Page 151 of Oh, Flutz!

I take the flowers.Crocuses. “You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered. I have yet to develop dementia. Sharp as a pin,” he says, tapping at his temple with eyebrows raised, as if daring us to say otherwise. “It’s all the crosswords. Well, that and the water aerobics. Isn’t that right, Mikhail?”

Misha doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes, of course.”

My mother rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Good lord. Let’s get you out of here before someone calls the cops on you, old man.” She takes him by the arm, ignoring his huffing and puffing. I have to stifle another bout of laughter seeing her scold him like she would a rowdy toddler. “Anyway. Katya,lyubimiy, we must go to the hotel. We got the front desk to hold our bags, but only temporarily.”

Dedushka rolls his eyes. “That poor bellhop. Your mother packed her entire closet for a single trip.”

“Says the one who packed his entire bookshelf,” Mama counters, before winking at me. “We’ll be here all week. You’re going to be quite sick of us by the time we leave.”

Not a chance.

Mama hugs me again, the scent of violets everywhere, then turns to Bryan, who’s been awkwardly watching. “Don’t think you were getting away from me,mal’chik. I have yet to forget about you.”

I turn to him, watching confusion and surprise flick across his face before he tries to clamp down the excitement. “Oh, um, thank you—” He’s cut off by my mother tackling him, and I hide a smile.

“You’re scaring the boy, Lyudmila, let him breathe,” Dedushka says, trying not to laugh, and she begrudgingly lets go. Bryan’s redder than a fire engine, but he can’t hide how happy that just made him.

Mama takes both our hands. “So proud of you,” she repeats. I blow her a kiss as she and my grandfather turn and walk away, chattering in Russian.

“I love your mom,” Bryan blurts out, still blushing, and I bump his shoulder.

“I can agree with you on that one.”

Mikhail hasn’t gone with them. Bryan glances between us, then back at me. “I’m gonna go over there,” he says, motioning to the others.Bless him.

“What is it?” I ask Mikhail finally after he’s gone, switching to Russian. Right now he’s looking like a guilty eight-year-old, shuffling with his hands in his pockets.

“I need to apologize, Katya. I’m sorry I let all of that happen.” He doesn’t need to explain what he means.

Bryan stiffens in the corner of my eye, even though he doesn’t turn around. Even if he doesn’t understand anything we’re saying, I’m sure he gets the gist of it, and he’s so protective, it makes me ludicrously grateful for him. I was expecting Misha to say something, so it doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Still, the reminder comes like someone pressing on a bruise—and yet I can hardly hold it against him.

I sigh. “It’s not your fault, Mikhail, really. You did what you could.”

He shakes his head. “There isn’t a defense for it. I could’ve called it out, and I didn’t, and I could’ve left, and I didn’t.” He takes a breath. “So I’m doing it now.”

What? “You’re…leaving Tatyana?”

“It’s time. Long overdue, actually.”

“But—” My mind rushes through all the reasons he can’t leave before it finally screeches to a halt. No. This is good. This isgreat. He’s been subject to Tatyana for far too long. “Wait, that’s amazing, but where are you going to go? To Osipov? Savchenko? Vasiliev? Not Smirnova.”

Mikhail actually scoffs, the pretentious little shit. “Of course not Smirnova. I have standards.”

I’m trying to wrack my brain for anyone else. “Who, then? Unless…” I trail off, and he starts grinning. “Are you starting your own camp?”

He glances over at Lian, who fights a smile, and his grin grows even bigger. “Not exactly.”

I stare at them, my eyes flicking back and forth. If he’s pulling my leg, I’m going to kill him. “Are you serious?”

“Nyet, Katyusha, I’m lying. What kind of question is that?”

I smack him automatically, before it finally sinks in thatoh my god this is really happening, and I start shrieking at the top of my lungs and tackle him with a hug. “You jerk! How did you not tell me?”

“I’m telling you now, stupid!” he laughs, spinning me around, and I’m squealing like a little girl.

“You’re coming to New York!”

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