Page 132 of Ruling Scar
“Dad, Millie won’t stop crying,” he says, peering down at her from his spot on the couch.
“She’s fussing, not crying.” I moved the coffee table, giving us ample space for tummy time. The six-month-old, stretches her arms, noise rattling around her throat.
“We should call Mom,” Ivan suggests. His cousin Sailor recently taught him how to make video calls on his tablet. There’s only two people he likes to call the most: his mother and Yelena. And his favorite subject? Documenting all the ways I fail as a parent.
It’s unsurprising Yelena answers his calls every time.
“We are not bothering your Mom,” I tell my son. It’s girl’s night. Leonora, the introvert, didn’t want to go at first. If Ivan calls she’ll come running back, to do exactly what we’re doing now—hanging out in the living room.
I moved Leonora into the warehouse as soon as Gia came to terms with the idea that her daughter had fallen madly inlove with me. One night I slipped a diamond ring on her finger, knowing she needed time to get used to the idea that she’d become my wife one day.
Ivan came next. Leonora decided on honoring her former bodyguard and my best friend. Three years later, I can’t believe how much my son makes me laugh. It amazes me how he shares similarities with his namesake despite never meeting him. But my son goes out of his way to antagonize me, his dear ol’ dad, just like my best friend did.
“Is she hungry?” Ivan asks, from his spot on the couch.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, watching his sister reach for a soft toy.
“I could go for a cookie.”
When I glance at him, he wears the face of an angel. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and pants he picked out. His socks are mismatched and some game plays on his tablet, though, he’s not paying attention to it.
“Turn that off,” I instruct. “And then go and get one for the both of us.”
He scampers off the couch, flinging the pantry door open.
“Easy!” I order.
“I’ve got them,” he calls back, the hellion. “Oh, yep,” he speaks to himself, reminding me of his aunt.
“Come here, son,” I say, worried about what else he’ll get into. I stay by his sister, but crane my neck to keep watch over him.
He holds two chocolate chip cookies in his hand, triumphant on his return.
“Thank you,” I tell him when he hands me one.
“Can we watch the game?” he asks, settling back onto the couch.
“Which one?” I ask, reaching for the remote.
“Grandpa Lev says I need to watch more football,” he says, around his bite of cookie. “Premier League that is.”
“I have a game recorded.” I only did so because I knew about his conversation with Grandpa Lev. “It’s Arsenal against Tottenham.”
“Okay,” Ivan says. Five minutes later, he says, “No, this is boring. Let’s watch hockey.”
That’s my boy.
“Hey, where are you going?” I ask, when his little feet pad against the hardwood.
“I’m going to get my jersey!”
“Don’t throw any of your clothes on the ground,” I call back to him. I’ve made it my mission to ensure his style doesn’t end up like Roma’s, or worse Uncle Dima’s, but his cleaning skills need work.
Hours later, Leonora returns to find us still on the couch. Ivan’s on his side, his head on my lap. I cradle Millie against my shoulder, her favorite spot to sleep.
“What’s this?” Leonora asks, a grin on her face. She bends down, pressing a kiss to my lips. I don’t like it when she steps away. “The great Elijah Zimin tamed by a couple of kids?”
Most wouldn’t believe it, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
