Page 74 of Scarlet Secrets

“Yes.”

“Good.”

And he lets me go and turns on his heel, sauntering ahead like he didn’t say a thing, like he has no cares in the world.

It takes me more than a few seconds to stabilize, to get myself together so I can smile and be happy. Sasha can pick up on my moods and an upset mama is an upset little boy.

There have been days where I’ve come home from a shitty workday doing a job I hate so I can be with him, days where a boss got handsy and he’s hugged me, kissed me, and given me his goat to ‘make Mama happy again.’

He’ll pick up on my turmoil if I’m not careful.

And he won’t understand this, not with everything else he’s been through.

With my smile on bright, I go into the sunny kitchen and Sasha’s in his booster seat, being fussy, and I don’t think I can do this.

The tears surge, but I struggle them down as he senses meand turns. And almost falls off his chair in his sudden cry of ‘Mama’ and a cascade of tears.

I hate I have to glance at Demyan for permission, even as I’m halfway to him, and at his nod, I scoop up Sasha and hold him tight, showering him with kisses.

“Mama, Mama!” Sasha’s chubby little arms clutch me hard and he’s crying, and then he looks up at me, tears glittering and he does something shocking.

He hits me, his little fist smacking my cheek. “Bad mama.”

Demyan’s on his feet, his face confusion and there’s an intent there to put the boy in his place, but I turn, shielding him. “Mama had to go away,” I say. “But I’m back now. I’m back. And I love you, but we don’t hit.”

He starts to cry all over again. “I sorry, Mama. I sorry!”

He kisses me and then frowns.

“Oh, Sasha, I missed you so much.”

“Mama no leave. Mama stay.” Then he peeks at me. “Goat?”

I start laughing. It takes a while to untangle from him, and I’m bereft when Demyan takes him. Sasha squeals, going stiff, and starts to scream.

“No screaming, Sasha. I’ve got baby goat. If you scream, I won’t read you your story.”

He stops. And Demyan settles him as I give him his goat.

Demyan goes to take it from him as Olga comes in with lunch, but I grab his arm.

He looks at my hand, then at me and I just say, “Let him have his goat, please.”

“It’ll get dirty.”

“It can be washed. It’s security.”

Demyan goes to show me to a seat on the other end of the table, but Sasha shakes his head.

“Mama here.” He juts out his lip. And then he adds, “You too.”

And the change in Demyan is astounding. He crumbles, a smile blooming, one of pride and love, and he looks like he just won a prize.

What the hell was his childhood like? He clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing, which is understandable, but the tiny things seem to floor him, little things like Sasha deigning to let him sit with us. It’s very Sasha. Yes, my boy’s accepted the big man, but he’d invite the postman to sit with us if he thought he could get his way.

I keep that to myself, because I get the feeling Demyan might see it as failure or the invite diminished when it’s not.

Sasha’s been here with them, with him, alone, and he likes Demyan, I can see it.

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