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Our eyes meet. Yulia’s reflect all the love and joy of the moment. “Tetya Sophia, just a tiny bit of ice cream for her? Please?” she implores with that mischievous glint I’ve come to know so well.
“I don’t know about that,” I reply, a playful hesitation in my voice as I glance back at my husband for some parental backup. But when I meet Luka’s eyes, he grins conspiratorially and gives Yulia a subtle nod, signaling his approval.
“Hey…” I feign protest, raising an eyebrow in mock annoyance.
Yulia giggles, coming closer with puppy eyes. “Come on, Tetya Sophia. Just a teensy bit? It’s a beach day and my birthday. It’s practically a rule to have ice cream.”
Luka chuckles. “She’s got a point, solnyshko.”
I roll my eyes playfully, a smile creeping on my lips. “Alright, alright, but just a little; a little spoon, okay? And no sugary toppings.”
Yulia throws her hands in the air in victory, pulling Natalya into a celebratory dance. “See, ‘Talya? Tetya Yulya always wins!”
“What are you guys doing?” In bursts Yulia’s friend, Kalea. With hair that screams “I surf before school” and a tan that could put any sunbather to shame, she’s the poster child for Hawaiian charm. “Ta-da!” She dramatically presents a seashell to Yulia as if it’s a golden trophy. With that flair for the dramatic, it’s clear why Yulia’s taken such a shine to her.
“That’s beautiful!” Yulia exclaims, her fingers tracing the spiral patterns. She then gently places it in Natalya’s grasp, teaching her the words “Sea…Shell.”
“Malyška!” A deep voice rings out from nearby. I instinctively rise to my feet, glancing toward the source. Luka soon stands beside me, towering protectively. His arm wraps around my waist while he cradles little Natalya securely in his other arm.
Yulia’s eyes light up with recognition and excitement. “Dima! Erik!” she exclaims, hurrying over to them.
Erik, ever the jovial one, engulfs Yulia in a big bear hug while Dima, holding a festively wrapped package, offers a warm smile.
“Spasibo, Dima!” Yulia says, accepting her gift with a grin.
Dimitri, with a warm chuckle, murmurs, “S dnyom rozhdeniya,” before leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on Yulia’s cheek as he wishes her a heartfelt “Happy Birthday.” “Though I must admit, Erik chose the wrapping paper.”
Erik defends his choice, “Come on! Who doesn’t love neon flamingos?”
“Neon flamingos are my favorite!” Yulia exclaims, dotting a kiss on Erik’s cheek. Dressed in yet another of his impeccable suits, he looks every bit the runway model. “Little sunshine,” she says, placing a soft kiss on Natalya’s tiny forehead, “Tetya Yulia’s off to fetch the best ice cream for you. Wait here.”
Natalya, eyes sparkling with curiosity and delight, tries to respond. “Ish…creem?” Her attempt is adorably imperfect, her voice filled with the charming hesitancy of an 18-month-old navigating new words.
I can’t help but chuckle. “She’s trying,” I comment, looking over at Luka, who has a big smile plastered across his face.
With a playful nod and an energetic air, Yulia dashes toward a distant vendor, Max, bounding happily by her side.
Luka, watching the duo run off and suppressing his laughter, turns to his guests, “How was the flight?”
“Fantastic.” Erik reaches out to stroke little Natalya’s cheek, drawing her attention.
However, she instantly recoils at the unfamiliar touch, babbling, “Da-da da da da,” and hides her face in Luka’s chest, her tiny fingers clutching his shirt for comfort.
“Don’t scare her,” Luka teases, adjusting Natalya in his arms to shield her a bit more.
“Prostite,” Erik apologizes with a playful roll of his eyes, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I was just trying to be friendly. Maybe I should’ve brought a puppet or something.”
Dimitri leans in, wiggling his fingers playfully in a “come hither” gesture, attempting to coax a giggle from Natalya.
But she just peeks out from her hidey-hole, eyes big and round, then gives him a toothy, mischievous grin and blows a raspberry at him, causing the group to burst into hearty laughter.
“Seems like she’s got a bit of her mother’s spirit,” Dimitri observes with a mock sigh, rubbing his chin as though deeply contemplating the meaning behind that raspberry.
Erik reveals his own larger, somewhat clumsily wrapped gift. “Had some business back home, but there was no way we’d miss this. The Windy City’s got nothing on a beach birthday bash.”
I eye the haphazardly wrapped package. “Erik, did you wrap that yourself, or did a raccoon have a go at it?”
Erik, chuckling at my expression, shifts his gaze to Luka, “Seems like family life suits you well, big guy. The last time I checked, weren’t you chasing after trouble?”
