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Now Daddy took care of me; he was saving me. He talked to me about the books I read when I rested my head on his thigh while he worked. Daddy shared memories of learning to cook while he made meokroshkawhich I loved. Then he urged me to share my favorite books while he held me close when rain beat down on the windows.
Daddy’s words flow over me. This wasn’t the life I thought I would have. Not because it’s not what I want, it’s because I never dreamed someone would be willing to give it to me. Daddy wasn’t simply giving me what I want because it’s what I want; it makes him happy too.
I remember the time I had to run to pee while Daddy was on a call. He preferred to work from the couch so I could lie down and rest my head on his thigh, not be on my knees. A small tray that gave him space for his legs appeared on the second day. Unless he pulled the tray close, there was enough room for him to work easily. When I came back, he’d pulled the tray too close for me to fit, so I laid my head on the pillows on the other end of the couch with my feet near his lap instead.
He frowned at me, mouthingwhat? Pointing to the phone. I shrugged, annoyed at him for not understanding. Two seconds later he yanked my feet onto his lap and kept them there until he ended the call. I was spanked for not explaining. He laughed when I told him it was his own fault and I didn’t deserve a spanking. He said I did because he didn’t like not having my head on his lap to pet. All the fear I had Daddy was doing this for me went up in flames. I’m not being clingy, or if I am it’s a good thing, because Daddy is kind of clingy too.
Daddy didn’t let me go for longer than it took for him to cook for us. Even the two times Milos came over, Daddy kept me at his side. He only gave in and switched to speaking Russian. Russian that Daddy was teaching me every day. I’m not happy with how little I’ve learned, but Daddy is proud of me. Milos had raised an eyebrow when I called him Daddy in response to his command. But he hasn’t said much to me beyond hello.
The visit with his mother comes back to me. While Daddy took a call, leaving us alone, I mentioned Daddy talking about Victor making a world where there was no stress for her. If I’m honest, I was certain she would chuckle and say how of course her husband tried. He failed at times and such was life Except she didn’t.
“Yes, Victor created a world of peace for me. Only twice was it disturbed, and both times by family—who most would believe were safe. His brother was as evil as his father and tried to take me from Victor, the same as their father took Gregori’s wife from him. And of course his death, which pained us all. Two failures in more than twenty years, not a bad track record. Even the bad he did, he did to protect me.”
I was shocked at her contentment.
“Oh now, I understand it might sound odd. How is it really when we all live in a bubble of a few people, family, a few places we enjoy? It’s why many feel the need to reach out to others, to see what another person’s world is like. Some people might even become extroverts and roam the world in an attempt to connect with something outside themselves. Not me, my dear. I am by nature a person who is content in the quiet, who does not like loud noises and louder voices. I was content with my husband and my children and our lives. The lone thing Victor didn’t give me was daughters. Now I’m having daughters and happy sons. I look forward to the grandchildren to come.” She winked with a grin.
In that moment she became Mother. Her words were simple, yet they gave me the freedom to embrace my new life. Yes, the life I want is different than the life of many women, like what Presley had with her husband. I wouldn’t be happy with the life she had with her husband. She complained often he worked twelve-hour days and rarely spent more than an hour or two with her in the evening. He believed spending the weekend with her made up for it. However, he often spent weekends running errands and making repairs to their two-flat they bought that was a fixer-upper. At the same time, she wasn’t willing to upset him by demanding more.
While she was content, she wasn’t truly happy within her marriage but didn’t feel free to say it. Despite what it looked like and sometimes even felt like in the moment, Daddy told me often I could tell him anything, even no. We spoke freely with each other to express not just our wants or needs, but everything in between. I wasn’t afraid to say anything to Daddy. My only fear was if I were to hurt his feelings. Even then, Daddy swore it was more important to him I get what I needed—that’s what made him feel better.
Before Daddy, I worried about hunting men down. I came across some of the most horrific images a person could imagine, but they were real. Too often seeing those things reminded me ofhimand the years I was with him—keeping me in that time in my mind.
Now I have a husband who loathes the idea of me doing what I did, not because he didn’t think I should, but because he hated how upset it made me. He said he understood my need to help, but for every ring I broke up, I earned two weeks of no work.
My immediate instinct to argue vanished the second I thought about it. I didn’t like what I did. I did it because it was the right thing to do. As horrific as it was, for every one I took out, another popped up to replace it, just as evil. It was selfish and completely self-indulgent to spend my day lying on the couch with Daddy, reading the day away while he worked or talking about books, watching movies together, him showing me how he cooked. Not showing me how to cook because that wasn’t an option—it was so I could be with him while he cooked. As if I’d be anywhere else.
I give up and get out of bed. I’m not really tired. I check the clock, it’s been more than two hours. Unease increases within me—I miss him. In an effort to take my mind off his absence, I go into the television room, but nothing catches my attention. All I can think is I can’t watch episodes without him or he’ll be annoyed he missed watching with me. It didn’t matter he couldn’t care less about the show, he wanted to know what I liked. He wanted to know about everything that interested me, so we could talk about it if I wanted. Presley admitted one of the reasons the show we watched together was a comfort show for her was because she and her husband watched it together when it first came out, so they had the same shorthand and points of reference. She found it a link to their past as a couple. They hadn’t watched a new show together in years.
Why would I give up the way Daddy loves and takes care of me for anything else?
The hours crawl by. I manage to roam over every inch of the huge house twice before Daddy finally comes home. I’m down the hall when the front door opens. I stop as I watch him scan the rooms, looking for me. He calls my name twice, before I go further down the hallway. He sees me, and the smile that appears across his face goes straight to my chest. He’s so happy, his eyes flare bright gold.
He catches me tight. “Miss me?” he teases.
Hugging him, the scent stops me. It isn't just the scent of smoke, it's the scent of a perfume. A woman's perfume. “Daddy?” It's a question I can't ask.
He pulls back and looks down at me. “Sweetheart?”
The hand cupping my cheek is so gentle I swear I almost swallow my fear, except it’s too late, Daddy feels the fear clinging to me. “A woman's perfume.” I’m not sure the words are loud enough for him to hear.
Of course he hears, a dark frown appears. “You really think I would touch another woman after I've touched you?”
Shaking his head, he lets me go. I feel lost at sea, cut loose of my mooring. Taking his phone from his pocket, he presses a button. I hear a woman answer. The greeting is in Russian. “My wife would like to speak with you as well,” he says in English.
I don't know what the woman says. He ends the call, his eyes run over me. “Come along.”
He turns and walks away. I follow at a near run. I want to tell him I'm sorry. I want to beg him to tell me that my fears are baseless. I can't say anything.
The drive takes forever, with every mile my stomach is twisting. As awful as the last few hours were, the drive with him close yet not touching me because he’s angry with me is painful. When we arrive in front of the building, my stomach clenches so tight I can’t hide my gasp of pain.
When he opens my door he sees my hesitation, an eyebrow goes up. “I always told you it's your decision. Do you want to know or not?”
I slide out of the car, noticing he doesn't offer me his hand. Something he’s never not done before.
His anger builds with every step we take. Once we're in the elevator the tension is so high I can barely breathe. The elevator doors open to a woman waiting outside the door of her apartment, surprised but curious. She's beautiful, stunning. She's wearing a long, silk white robe tied tightly around her. Her hair's perfection, and she's exactly what I always thought Daddy belonged with.
She looks like something out of a 1950s movie, down to the blonde hair and blue eyes. Those blue eyes aren't like mine, I have a feeling she knows every thought in my head. She doesn't offer me her hand. With a nod she gestures to the long white silk couch.
