Chapter 29
It was my turn to pick the music and I put on one of my favorites; The Russian gave it a nod of approval. We were doing the drive to my parents’ place for Monday lunch. I know, traditionally people have Sunday lunch, but we both work or play on Sundays and I have Mondays off. The Russian took the day off too, leaving Eddie in charge and Sasha gloating she’d get to the coffee van before him for once. We were almost tempted to swing by for a coffee on our way, just to beat her and see her reaction ... ha, that would have been worth it. Oh, I forgot I was supposed to be on her side when it came to the coffee van!
I glanced at The Russian as he drove ... so handsome. He was wearing a collared black shirt with his jeans and Dr Martens – plenty of rubber on those soles to make a quick escape I imagine. Feeling my gaze, he looked in my direction.
“I’m not nervous!” he said, again.
“Are you sure?” I teased him. “Not even just a bit?”
He scoffed. “Parents love me. I’m charming, handsome, a good prospect ...”
“Modest,” I added.
“Modest,” he agreed. “I’m big enough to look after their daughter and successful enough to give her a good life. Although I failed on one of those of late.”
I leaned over to run my hand along his arm, up to his shoulders, and massaged his neck.
“Don’t say that,” I said, “you can’t be with me twenty-four hours a day, and I was stupid getting into his taxi ... let’s not go there.”
“If you keep doing that we’ll be going somewhere else very shortly, and it’s got nothing to do with your folks,” The Russian said, as I kneaded his neck.
I laughed and drew back a little to keep my hand on his shoulder.
“So, tell me all I need to know about your family in five minutes,” The Russian said.
I puffed my cheeks out and expelled the air slowly.
“Okay. Mom’s the straight-shooter, tough one. She organizes Dad, the church, me, the neighborhood, anything she can. She’s pragmatic and she won’t fall instantly in love with you, no matter how adorable I think you are, or you think you are,” I said.
He scoffed. “We’ll see about that.”
I didn’t mention that she had never liked any of my boyfriends. They all fell into categories: too smart, too rude, too disrespectful, too lacking in ambition, not good enough for me, and on it went. I didn’t want to make The Russian be anything but himself around her. I thought about Dad and filled The Russian in.
“Dad is a gentle, kind man with a typical sort of dad sense of humor. His parishioners love him because he is compassionate and open, and he can be very serious when he needs to be, and very over-protective of me.”
“Hmm, great,” The Russian said. I could only imagine what was going on in his mind. “Are you closer to him?” he asked.
“Definitely. Mom is not big on affection. But that’s okay, I know she’s there for me and she’s proud of me ... I think,” I said.
“How could she not be? So am I going to meet any brothers or sisters that I have to charm as well?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
“No,” I smiled and shook my head at him.
“That’s fine, I’ve won over the most important family member,” he said.
“That you have,” I agreed. “But ... don’t mention the incident the other night to them, please.”
“Our great sex? Hardly!” The Russian said, keeping it light.
I rolled my eyes. “No you big head, the taxi incident.”
The Russian smiled. “I won’t. But can I ask why?”
“Because Mom is pragmatic and Dad is over-protective. I’ll get a lecture on personal safety from Mom who’ll say it was my fault for putting myself in that situation, and then Dad will start calling me every second day. I’ve left home, I like it that way,” I said.
“You’ve said that several times now since we’ve met. Clearly as an only child you must have felt smothered or something ... but don’t worry, I won’t leave you there.”
I was going to correct him but then the road to the church came into view and I had to give The Russian directions. As we turned into the street, I felt a warm familiarity seeing the church and my parents’ house.
He placed his hand on my leg and I jumped. I realized where that reaction came from.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay ... it will take you a little while.”
I swallowed; my heart was racing as the thought of that night came back to me. I tried to not think about it.
“This is nice,” The Russian said, admiring the church and its grounds.
I guess it did look nice ... quaint, even a bit old worldish. I pointed to the best place for him to park and he swung the car in and turned off the ignition. He took a deep breath. I knew he was a little nervous, and then he confirmed it.
“Your Dad’s going to want to have a chat with me isn’t he? About this whole trust issue and his little girl?” he turned my way.
“Only if you want to talk about it,” I said. “Dad wouldn’t force anyone to talk about personal stuff unless they wanted to, but he has some experience in his area.”
The Russian nodded, looking more uncomfortable than ever.
“Come on,” I said, opening the car door, “come and meet my parents.”
*****
As we came up the path, the front door opened and Mom and Dad came out. They were about the same height, both thin, and I noticed Mom had dressed up a little ... that was nice. Dad was in his traditional white business shirt and black pants, a little cross clipped to his collar.
I walked in front, taking The Russian’s hand. My parents kissed me and they both shook The Russian’s hand. He called them Mrs Brooker and Reverend respectively, but they insisted on Kathleen and Michael. We both towered over them.
“Well, I never thought we’d meet someone taller than our Carla, sometimes we wonder where she came from,” my father joked, looking up at The Russian who smiled and relaxed a little.
“Both of my parents are tall, so I’m legitimate,” The Russian joked.
I couldn’t believe it, but I swear my Mom smiled a charming smile at him. I looked from her to The Russian and back to Mom again. Unbelievable ... must’ve been the big lion aura; he was such an alpha. We followed them both in and I gave him a look.
“What?” he asked innocently.
I could smell a roast, Mom had cooked my favorite—probably everyone’s favorite—and Dad paused on the way through to answer the phone.
“Unless they’re dying, Michael, tell them that you are unavailable until after two,” she said, and Dad nodded.
The Russian chuckled. I guess that had been pretty funny, but normal for us.
“What can I do to help, Mom?” I asked.
“Nothing, I’m organized,” she said, as if I had ever doubted it. “Why don’t you show Alex around the church and yard, and then when your father is off the phone, we’ll have lunch.” She gave Alex a warm smile as she said it. What the fuck? He’d be gloating about that all the way home ... sigh.
I took his hand as we went on the grand, but very small, tour. What was funny for me—funny weird—was that I’d never taken a guy home, and I’d entered my house a thousand times, but now I was looking at it through The Russian’s eyes. I went through the back of the house and showed him Mom’s prized vegetable and herb garden, and on the other side her prized flower garden. Ever practical, she fed us and supplied fresh flowers to the church. The woman was wasted organizing this small church community; she should have been working for the United Nations.
I then took The Russian through the churchyard and into the church. He admired the stained glasses windows, which were truly beautiful, and the intimacy of the small church.
“When was the last time you went to church?” I asked him.
“You’re asking me in here?” he said. “A lightning bolt might come down from the ceiling and strike me dead if I answer that.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I agreed, teasing him.
He tucked me under his arm and we went back to the house. I took him through the side entrance, and I was so used to the shrine for my dead sister that I had completely forgotten to warn The Russian. One room was done up as if she had never left, and along the hallway was photo after photo of a girl who looked like me ... dark hair, almond shaped eyes and lightly tanned skin. Photographs from her birth to teenage years, her last photos were her sixteenth birthday.
His eyes took it all in before he looked to me, a thousand questions written on his face.
“This is my big sister, Claudia,” I said, introducing them. “She’s three years older than me.” I lowered my voice. “She died when she was sixteen ... eleven years ago now ... heart disease ... she was born with a defect.”
“You didn’t think to mention this?” The Russian asked, and stroked my hair as he looked from Claudia to me.
I swallowed. “We both have things to learn about each other … some secrets, I guess,” I said. He didn’t answer. I pushed him a little and said almost in a whisper, “I know that you almost had a child of your own, once …”
I watched as his eyes glossed for just a moment as he fought his emotion and the resurfacing of that inner pain – I caught him in an unguarded moment and he wasn’t prepared.
“Ancient history,” he said, and cleared his throat.
I turned back to look at the photos of my sister and me together; she was beautiful, feminine, petite ... so not like me. I don’t know why I hadn’t mentioned her to The Russian. I had created this other life, and it didn’t include the sadness at home, and the fact that my mother hadn’t always been as cold as she was now; or that from the age of thirteen she had forgotten me, her living daughter. I knew this wasn’t uncommon ... I knew a lot of mothers reacted to grief in this way ... I read a lot about it, and I couldn’t expect more from her, this was how she was coping. And this was how I coped – by pretending my worlds were divided.
“Okay, we don’t need to talk about this,” The Russian said, reading me and I suspect wanting to avoid revealing any more of his own secrets.
I nodded, and then heard Dad calling us.
“C’mon, let’s lunch and go,” I said, maybe too hurriedly, which drew another look of consternation from The Russian.
*****
Lunch was smooth sailing, and Mom was particularly charming to The Russian; all I could think of was that she had been worried no one would ever have me, and she didn’t want to scare him off ... hmm. She kept trying to overfeed him as if he was bound to starve to death in my company. Then The Russian surprised me, again, and Dad too.
“Michael, I was wondering if I could have a word with you ... even though it is Monday and probably your day off,” The Russian joked.
Dad looked delighted. “There’s no sleep for the wicked ... or me either,” he said, with a wink in my direction. Such a daggy dad. The Russian thanked Mom, praising her cooking, which she lapped up, then Dad and The Russian excused themselves and went into Dad’s study while Mom and I cleaned up. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall ... he was definitely getting grilled on the way home.
“He’s very nice, Carla,” Mom said, giving her approval.
“Yes, he’s very level-headed and not at all star struck,” I agreed.
“He has lovely manners,” she continued.
“His parents, especially his Mom, are quite strict. He has three sisters,” I said, filling her in while I was trying to keep one ear towards Dad’s study. It was hopeless, not a sound escaped.
I saw my mother’s lips thin and I knew a lecture was coming.
“Don’t scare him away now, Carla,” she started. “Just try and be a little bit less of a tomboy and more of girl, like your sister.”
Here we go. Like my sister, the beautiful, feminine and dead one.
“You don’t have to compete with him, or be so independent,” my mother continued, “let him feel like he’s the man and let him occasionally win – at sport, or give him the last word ... you know what I mean.”
I didn’t actually ... did she mean that I was so competitive that I wouldn’t support or empower The Russian, and what was she basing that on – all her observations of my relationships or a very young relationship with my sister which had never really had a chance to develop?
I just sighed and nodded; I wasn’t up for the fight. Dad and The Russian didn’t emerge for half an hour and by that time Mom had caught up on my life and I on hers. The Russian had barely gotten out of the study before I was thanking them, and he followed my lead and we were out the door.
We were driving away and I gave them a wave, and breathed out. I could feel The Russian stealing looks at me as he drove.
“What was that about? In a hurry?”
“I love my parents,” I said. That’s all I said. It was complex and The Russian living in his much-loved family cocoon probably wouldn’t get it.
“Babe, I think you better talk to me,” he said, glancing my way.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, “nothing to talk about. Hope it wasn’t too painful.”
“On the contrary, your parents are lovely, plus, I told you your Mom would love me ... mothers always do.”
I groaned and The Russian laughed.
“It appears I’m good with the Brooker women,” he continued, the big head.
“I’ve never seen her like that, you worked your charm indeed,” I conceded. “What did you talk about with Dad?” I cut to the chase.
“I was just direct with him. I told him I knew he knew that I had trust issues, but I was working on it and that you were trustworthy, the problem was mine,” he said.
I leaned closer so I could put my hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you, that’s sweet.”
“It’s true,” he said, with a shrug. “Of course I told your Dad that I was an exceptional catch as well, and his daughter was very lucky ...”
I playfully hit his shoulder and he continued.
“I told him we had so much in common and were supportive of each other and our lifestyles and careers, and that I wish I had met you years ago,” he finished.
“Really?” I said, my voice soft and full of gratitude. “And you couldn’t even tell him you saved my life because I banned you from it, but I’m grateful for it.”
“There’s a way you can pay me back,” he said, his face serious.
“Does it involve my tongue?” I teased.
“You’re smart, too, Brooker, that’s what I like about you.”
I laughed and thought about his words ... how we were alike, and I agreed.
“We do have a lot in common,” I started. “For example, we’re both tall, both play in forward position, both play for ‘S’ teams – Saints and Suns, both like the gym and the beach, need our exercise ...”
The Russian agreed. “Both gorgeous, and good in bed,” he added.
“That we are,” I agreed, teasing him. “What time is your training?”
“Five o’clock,” he answered. “I’m sure we can fit in a bed workout beforehand.”
“I’m counting on it,” I told him.
We drove along in comfortable silence for a while, and then The Russian broached the topic.
“Were you close to your sister?”
I shook my head. “We were at an age that didn’t make us close; I was thirteen, probably a pest, wanting to be her and wear make-up and clothes like Claudia had in her wardrobe. She was sixteen and wanted her privacy. She was close to Mom, I was close to Dad. But I wish I had her around now though, I miss her and the relationship we could have had.”
The Russian nodded. “I would have loved a brother, not that I don’t love my sisters, but at least playing in a team has given me plenty of team brothers. So, is that why you don’t like to go home ... because of the memories?”
“No,” I said, being honest with him. “Claudia and I were two teenagers living in the same house who barely knew each other. We were absorbed in our own young lives – schools, friends, etc. I don’t go back because I hate the shrine. I hate the fact that Mom can’t be close to me for her own reasons and that Dad has to be too close and clingy. I can’t breathe there.” I said, my hand involuntarily going to my chest.
The Russian reached out and took my hand in his. He kissed it and held it against his chest. I loved that man.