Her sisters still speak Estonian as much as they speak English. As with many second-and third-generation Estonians, their children’s first language was also Estonian. When Paavo Kuusk arrived in Canada with that first wave of refugees after the war, he—like the rest of his fellow countrymen—never stopped believing they would all eventually return to the homeland as soon as Estonia regained its independence from Russia. While they lived in Canada, which Paavo always believed would be temporary, he and Anni were diligent about raising their kids fully immersed in the Estonian culture, so that their generation could be wholly, seamlessly reintegrated.
It wasn’t enough that Kersti and her sisters spoke or understood Estonian as a second language, either; they had to be, first and foremost, Estonian. They were put into Estonian-immersion kindergarten, followed by Estonian elementary class every weekend until high school. After high school, it was Tartu College for Kersti’s sisters, which is affiliated with Tartu University in Estonia; her sisters were also members of the Estonian sorority in Toronto, where they met their future Estonian husbands, who of course belonged to the Estonian fraternity. Kersti escaped all that when she was sent to Lausanne, and later, when she married a Jew, her one and only act of rebellion against the family.
“What’re you doing here?” Tuule asks her.
“I’ve got an appointment at Family Services,” Kersti says, plunking down in one of the swivel chairs.
The office, like the rest of the building, is dreary and utilitarian: dim lighting, industrial carpet, fake chestnut-stained MDF furniture from Office Depot, and beige IBM computers from the year Paavo moved the agency here. He’s never believed in wasting money on prettying up a place or making it warmer or more hospitable, lest he should find himself feeling too comfortable. He’s lived his entire life in Toronto as though everything is temporary. Why spend money on a new couch when we could be moving back to Estonia anytime? Why get new computers? Why invest in a new kitchen floor? A bigger house?
And yet, even when Estonia reestablished its independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, Paavo did not return. Though he still claims he will go back there one day to die, the thought of gathering up the whole clan—daughters, sons-in-law, families of his in-laws, grandchildren, close friends—has proved too daunting. At eighty-four, he’s planted his roots too deep. The Estonian-Canadian community that grew up around him over the years has become his true homeland, more than Estonia ever could be again. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. And so he stays, secretly content in Toronto, not willing to invest in or commit to anything too binding that might anchor him here.
“What appointment?” Tuule wants to know.
“Counseling.”
Jutta and Tuule are quiet. Jutta pops the end of a croissant in her mouth. They don’t ask questions.
She leaves their office, feeling a little depressed. The whole building has that effect on her. She’s always found it to be gloomy and shabby, a statement in itself about its culture of impermanence.
She runs down to the second floor, where Jay is standing outside the Estonian Family Services office waiting for her. It’s been tense between them since she got back from Boston. He wasn’t very happy that she’d left without discussing it with him. She reminded him that he was the one who’d gone to a hotel. Other than that, they haven’t spoken much at all, other than to agree—reluctantly—on counseling.
Eva Sepp opens the door. She’s tall and broad, about Kersti’s age, with dirty blond hair and florid cheeks. The blue eyes are a given. She’s wearing a red acrylic sweater with black leggings that reveal thick, cross-country skier’s legs. Or so Kersti imagines.
“Tere,” she says, inviting them both inside.
Jay and Kersti sit down side by side on a green leather couch, separated by a box of Kleenex.
“What brings you here?” Eva asks, putting on a pair of bifocals and tucking her hair behind her ears.
“We’re having problems,” Kersti starts. “Due to my infertility.”
“Our infertility,” Jay corrects. “It’s our problem.”
“Okay, well, that’s very supportive, Jay,” Eva commends him.
“Well, it’s funny though,” Kersti says. “Because if it’s our problem, why is it your decision that we stop trying? I don’t get a say?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jay says, his voice rising. “We’ve been at this for years, Kersti. I would’ve thrown in the towel ages ago. When do I get to say stop? Or don’t I?”
Kersti snatches a Kleenex and blows her nose.
“I can already see this is a very emotionally charged issue for both of you,” Eva says.
Jay lets out an exasperated sigh. “Listen,” he says. “I agreed to come here for Kersti because I know this is a rough time for her. But—and I don’t mean to disparage what you do—nothing you say can convince me to use an egg donor.”
“My role is not to convince you of anything,” Eva says neutrally.
Jay turns to face Kersti, his expression softer, desperate. “I’m here to say this one more time. I’m not using an egg donor. I want us to go back to how we were, no more trying to have a kid, or else—”
“Or else what?”
“Kersti,” Eva says softly. “What would it take for you to accept that you may not be able to have a baby?”
“Nothing,” she says unequivocally. “Do you have children, Eva?”
“Yes,” Eva admits. “But that’s not—”
“Would you have been able to accept not having children?”
“I can’t speak to that.”
“Not being a mother makes you no less a woman,” Jay intervenes, trying—and failing—to console her.
Kersti turns on him, wanting to choke the pedantic tone right out of his voice. “How would you know?” she snaps.
“I don’t think any less of you,” he says.
“What about what I think of me?”
He looks confused. Eva is leaning back in her chair, watching the scene unravel. Watching them unravel.
“There are certain expectations I have to live up to,” Kersti says, looking back and forth between them, shredding the Kleenex in her hand. “As a woman, as an Estonian. And if I don’t, then I feel bad about myself.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Jay mutters.
“No, it’s not,” Eva says sharply. “I completely understand that, Kersti. I do.”
“Whose expectations are they?” Jay wants to know.
“Everyone’s!” Kersti says. “My mother, my father, my sisters, women. Estonians.”
“Estonians,” Jay repeats, with a disgusted eye roll.
“You know I’ve never fit in with them,” she reminds him. “I’ve always felt like an outsider in my family and with the other Estos. All I have to do is have a baby and carry on the great Estonian legacy to set things right, and you want me to accept that I can’t? You want me to just move on and give up on the one thing every woman on the planet should be able to do?”
“You’ve had three novels published, for Christ’s sake! That’s not enough of an achievement for you?”
“It sounds to me like this is about belonging,” Eva gently interjects.
“That’s part of it,” Kersti acknowledges.