Page 75 of 10 Days to Surrender

I run toward her. Mama’s perfume envelops me—gardenias and home. Her palm cradles my cheek, trembling. “Oh, baby girl,” she murmurs over and over again. “Look at you.Lookat you. I can’t stop looking at you.”

The twins kick.

Or maybe it’s my heart, swollen and raw between us.

Then I step aside. Mama looks over my shoulder and I follow her gaze. Jasmine is still standing where I left her in the garden. Both she and Mama have a hand to their mouth.

Slowly, slowly, Jasmine starts to move toward us. She picks up speed as she goes. Walking and then jogging and then sprinting until she’s flying over the ground and into Mama’s arms.

Their collision is somehow gentle despite its speed. Like two clouds melting together. Mama cradles Jasmine’s head to her shoulder as if she’s afraid she might disappear if she clings too tight.

Same, Mama. Same.

I hang back, one hand cradling my belly as I watch them cry and laugh and touch each other’s faces. The scene feels surreal to me, so I can only imagine what she’s feeling. My mother finding out about both her long-lost daughter and her impending grandchildren in the same breath.

Belle’s palm cups Jasmine’s cheek. “My girl. My brave, beautiful girl.”

Jasmine’s shoulders shake. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I left you?—”

“Hush now.I’m the one who owes you all the sorries in the world. But we’re here now. We’re here, baby. That’s all that matters.”

Jas chokes out a laugh through her tears, her knuckles white where they clutch Mama’s cardigan. Fifteen years apart, and now this. My chest throbs, an ache unfurling that has nothing to do with pregnancy heartburn.

Mama’s pearls catch sunlight when she turns toward me, her smile wobbling. “Ari, sunshine, come here.” She holds my hand and Jasmine’s together as the three of us knit a circle of arms together. Mama grazes my belly with the backs of her knuckles. The touch breaks something loose inside me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I whisper as tears spill down my cheeks.

“Don’t you dare apologize to me, princess. You don’t owe me a single sorry, either. I just want to sit here for a minute with my babies and breathe. Can we do that? Is that okay?”

“Yeah, Mama,” I say through a choked throat.

Jas nods, too.

As she pulls us into a tangled hug, I glance over her shoulder and look at Sasha. He’s leaning against the hood of the car as Zoya pokes and prods his ribs, muttering in Russian. He swats her away, but there’s no heat in it.

Our eyes meet.

He smiles.

Dinner is a time capsule.

Spanakopita crust flakes onto my plate as Kosti serves dish after dish under Belle’s direction, his tattoos absurd against her floral apron. “Remember when you used to burn thetyropita?” Jasmine grins, licking feta off her thumb.

Belle swats her with an oven mitt. “Remember when you set the toaster on fire trying to make Pop-Tarts?”

“That wasone time?—”

Zoya laughs into her wine. Sasha sits back in his chair, face blank but calm. He hasn’t eaten much, but some of the usual storm clouds that live over his head 24/7 seem to have dissipated.

It’s like we’ve all come to an unspoken agreement to keep things light, for tonight at least. Maybe it’s just that there’s been so much heartbreak and suffering over the last six months that it’s crazy to bring it to this dinner table. Even if it’s sticking our head in the sand, even if we’re purposefully being oblivious, it’s nice.

Family dinner.Like we’ve always done it.

The air is dense with oregano, lemon, garlic. Kosti produces a record player out of nowhere and spins Mama around the room as she laughs. When Sasha asks Zoya if she wants to dance, she playfully whacks him in the shins with her cane and tells him to stay the hell away from her.

Nothing is fixed, of course. Dragan is still out there, we’re still stuck here, and the world is as broken as it’s ever been. The weight of Mama’s unasked questions hangs heavy in the air.What happened with Leander? How did I end up pregnant? Why am I here with the man who was supposed to be my husband?But she doesn’t voice any of them. just passes the spanakopita and smiles when I take seconds. For tonight, in this house, at this table…

We’re okay.

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