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“Right now you’re not focused. You’re sulking. Someone took away your candy, and now you’re trying to decide if you didn’t want it anyway. Quit acting like a child, and be a man.” She banged the wooden spoon on the side of pot, knocking some of the porridge off of it. She dished out two bowls and set them down at their customary spots at the table. “Eat now before it gets cold.”
Konstantin dried his hands on the towel Baba kept near the sink and sat at the table with her. He took a mouthful of porridge, forgetting for a moment that it would be more savory than sweet. The American version had more sugar in it than one of Baba’s birthday cakes.
Varushka hadn’t made him porridge yet. For some reason that bothered him. Did she even like porridge? They were supposed to have years for him to learn everything about her, and her father was trying to steal that from him.
“This isn’t like a business transaction. I’m too emotionally invested. I don’t know how to negotiate with someone when I feel like this.” Okay, maybe he was sulking, but he had good reason.
Baba boxed his ear, and he winced. “So, what, you’re going to give up? You’re going to let Varushka marry some thick-headed boy from the village who will never appreciate how clever she is? That girl is special, and she deserves better than what she can get here.”
He ate another bite. “I don’t know if I’m good enough for her either. There’s a light in her that I’m afraid I’ll ruin. There are things about me that make me every bit as bad for her as a man from the village, just in a different way. She’s a good girl, Baba. I’m not a good boy.”
She grimaced at him and rolled her eyes, the youthful expression always so incongruous with her wizened face. That’s what happened when little old ladies hung around with teenagers a lot. It was hard to say which one was the worse influence on the other. Baba tended to take teenage girls and turn them into tough, smart, Russian women with big opinions.
“Yes, yes. She’s very sweet. But I think you’re selling Varushka short. If I didn’t think she could handle your preferences and maybe enjoy them herself, I never would have suggested her. I’m old, but I’m not blind.”
Konstantin stared determinedly into his bowl, hoping like hell she wasn’t referring to what it sounded like. There were certain things a man didn’t want his grandmother knowing about him. He thought of Varushka kneeling at his feet, her arms tied behind her back, and trying to undo his zipper with her teeth. He actually blushed under the weight of his grandmother gaze.
“Sex is a very important part of marriage,” she continued. “If I didn’t think she could learn to like what you like it would have been cruel for me to press for the match.”
He choked on the food he was trying to swallow and washed it down with a sip of black coffee. “Baba,” he began reproachfully, realizing after he said her name that he had no idea what to say after that. “What do you . . . What are you talking about?”
“How many times have I stayed at your house? I clean for you when I’m there, and you’re not that careful about what you leave lying around. Probably thought I wouldn’t know what those things were for, didn’t you? I may be an old woman, but your . . . preferences are obvious to people who know about these things.” She waved it off dismissively, as though he was partial to something innocuous like women with curly hair. “You know, when I was a girl, I used to walk out with a young man who—”
“Stop!” He lurched to his feet and slapped his hands over his ears. “Don’t say anything else.”
She rolled her eyes again, laughing. “You young people. You think old people have never had sex? How do you think you got here?”
“Storks. Goddamn storks. Don’t rob me of my childhood delusions.” He sat back down and his grandmother reached over and slapped his face. It didn’t hurt as much as it had when he was a kid. Either his face was getting tougher, or she was getting frailer.
“Don’t you blaspheme, Konstantin. God is always listening.”
“You’re the one talking about having sex before you were married.”
She shrugged her hunched shoulders. “He made sex fun for a reason. I don’t think He minds if we enjoy the things He blessed us with. Just don’t get her pregnant before you marry, or her father will kill you.”
After the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, he wandered the house, wishing he had time to go for a walk. He was full of nervous, sleep-deprived energy. Dreams of Varushka in a million different kinds of trouble had plagued him, and he’d finally given up on sleep after only a couple of hours.
When the knock came he swore under his breath. It was the most important meeting of his life and he knew the other side already hated him. They’d hate him even more if they knew what his baba had figured out about him.
Anatoli Koslov was a stocky man who might have been handsome before time had worn lines into his weathered face. Today he looked like a man who had a hard time finding anything funny. His wife, Lyuda, on the other hand, was like Varushka’s older clone—a quiet woman with the type of creases around her eyes that suggested she smiled a lot. Varushka’s arm was linked through her mother’s when they entered Baba Nina’s kitchen.
Konstantin’s woman glanced up at him, and away again, but not before he saw the relief in her eyes. It stung that she didn’t greet him with a kiss.
The pretty floral sundress Varushka wore brought out the blue in her eyes. It was one he’d bought for her, which brought him more satisfaction than it should have. Even more satisfying was the fact that she still wore her engagement ring. She didn’t regret their relationship, even after they’d been separated for days and her father had told her he was bad news. Her opinion meant everything to him.
Braving her father’s disapproval, he kissed her cheek, both to show her parents that he loved her, and because not kissing her at least that much would have killed him.
After he greeted Varushka, Konstantin shook hands with Lyuda, but Anatoli only glared at him until he withdrew his proffered hand. Not a good start.
He nodded to the man grimly. As the others took their seats, Varushka hesitated, automatically waiting for Konstanin’s permission to sit. She seemed to realize what she’d done, then blushed furiously and dropped into a chair.
As Konstantin took his seat, Lyuda gave him a strained, apologetic smile that implied she didn’t share her husband’s objections to him. He smiled back, hopeful that she might be an ally in this, and that her husband cared what she thought. His gaze strayed back to Varushka. She was staring down at the table, her cheeks as red as her hair. What was his little bird thinking about to make her so embarrassed? He tried to guess, then realized that getting distracted by daydreams about what naughty things she might be thinking was a bad idea.
“So, you don’t think my boy is good enough for Varushka?” Baba asked, her eyes hard. They probably should have discussed tactics before the other side came into the room. It hadn’t been his intention to be confrontational. That approach was hardly going to win him favor.
“You know what my objection is.” Anatoli frowned at her. “When you suggested the match, you omitted the fact that your grandson is a criminal.”
“Anatoli Koslov, if anyone should know that teenage boys get up to mischief sometimes, it should be you.”
