes.
“Thanks for that.”
“I’m sorry, but… Librarianship? You?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” she asks, taking another swig of beer.
“The funny thing is that I didn’t even want to go to college at first. The only reason I went in the first place was because my father insisted that I learn business and finance and all that.
Guess he wanted to make sure I didn’t blow my trust fund… or my inheritance. Whatever.”
She looks back down at her pack of cookies for a moment, then she pats the couch next to her. “Come on. I’ve heard misery loves company.”
I sit down next to her and she offers me a cookie.
I take it, the bagel I’d been holding onto forgotten on the coffee table.
We watch the reality show for a few minutes.
The two girls who were fighting a few minutes ago are now sitting and talking at a table on the balcony of some fancy, sunny place.
I can see palm trees and blue skies in the background.
“What was his name?” I ask Yeva. She glances over at me.
“What?”
“The guy you were supposed to meet up with. What was his name?”
“Martin,” she says. “Martin Hamilton Mitchell.” I arch an eyebrow and look at her. She sighs and says, “Yeah, I know. Not exactly our kind. He’s an intern with a stockbroker company in Astoria. He drives a nice car and has a nice apartment. He’s even got a nice, appropriately sized dick.”
I snort a laugh. “He sounds like a decent guy.”
“Right. Unlike the thugs we grew up around.” She looks down at her remaining cookies, her smile fading.
“He’s also boring as fuck. He’s like… Bert.
You know, from Bert and Ernie? He likes his whole wheat toast and bran flakes and chardonnay with dinner.
He doesn’t like spicy food and only drinks socially.
He’s smart with his money and his life is… stable. Nice and stable and boring.”
She eats another cookie, chewing as she blindly watches the action on the television screen.
“But boring… is what I need, I think,” she says.
“People with boring lives don’t die in shootouts.
They don’t get beaten to death when they’re eight months pregnant because of whatever shady shit their husband does.
They don’t have worry about their entire family line getting completely wiped out because one of them pissed somebody off.
” She sucks her teeth again, her brow furrowing.
“A boring life means you’re safe. And your children are safe.
And their children are safe… You’re safe.
You live a long, boring ass life and die smelling of piss in some hospital room somewhere around eighty.
Not bleeding to death in your son’s arms in your sixties. ”
There’s an aura of deep, immense sadness around her. Something that feels dark and long shattered and ground up into powder. She’s mourning her father still, but it’s more than that. I think Yeva’s been in mourning her entire life.
And I can’t help but wonder if this is what will happen to me eventually. Is this what a future looks like if I don’t leave while I can? Or what it could look like for this baby if its father dies? Or if I die because of who he is?
I take one of the cookies and munch on it as we watch the television.
My mind is a million miles away, playing out a scenario where Alex and I stay together and I have this baby.
Even if we’re happy, what about the rest?
There will always be enemies. There will always be deals going wrong.
Someone is always going to be killed and Alex will no doubt be called to avenge a death.
This lockdown we’re in isn’t even unusual. It’s just another day in the Bratva. It’s the life, as they all say.
But is it my life… ?
And then there’s the matter of him rejecting this pregnancy altogether. I don’t think I could take it if he decided that he can’t accept this baby. Having to raise it alone will be bad enough. Having to one day tell him or her that their father didn’t want them…
“Maybe,” I say aloud, “Bert’s got it all figured out. Maybe having a boring existence is the goal.”
She reaches down to get her beer, taking a drink from it.
“Hear, hear, sister. Fuck ‘the life’ or whatever this is supposed to be. When the lockdown is over, I’m going to find Martin Hamilton Mitchell and I’m going to marry him.
I’m going to marry him and we’ll have a bunch of boring kids.
Two boys and a girl—no. Two girls and a boy.
And we’ll name them Susan, Karen, and… and John.
Three boring children with nice, boring names. ”
She laughs, and then I can’t help but laugh with her. When it dies down, she says, “Imagine. Me with an average guy and his average dick for the next sixty years. I think I’d go crazy.”
“Maybe,” I say aloud. But you’ll be safe and alive. That’s what I should be thinking about now. All the intense feelings in the world aren’t worth this madness in the end. This baby deserves at least one parent who will be there with them throughout their life.
Alex was right. I deserve my freedom. And I think I’m going to take it.