Page 103 of Nine Months to Bear
“Hush, Stefushka.” She tugs Olivia into the house. “There’s always time for tea.”
With a grimace, I follow them in. As we step back inside the warm yellow glow of her kitchen, a place where it feels like nothing wrong could ever intrude, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is spiraling beyond my control.
I wish I knew who the fuck to blame.
42
STEFAN
Babushka bustles around, pulling down her good china, the delicate porcelain with tiny roses that she saves for special occasions. She hasn’t brought those out in ages, but apparently, now is the perfect fucking time.
“This isn’t packing,” I scold.
She completely ignores me. “Sit, sit.” She presses Olivia into a chair at the small wooden table. “You look like you haven’t eaten today.”
“I had coffee?—”
“Coffee is not food.” Babushka is already pulling cookies from a tin. Homemadepryaniki, spiced and sweet. She sets them in front of Olivia. “My grandmother’s recipe. Stefan used to steal them from the cooling racks when he was small.”
I’m checking the window locks, scanning the street through lace curtains. “We don’t have time for stories, goddammit.”
“We have time for humanity,” Babushka shoots back. She turns to Olivia and smiles fondly. “What my grandson lacks in vulnerability,malyshka, he also lacks in manners.”
“Babushka—”
“Hush.” She pours tea with steady hands. Steam curls up in the air between them. “This young woman should know what she’s getting into, don’t you think?”
Olivia accepts the cup and mumbles her thanks. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”
I want to demand what exactly she understands, because I’ve found myself understanding less and less about myself and this whole fucked situation with every passing day.
“Good.” Babushka settles into her chair at the table. “Too many women think they can change dangerous men. Better to know the truth from the start.”
“I’m not dangerous to her,” I growl.
Two pairs of eyes turn to me. Babushka smiles.
“No, Stefushka. You’re not dangerous to her.” She sips her tea. “You’reafraidof her.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” She purses her lips and lets the silence speak for her.
“We need to go,” I say firmly. “Now.”
“Pah, we have five minutes.” She flaps a wrinkled hand at me and turns back to Olivia. “Malyshka, tell me about your work. We had so little time to chat last time you were here. Stefan says you help women have babies?”
And just like that, I’m dismissed. Relegated to packing bags while they chat like old friends. I storm through Babushka’s bedroom, gathering her medications, her favorite shawl, the well-worn rosary she keeps by her bed. But I can hear their voices drifting from the kitchen.
“… important work,” my grandmother is saying. “Creating life, creating families. Much better than destroying things, don’t you think?”
I scowl as I check out the window. The street is quiet and still. For now.
“Stefan protects people,” Olivia replies quietly. “He protected me.”
My hands go still on the gauzy curtains. She’s defending me. To my grandmother, who needs no convincing of my worth,she’sdefendingme.
“Yes,” Babushka agrees. “He protects what he loves. The question is whether he knows the difference between protecting and possessing.”
