Page 29 of Silent Ties

“Roma already run off?” he asks.

Said son appears. “Nope.” He slides into a barstool, grabbing a slice of cake. “You know I’ve been thinking. Who’s going to host Christmas this year?”

“What?” Dad asks, taking a piece for himself.

The shit-stirring went from Elijah to Roma. “Now that Maxie’s a married man, maybe the new missus will want to host.”

“Your mother would shit her pants.”

“I think she already is,” Elijah says. Gray eyes try to pin me down, but I ignore him. He’s never liked Yelena and doesn’t hide it. Now he’s got something new to latch onto. A fraught mother-daughter relationship. But that’s not what’s happening here.

“You know how my mom is around new people,” I say. “She’ll warm up and stop being awkward after a while.”

Roma stabs into his cake and Elijah remains quiet for once. I don’t like how either are acting. Like my words are wishful thinking.

Dad notices the tension, wiping his mouth with a square napkin. “Relax, son. You know mothers and their daughters-in-law. They never get along.”

“Lies!”

As long as I’ve lived, my grandmother, Irina Zimin has remained the same—short and fierce, with thick glasses and curly gray hair. Tonight she wears a floor-length red dress and stops to deliver an order to one of the workers in Russian. Once she’s satisfied, she continues her march toward us. Roma stands, offering his seat. She motions for him to sit back down and then motions for her son to stand the fuck up.

Dad obliges, giving his chair to his mother, and grabs a bottle of vodka.

“That’s a lie!” she says, holding up a finger to emphasize. She can’t talk without moving her hands. “This whole, mothers hating their son’s brides.” She sticks out her tongue, further stressing how she feels about the stereotype. “That’s not true!”

Dad hands her a glass of vodka. “Right, so you get along with my wife?”

She holds up a hand. “I’m not talking about that woman!”

Roma peers down at his cake, but Elijah doesn’t hide the smirk.

“I loved Emma,” she says and Dad’s entire face softens. “But I think the worst thing she ever did was marry you.”

“Mom!”

Grandma holds her ground, sipping her drink. “The stupidest at the very least.” She stares straight at me when she says, “I got to know Emma. I learned about her. She was British, you know.”

Of course, I do, but Grandma’s lilt lends itself to always sounding like she’s asking a question.

“We’re this big Russian family.” She holds her arms out wide. “But I took the time to get to know her culture. Her thoughts and opinions on the world. That’s how a family works, no? Listening to one another.”

Roma whispers something under his breath.

“No?” Grandma says again. Her three grandsons reply in Russian, confirming. When she turns to Dad, he nods.

He presses a kiss on her cheek before he leaves.

Grandma shoos her other two grandsons and I find myself on a one-on-one with her.

“You don’t know how to use a phone anymore?” she asks.

“You never answer it when I call.” Her phone gets used as a paperweight more than a telecommunications device.

“You never come to dinner now,” she argues.

“I’m studying.” It’s my second semester since starting my MBA. I don’t think Elijah opened a book once during grad school, but I’ve always had to study twice as hard as my brothers.

“And how does your wife like all your studying?” Grandma asks between sips of vodka.

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