“Come close to me. Give your mother a hug.” She opened her arms. Galina had never even visited Russia, but her own voice had always echoed Babulya’s. Turns of phrases, some pronunciations. She sounded like her mother now, but Nikolai knew she was putting it on like she would have tried on a hat.
Despite this, obediently he went. Also an old habit. She smelled the same. Cigarettes, an undertone of cloying perfume, the mints she ate constantly to cover up the smell of smoker’s breath. She felt smaller, though. More delicate. The bones of her shoulder blades jutted, sharp under his touch.
“Good, you found the food. I got here so early, but you weren’t awake yet. I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast.”
“Well, that’s sure different, isn’t it?” The words came out of him before he knew it but, once spoken, couldn’t be taken back.
His mother shrugged and took a seat on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. “So I wasn’t there to make you breakfast before you went to school, the way Sally Harrison was. I worked, Nikolai. I had to work to support you and your brother. This is an old discussion, isn’t it? Surely you’re too old now to hold on to those resentments anymore.”
His mother had done her share of twelve-step programs, of meditation, of meetings and assessments, and of making amends. She’d disappeared more than once to “communes” and had done a stint or two in both in-and outpatient mental-health facilities. Nikolai had never believed she was crazy, but she’d used it as an excuse for bad behavior more than once.
“Yeah. Sorry. It’s good to see you.” He bit into the sandwich, chewing quickly as he sat in the chair opposite her.
“You’ve grown so handsome. Such a handsome man. You look a lot like your father. Ilya, he’s your Babulya all through, but I thought you favored me, at least when you were a little boy. But now I see your father in you.” She shook a finger at him, but smiled. “He was a handsome man, too.”
Steven Stern had died in a car accident when Galina was pregnant with Niko. He’d seen pictures of his father but had never thought there was much of a resemblance. It wasn’t worth an argument, though.
With a sigh, Galina waved the remote and turned off the TV. “Nothing. Good eggs?”
“Yeah. Great.” His stomach had stopped protesting.
“Next time, I’ll have potatoes to make for the hash browns. Delicious for breakfast. Onions, garlic, the works.”
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” He licked a smear of butter from his fingers.
His mother waved the remote again. “I learned how to make them at the diner.”
“When did you work at a diner?” Niko asked, wary and aware of Galina’s propensity for telling stories that weren’t always true.
“Since last year.” She tossed the remote onto the coffee table.
He’d thought she would say the job had been from her youth, but this revelation totally stumped him. “You’re not working as an RN anymore?”
She looked up from fixing the stack of magazines that had gone askew when she hit them with the remote. “I lost my job at the hospital when they were bought out by another larger one and merged. They moved all the day-surgery patients to the other location. I didn’t want to work that far away. I would have needed a car.”
“Mom . . . what happened to your car?” Nikolai studied her, but her expression gave away nothing.
Galina stacked the magazines precisely, tapping the top of the pile before sitting back on the couch with a satisfied smile. “I didn’t need a car when I could walk to work. And I didn’t have my license anymore. So why have a car? It’s just an expense I don’t need. Upkeep, gas, the insurance. Too much.”
“Why did you lose your license?” This had all the telltale signs of a typical Galina misadventure.
She gave him a long, steady look. “I didn’t lose it. I just forgot to renew it, so it lapsed, and by the time I realized it, I didn’t feel like going through all the hoops to get it back, when I didn’t need it.”
“But . . . you drove here,” he pointed out.
Galina shrugged. “Borrowed the car from a friend.”
His mother had always had her share of “friends.” Nikolai didn’t ask any more questions. The less he knew, the better.
“Well . . . thanks for breakfast.”
She got up to ruffle his hair exactly as she’d done when he was a kid. “Too skinny. You don’t eat enough. Too much time spent in the desert. Not enough time spent with a woman. Unless there is a girl? Oh, is there a nice Jewish girl, ready to make you a dozen babies?”
“Mom. Please.” Nikolai made a face. It wasn’t any more fun to have his mother quizzing him about his love life now than it had been when he was a teenager. There’d been women, of course. Nobody for a while. Nobody permanent.
“At least your brother, he got married. No babies.” She frowned. “I’d be a wonderful grandmother, you know. If either of you gave me the chance. And your Babulya, she would love to have more babies to love. You should think about it, before she’s gone.”
This, coming from the woman who’d told both her sons that if they knocked up any girls, they’d better run away from home, because she wasn’t going to take care of any bastards. Maybe the fact Niko had actually run away from home without getting anyone pregnant had changed her mind. Maybe time had mellowed her. Maybe she was just being Galina.
“Sorry, but I don’t plan on having kids anytime soon. Maybe never.”
Galina put a hand over her heart and shook her head, closing her eyes with a frown. She didn’t say anything out loud. She didn’t have to.
“Morning.”
Both Galina and Niko turned to see Theresa, tousle-haired and wearing a pair of sleep pants emblazoned with cartoon characters that Nikolai didn’t recognize. She yawned and gave Galina a small wave with her fingers half-curled. Galina let out a small, surprised laugh.
“Theresa? My God, it’s you! Look at you. You’re a woman.”
The women embraced—Galina wholeheartedly. Theresa hung back, throwing Niko a look over his mother’s shoulder. He understood her hesitance—there was history there, for sure. He had a bunch of his own.
“What are you doing here?” Galina asked.
“I came when I heard Babulya wasn’t doing well.” Theresa sat.
Galina waved a hand. “Of course you did. Everyone loved my mother, didn’t they? Even the ones who barely knew her.”
“I wouldn’t say I barely knew her,” Theresa replied evenly.
Galina laughed and put a delicate hand to her forehead. “Oh. Foolish of me. I’m sorry. Of course you did. I just had a moment.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Theresa gave Niko a shrug and crossed her arms over her belly.
“I’m going outside for a smoke,” Galina said abruptly and left the living room.
Theresa waited until the sound of the back door had clicked shut before she spoke. “Okay, then.”
“Did you sleep all right?” Niko asked.
She laughed softly. “Yeah. But I woke up in the night to use the bathroom and forgot I wasn’t in my old room, so I miscounted the doors and almost peed in the linen closet. How weird is that?”