Page 98 of Mayflower

Raven looks at me. “Maybe we won’t tell him,” he teases.

I smile. “No?”

Raven shakes his head. “He is busy. Maybe some other time.”

“Yeah. Next time we talk,” I play along as we look at each other but not at the screen.

“Okay, you two, what is going on? I am pressed for time. What is number three, and what is with all this circus? You do not tell me, I fly to Zion tomorrow.”

“Spare the old man,” Raven says.

Dad’s head snaps at the screen. “Be careful with your words, young man,” he warns, though I know it’s all games because Dad really likes Raven. “Next time I see you, we might want to have a go at the octagon. So I can show you what an old Russian man can do.”

“Not happening,” I snap. “Though he is good,” I murmur to Raven.

Dad is forty-five, but he is in great shape, all six feet of muscles.

Raven smiles to himself. “Considering you will legally have a nine-year old grandson, you are old,” he says.

Dad waves him off.

I grin. “Considering, you are going to be a grandfather again in about seven months, you’d better stay in shape.”

At first, I think the Wi-Fi glitches because my father stares at the camera unblinkingly, his aviators frozen in his hand. He doesn’t move, and his eyes are like those big scary iguanas.

“Dad?” I ask and lean closer. “Did the Wi-Fi cut off or something?” I murmur.

“Oh, he heard you,” Rave says, still smiling at the camera.

My father’s lips move. “Say that again?”

“Like I said, he heard you,” Rave murmurs.

“I’m pregnant,” I say. “Soooo, yeah, you will be a grandfather.”

And that’s the news that, to my dad, beats anything else. It probably beats his success with his oil venture in Venezuela.

He starts nodding and tonguing his cheek, his eyes everywhere but the camera. He fixes his fedora and puts his sunglasses on. I know that he is trying really hard not to smile. In fact, I know he will throw a huge celebration tonight. But he won’t show me how happy he is. Because that’s Dad. That’s great news to any dad. To him? That’s legacy.

“Good,” he finally says. “Great news. Congrats to you two. Two grandsons. Good. Good.”

I squeeze Raven’s hand, because I know he is about to say that we don’t know the baby’s gender yet. But Dad already made up his mind.

“When am I flying in?” he asks.

Raven and I both erupt in laughter.

In a minute, the conversation is over.

Rave’s phone dings with a new message. He rolls his eyes as he reads it, then shows it to me.

It’s a text from my dad.

Aleksei Tsariuk: About damn time. Good job.

At dinner, we talk about my dad, and Raven imitates his sharp Eastern European accent. And he calls him “your old man.”

“He is not too old,” Sonny says.

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