“Yes, the weekend of December 31st. You’ll accompany me to a dinner at my parents’ dacha in Peredelkino on Saturday evening. I’ll return you home on Sunday after breakfast.”

What I’ve just said is so wild that I’m half hoping Anna will tell me she’s otherwise engaged and put an end to my ludicrous scheme.

Between yesterday and this morning, I managed to convince myself that taking Anna with me to Peredelkino was a good idea. The thinking that took me from my resolution to stop seeing her to this moment is a little fuzzy in my head. It’s brewed in doubt, want, yearning and self-loathing, all of which I partook of during my sleepless night.

By dawn, two arguments carried the day. The first was the warped idea that seeing me with a date would brighten my mother’s holiday season. In a few weeks, I’ll tell her Anna left me for another. Which, on some level, will be the truth. The charade may even produce a positive side effect of shutting down Mama’s harping on my love life for a few years.

The second argument was a little less twisted and had to do with my travel plans. I’ll be away from Moscow for over a month starting in mid-January. Earlier this year my developers built a nifty piece of software that finally opened up foreign markets for MalaSystems. The sales rep over Europe and I will be closing several deals in Germany, France, Belgium, and Switzerland. Then I pick up my baby girl in Geneva, and we’ll spend a week skiing in the Swiss Alps. After that, I’ll fly from Zurich to New Delhi, where the sales rep over Asia and I will hopefully sign our first deal in India.

That should give me ample time to distract myself, recover my senses, and forget Anna.

So, taking her to my parents’ dinner isn’t such a crazy idea after all. It’s just a little gift to myself—a harmless treat to enjoy and discard.

But Anna hasn’t answered my question yet.

“Are you considering it?” I ask.

“No, I’m debating if you’re mad or if you just hate your parents.”

“Neither.”

“You’re planning to bring an escort to a family dinner—the family dinner of the year.”

“My point precisely. They hate to see me unescorted on this occasion, year after year. So I’m giving them what they want.”

“OK, I’m finished debating. You do hate them.”

“Anna,” I say drily. “My feelings toward my parents are irrelevant. Are you available or not?”

“I was planning on spending New Year’s Eve with my mother.”

“You can celebrate the Orthodox Christmas with her the following weekend,” I decree before adding, “and I’ll double your fee to make up for the inconvenience.”

She says yes, we hang up and I bang my head against my desk, very hard.

When I told Mama I was bringing a date, she lost her tongue for a few moments. This has never happened to my mother before, ever. Then she began bombarding me with questions about Anna, most of which I masterfully eluded. To my relief, she was so eager to share the news with Papa that she let me off the hook much more easily than I’d expected.

By the time Anna and I arrive in Peredelkino and knock on my parents’ door, Gary and his family are already inside. His car is parked in the backyard, and his two preteen boys are as loud and turbulent as usual. I can hear them chasing each other through the house. Gary had planned to set out early to beat the traffic, and it looks like he succeeded for once.

Papa opens the door and gives me a hug. Then he looks Anna over and hugs her too.

Mama rushes down the stairs. She’s wearing an apron and no lipstick. I guess curiosity about my date proved stronger than vanity. She almost pushes Papa aside so she can get a proper look at Anna.

“I’m Elena.” She pulls Anna in, smooches her cheek, then grabs her hand with both hers, and takes a step back. “Let me take a good look at you, child!”

“Hello, Mother,” I say emphatically as I step in and pull the door shut behind me.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She doesn’t even look at me.

The object of Mama’s scrutiny is doing her best to maintain a polite expression, but her eyes keep darting to me, and her ears are flaming red.

I look at Papa who just smiles and spreads his arms. Well, what did I expect? Even when he served in the military, climbed the ladder from sergeant all the way to major and collected a few medals for bravery along the way, we all knew who was in charge in this household.

“Can we take our coats off and get some tea by the fire?” I ask.

“Of course! Silly me.” Mama finally lets go of Anna’s hand.

The two of us are relieved of our coats and boots, given extra-thick woolen socks, and ushered in. I lead Anna to the family room where Gary and his wife are already seated in front of the fireplace.

Everyone greets everyone and sinks back into cushy sofas. I can feel Gary’s gaze drilling into me, but I refuse to look at him, hoping he’ll get the message.

“You’ve been keeping secrets,” he says.

My communication skills clearly have room for improvement.

“The forecast promises snowfall tonight.” I finally turn to him.

“How come you never mentioned you’d met someone?” Gary shakes his head in reproach.

“Your boys are suspiciously quiet. Shouldn’t you go check on them?”

Gary’s wife Svetlana beams. “They’re playing their video games.”

Gary turns to Anna. “How long have you two been seeing each other? Must be a while, since he brought you here today.” He shakes his head again and turns back to me. “And here I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are,” I say. “But you aren’t my shrink.”

Gary opens his mouth to say something, but Mama comes in with a huge tray piled with at least ten different kinds of pastries. Papa is on her heels with another tray loaded with steaming cups of tea.

Mama sits down next to Anna and grabs her hand again. “My dear, before you tell me all about yourself, there’s something important you need to know about Anton.”

“Ma,” I interject. “She knows everything she needs to know.”

My mother waves me off and turns back to Anna. “You should know that in spite of being an oligarch, my son is a good man.”

Oh, God.

Mama plows on. “He comes from a normal family. He started off as a computer programmer.”

I clear my throat. At work this is usually enough to command everyone’s immediate silence and undivided attention.

But not in this house.

Gary, the SOB, grins across the coffee table and enjoys himself a little too much. His wife Svetlana seems equally amused.

Anna’s expressive face shows a unique mix of discomfort and fun.

“Over the years,” Mama continues, “while some of Anton’s friends mounted Ponzi schemes, got tangled up in politics and did prison time, he focused on building his IT empire.”

“One processor at a time,” Papa chimes in, a smug smile on his face.

“My company doesn’t build processors, Papa.”

He shrugs. “Who cares? I like the sound of it.”

“Me, too,” Anna says.

I sit back and admit my total inability to control these people. Or this situation.

“As his childhood friend, I certify he’s almost superhuman,” Gary says, looking gleeful.

The bastard just got the opportunity of a lifetime to make a monkey of me. I brace myself for the worst.

“In addition to his computer skills and business acumen,” Gary continues, “Anton here has high moral standards and expects similar… rectitude from everyone around him.”

I know this is about my disapproval of his extramarital affairs.

But Anna doesn’t know that. Her face grows pale, and she starts chewing on her lower lip.

“And what is it that you do, my dear?” Mama asks.

Anna’s posture becomes even tenser. “I’m a legal assistant.”

For a brief moment I panic that she might mention her second job, but she doesn’t.

“Good for you,” Mama says.

“Which firm?” Gary asks.

“Shastny and Block.”

Gary nods and then, thankfully, launches into a long story about his recent disastrous experience with another big law firm.

After that we move to the dining room.

For the rest of the evening, amidst all the fun and noise and good food, I’m acutely aware that everyone around the table has bought into our story. They look at me and see exactly what I wanted them to see—a proud man introducing his lovely new girlfriend to his inner circle.

And I envy the hell out of this man. Actually, it’s more than envy. I hate the guy’s guts because I’m miserable inside, while this lucky bastard—my doppelgänger—is openly enjoying a cozy New Year’s dinner with his family, friends, and a charming girlfriend who’s a legal assistant at Shastny and Block.

Whom he isn’t paying to wine, dine, and fuck.

Whom other men aren’t paying for the same honor.