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“We’re only getting to know each other.” She clears her throat. “In fact, he’d very much like to meet you and Alex when you come for Christmas.”
I take a deep breath. “About that… We may not be back before Christmas after all.”
There’s a moment of silence on the line. “That’s a long break from work you’re taking, honey,” Mom says finally. “Is something wrong?”
Crossing my fingers, I say, “Not at all. Alex is just very busy with some projects here, and I don’t want to return to New York on my own.”
“Ah. Well, don’t worry about it, honey. I completely understand, although I was looking forward to seeing my future son-in-law.”
I cringe. “Mom.”
“He’s serious about you, Katie. Anyone can see that.”
“Do you need anything?” I ask, eager to change the subject. “Snacks? Toiletries? I can arrange for an internet delivery.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I have everything I need.”
“Okay. Let me know if—” I catch myself. “Send a text message to Alex if you’re running short on something.”
“Will do. I miss you, honey.”
I swallow down an untimely sob. “Miss you too, Mom.”
Before she can hear the emotions tearing up my chest, I hang up.
As the days march on and Christmas approaches, I feel increasingly homesick. No matter what I’m doing, my mind often drifts off to nostalgic memories of the holiday. On Christmas Eve, my mom and I would take a taxi to Manhattan. We’d brave the cold to admire the Christmas lights and the giant tree at Rockefeller Center before having a special dinner at home and exchanging gifts.
Fortunately, the winter holiday spirit isn’t lacking in Alex’s house, even though I’ve learned that Russians celebrate Christmas on January 7th, as per the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Since that’s considered a purely religious holiday, a lot of the Christmas traditions I’m familiar with—the tree, the gifts, the decorations—are instead part of the New Year’s celebration in Russia. Thus, the cookies Tima has been baking, the ones that fill the kitchen with the aromas of cinnamon, raisins, and vanilla, are for the New Year’s celebration, not Christmas. So is the tree with delicate glass ornaments that Lena has put up in the foyer, as well as the pine branches and red ribbons she’s tied around the balustrades. The pantry is stocked with cured meats and pickled fish for the men’s New Year’s Eve party rather than for Christmas lunch. Decorations have also gone up in the street, but they’re not visible from Alex’s bedroom windows. I have to climb up to the top floor to get a peek at the fairy lights that span across the road along the river. The lights aren’t colorful, like the ones back home, but white, depicting snowflakes, Christmas trees, and reindeer.
Not wanting to add to Alex’s problems by burdening him with my depressive mood, I keep my feelings to myself. I can’t say he’s not accommodating. He lets me speak to Joanne, June, and my mom on the phone every week. It helps, but I still miss them. I can’t shake this weird sense of sadness.
It’s not that I’m bored. There’s plenty to occupy me in the house, and Alex’s guards keep me busy. More often than not, their ailments are minor, but I welcome the visits. It provides me with human contact, even if our different languages don’t always permit communication. Sadly, my Russian isn’t improving much. I asked Tima to teach me a few words, but with all the conjugations and male or female nouns, the language is much more difficult to master than I imagined. I try to stay positive, but even the walls of a palace can get to be too much after several weeks.
Alex is late for dinner almost every night. He’s a workaholic, but he’s also putting a big effort into finding the man who’s threatening his life. He refuses to tell me much, always answering my questions with vague answers. Since he’s also focusing a lot of his attention on preparing for the gala dinner, I don’t bother him with selfish requests to go outside. We’ll attend the ball soon enough.
In the meantime, I content myself with walks in the garden. At first, the heavily armed men unsettled me. Their weapons made me nervous. With time, I got used to the guns. The automatic rifles slung over their shoulders don’t shock me as much as they did initially.
Three days before the party, a team of people arrive first thing in the morning for a dress fitting as well as a makeup and hairdressing trial. To my dismay, Lena is present to act as translator, her condescending smile never slipping.
The dressmaker, a middle-aged woman with exotic features, shows me three evening gowns to choose from. The first is white and figure-hugging with diamante detail, and the second is a red dress with a low back and wide skirt. Both are gorgeous, but the third is my favorite. The cut is simple. The skirt is long with a slit on the side that ends just above the knee, and the sleeves are off-shoulder. The pale pink fabric has a beautiful pearly shine. Crystal beads have been sewn onto the bodice, artfully creating delicate flowers.
