Page 31 of Ruby Mercy

I smile and force myself to blink back the moisture accumulating in my eyes.

Yuliana didn’t say her first words until she was almost three. Even then, it only happened after I started her in speech therapy. Thankfully, the school district offered it free of charge, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

I spent so many nights searching for answers online, any explanation as to how Yuliana could seem so perfect in every way, yet refuse to utter a single word. She barely even babbled as a baby.

So often, I looked at her and saw Ilya.

Of course, Ilya had a traumatic brain injury that made it hard for him to communicate, but the connection still felt jarring. Especially when Yuliana got so frustrated about not being able to communicate that she started lashing out. Once, she clawed my face and drew blood. Kirill noticed the scar the other night at the bar. He ran his thumb over it and asked where I got it. I was certain he’d see the truth written all over my face.

If Kirill had been in our lives during that hard time, I would have asked him how Ilya was as a kid. Whether he went through a similar thing. It could be genetic.

We made it through okay without him, though. I took care of her.

Suddenly, Yuliana spots me from the back of the room. I see her little head pop up, her emerald green eyes wide. Those are also from the Zaitsev gene pool.

“Mama!” She stumbles through two of her friends and kicks over a bucket of crayons, but she is undeterred. She crashes into my legs at full force, her face buried against my thigh.

The next few minutes are a jumble of finding her stuff, hugging friends goodbye, and making our way outside. Yuliana is telling me all about the silly song the music teacher sang about donkeys when she stops in the middle of the sidewalk and looks up at the sky.

She points up to the clouds. “The sun is out.”

“Yeah, it’s still light out,” I smile.

Her brows are adorably drawn together. “Other kids are still inside.”

“Mhmm. But you’re out here. I picked you up early today.”

A slow grin spreads across her face. Then she throws her arms in the air and jumps. “Woo-hoo!”

I wish something so small could make me jump for joy like that. I want Yuliana to stay this innocent and wonderful forever.

“We have the whole afternoon. What do you want to do?”

She skips as she thinks, bouncing with excitement. “Ice cream?”

“We can have a little bit,” I tell her. “We have to eat dinner soon.”

“Ooh, a picnic!”

I smile, thinking about the bag of food I already packed in the trunk of the car. I know my girl. “I’m sure we can make a picnic happen. What else?”

She thinks harder, twirling in a circle as she moves down the sidewalk. “A picnic… on the beach!”

I falter. I know exactly which memory Yuliana is pulling this idea from.

A while back, I took her with me on my daily walk. My path was a habit at that point. I didn’t think about where we were going until we were there, outside of Kirill’s house. It was reckless. I should have been thinking and taken her in the other direction, but then we were there and Yuliana could see the ocean.

“Please, Mama!”she begged.“Can I touch the water?”

I didn’t have a good reason to refuse. Not one I could explain to her, anyway.Your real dad used to live in this house. What if he is home? What if he sees you?

At that point, it had been years without any sign of Kirill. I figured that day would be no different. So we stepped off the sidewalk and went down to the beach.

We only stayed for a few minutes, but Yuliana begged me for weeks to take her back. I refused.

“It’s a little cold for the beach today.” I smooth her hair back and usher her towards the car. “Let’s think of somewhere else we can have a picnic.”

She sags in place, whimpering as her lower lip pouts out. “Pleeeeeeeease, Mama? Please please!”

---