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Ilya peers over at my stomach suspiciously like he expects something to explode out of it at any second. “Mom says you’re going to have two babies.”
I smile and tap my belly twice. “Looks like it.”
We’re spread out on a soft beach blanket laid out on the grass. An ancient oak tree casts most of the yard in shade. At first, I didn’t want to leave the safety of Nessa’s house. The walls shielded me. If there is one person in this world I expect to be able to keep Misha at bay, it is his mother.
But I can’t hide forever. Nor do I want to. It’s a beautiful day, and I’m doing my best to enjoy it.
“Are you scared?” Ilya asks.
I wince and laugh at the same time. Kids have a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. “A little,” I admit, reaching for my glass of lemonade. “But I’m more excited than anything else. I can’t wait to be a mother.”
Every time I say the word, I feel a piercing sense of dread. It has nothing to do with motherhood specifically. It has way more to do with who I’m going to share the experience with.
“So these babies will be my cousins?”
“That’s right!”
He smiles. “That’s cool.”
Living with Nessa, Nikita, and Cyrille has opened my eyes to their unique world—to the world that I’m expected to inhabit soon. Some of what I’ve found has surprised me.
I’ve discovered that all three women are involved in various charities and organizations. They’re not just figure heads, either; they actually do a lot of the work. It’s as inspiring as it is intimidating. I’ve watched them take board meetings via webcam, and their grace is enough to make your jaw drop. The men and women who work with them fawn over their every word and gesture.
I have no idea how to run the show the way that these women do. I don’t have any natural authority or charisma. I don’t know how to work a room or win over a crowd.
When it’s just the four of us in a room, I do feel a sense of belonging. But it’s not strong enough to eclipse the feelings of inadequacy that grip me whenever it’s just me and the mirror.
I shouldn’t have expected anything different to come out of that godforsaken trailer park.
“Paige?”
Ilya’s face comes back into focus. “Are you okay? You looked really sad.”
I force a smile onto my face. “No… No, I'm okay.”
He nods dubiously. “You just looked the way Mom looks when she misses Papa.”
Goosebumps erupt across my skin. I’ve been working so hard at trying to hate Misha, but the overwhelming takeaway from those attempts is that I miss him far more than I hate him.
But his words from the hospital keep running through my head over and over again. They feed into this insecurity I’ve had since I was a kid. The realization that some people were always going to define me by the things I couldn’t control.
My birth. My parents. My home.
I shouldn’t have expected anything different to come out of that godforsaken trailer park.
“I like your necklace,” Ilya observes.
I look down at the metal that I’m unconsciously twisting around between my fingers. “Thank you. My friend made it for me.”
“Really?”
I nod. “She was really talented. We shared it for a while, but she eventually let me have it.”
I expect to feel more attached to the memory, but strangely, I just feel numb. Maybe it’s easier to pretend not to feel things than to admit just how much you do.
“Why?” Ilya asks.
“She said that I needed it more than she did. And she wanted me to know that she was always with me.”
