Then, Jessie the therapist’s words echo in my mind.
You look…lonely.
She’s right; I must be that desperate for human company. For…malecompany.
A giggle sounds behind us. The rest of the girls staring us down certainly are.
Not like I can blame them. It’s rare to get a visitor who isn’t a tight-lipped mother or stony-faced father. The few boyfriends that do drop in are nothing like this. Nothing like…
I must be staring, because Moroslav’s black-brown eyes drift to the nearest window.
“A hard winter we’re having,” he says, nodding to the sludgy snow and leaden sky outside. “Reminds me of home.” He chuckles.
“I…bet,” I say, tentative. His hands are folded on the table, like he wants to obey all the rules, and he’s leaning in just enough to make me grip the sides of my chair a little harder. “Surely you didn’t…come here to talk about the weather,” I venture.
“Ah! No. I am so rude. Here.” He pushes something across the table—a package, I see,
“Not just these. An apology.” He ducks his head again. “Miss Gwenna. What I said to you, so many weeks ago—it was wrong.”
Thump.I startle in my seat, and look back at the door to the dayroom to see Miri with one hand flat against the glass, the other pumping back and forth in a mimed jerk-off gesture. I cringe a little, even as a counselor bustles over to shoo her away.
“Sorry,” I say, not sure why it’s my fault but feeling the impulse to apologize nevertheless. “It’s…you were saying?”
“No worries.” Moroslav smiles, and it brings just enough warmth to his features to make me relax. “I should not have said it to you. I was angry to lose the match. I lost my temper, and…”
Abruptly, he pulls back, swipes through the air like he’s starting fresh.
“No, no. I misspeak. That is not all.” He bites his lip and looks at me. “I pride myself that I do not speak like that to women. And yet here, with you, I have. I cannot forgive myself, still.”
I blink, trying to process the…everything of what he’s just said. It’s not that I don’t believe that he’s sorry. I do, I think. It’s more that…he’s thought about this a lot, from the sounds of it. Probably more than I have, given everythingelsethat went on to happen to me that night. Something about this, him,here, feels…disproportionate.
“So you track me down here just to say you’re sorry?”
Another smile. This one broader. “Believe it or not, we care a great deal for women. Especially ones like yourself.” The faintest flush spreads over his cheeks, and he breaks his gaze with me. Like he needs to compose himself.
And I can’t help it; I blush a little too.
“Here.” Moroslav snaps back to sitting straight, opens the package, and pushes it another inch towards me. “You try some, yes? Forgive me, but…the food here cannot be so good as you’d like.”
He isn’t wrong. And, peering inside the metal tin, the plump little kulichi look extraordinarily tempting, butter-yellow in the center with fluted edges and some kind of intricate design pressed into the top.
No, not a design.
I frown.
Letters.
IC XC
NIKA.
Could be Cyrillic. But…no, that’s Greek. Something to the effect ofJesus Christ conquers.
Moroslav looks up from the breads to me, his brows slightly drawn. Then he relaxes, lips parting in realization.
“Ah, yes. Traditionally forPascha—Easter. So…” He shrugs. “But I did not want to wait so long to bring to you.” With that, he reaches into the tin and pulls out akulich,which he breaks in two and hands one half to me. “Za zdoróvye zemlí.” He lifts his half in a toast and takes a bite. “See? No poison.” He swallows, and draws a cross over his chest with two fingers. “Swear to God.”
I hadn’t even considered that itwouldbe poisoned. But now I suppose it’s…definitely not.
