Zariah
“Everyday, it becomes harder and harder to breathe. I'm a grouchy, swollen mess.” I whimper while shoveling a spoonful of cookies and cream/ cookie dough frozen yogurt into my mouth. Connie is seated across from me at Yogurtland, which is situated in the center of the mall. There’s a Soma’s to my left that I keep cutting my eyes at.
“Preggo, you are as hopeless as the day is long.” She shakes her head. “How is Vassili?”
“Suffering.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a bitch sometimes and I don't care. Connie, I have ran, jumped, danced, wiggled everything but this belly off! I swear I won't make it.”
“Girl, you’re almost at the home front,” she murmurs. “What happened to being extra hot and horny?”
“Tsk, got that covered, too.” I tilt my head back and laugh. “The moment my husband arrives home, he has to get past all of this tummy and ass to survive. And then he has to hear me arguing about not being able to breathe. Natasha is karate chopping my ribs, I swear we are having a son. We’ve had a 3D ultrasound completed. However, I am not convinced that this is,” I point to my belly, “Natasha.”
After a few moments of laughing, Connie says, “Do you know what your problem is?”
I arch an eyebrow.
“You're spoiled. Uncle Samuel says there is no such thing as being spoiled but damn it, you are! Your dad spoiled you. Then you married a hot man—no a fighter, with big money and I'm sure something else even bigger in his pants.”
We both giggle at that.
“Zariah?” A familiar voice perks my ears.
“Dad?” I glance across the floral plants, separating Yogurtland from the mall.
His gaze sweeps down to my belly in such shock. Connie arises. “I have a mediation meeting. I'll see you at the baby shower this weekend.”
My father comes around, slipping past children, strollers, and other patrons who're in the line for frozen yogurt.
I haven't seen him in person in months. Not since the fiasco with Phil. Either he was going on a two-week Canadian cruise with Beatrice or I simply avoided him. The last chat we had, he did try it. Just as Vassili had said. He's tried to blame my husband for everything. And Samuel informed me about that dumb-ass cop stopping Vassili for no reason.
“My baby is having a baby,” he mumbles. His eyes are glossed. This is the closest I've ever seen him come to tears. For all the tears my mother has shed in the past, leave it to me to cause him heartache.
I stand and offer him a hug.
“Are you having a boy or a girl?” he asks as we let go.
“A girl or so we’ve been told. Her name is Natasha.”
“That Russian?”
I nod.
“Well, can you just keep in touch with me if anything ever—”
“C’mon, let’s refrain from the negativity, Daddy, damn. Keep in touch? We've both been busy.”
“I haven't been busy.”
“Canada for Thanksgiving. Beatrice’s family for Christmas? Not even a note for Valentine’s Day, when you once claimed I was your very first Valentine as a child.” I settle down and eat. Food keeps me grounded.
“Sheesh, Zariah, every day you’re becoming more and more like your mother,” he hisses.
I spear the spoon into the frozen yogurt. “Funny, Mom says I become more like you. I asked her about a month ago, out of annoyance and hormones. She said that it was because you’re a strategist, thinking prior to moving chess pieces. She apologized if it offended me for making such a statement.” I shrug. “But I'm confident your comparison of me to my mom is not one born from positivity. So how do I remind you of Mom? She got hit and got back up!” I feel my anger rising, and Vassili’s cussing rubbing off on me. “Because she strove and strove to keep quiet, to not muddle the water, so her children could grow up in a stable home. How weak of her to take beating after beating. Somehow, I believe verbal abuse is worse, though. Some of my previous clients, you could see their demeanor shrinking by the second. Feel free to jump in, enlighten me.”
“Zariah,” he seethes. “There are children around.”
“I have never disrespected Beatrice. Although, that bitch is stupid, when I mentioned the two of you, I wasn't taking my mother’s side.”
“Zariah, I asked—”
“I was merely stating facts. You were busy. I was in the courtroom or at the gym or one of Vassili’s matches, supporting him, because this is how marriage is supposed to be, uplifting each other. About a month back Samuel and Vassili, they're cool now, got together and told me when I had to go on maternity leave. I expected to work until I popped. But they agreed on last week, I’ve been out of the office for a week.” That might be some of my problem, growing bored. “So up until now, I've had a hectic schedule. Now I'm telling the painters that the teddy bears we wanted on the walls are a little too scary, and asking them to repaint. That started a very comical argument. Side note, I never knew that a man and wife could argue and laugh and still love.” By now I don't even see my father before me. Visions blurred with tears, “I…”
Somewhere along the lines, I must've lost consciousness.
Sometime later, my first line of vision is Vassili. That strong jaw, his fighter nose and the most sinfully dark eyes. The vision clears more and I see that he's in a sauna suit that's been duct taped at the wrist and to his shoes. He also has on a hoodie beneath the suit. The wide-legged stance he has chosen sets my heart on fire.
Before I can ask him what happened, an EMT steps into the way.
“Your blood pressure was through the roof.”
I start to speak. But there's something over my mouth, forcing cool air into my nostrils. Annoyed, I pull at the mask.
“Let's just get you breathing.” She smiles, adjusting the oxygen mask back into place.
“Let me talk to you,” I hear Vassili say. His tone is lethal.
“My daughter and I were having a simple…” Maxwell’s voice drowns out.
It's all pressure against my chest as I try to sit up. My head kisses the pillow with ease.
###
Later this evening, Vassili corners me in the bedroom, prepared to have a debate when I’d rather him touch my body. He sits in the chair across from the bed, wide-legged, elbows on his knees, and head in hands. I rub cocoa butter into my skin. The tension he exudes rolls over my shoulder as my hands glide along my thighs. I glance at my feet, then the lotion, and then to him. His glower tells me I have to wait.
“Connie told me that you were fine when she left you at Yogurtland. You, tell me what happened?” He says through gritted teeth.
I hold out the lotion. He shakes his head. Damn, I huff. “My dad ran into me at the mall, as you know. I tried to have a simple conversation with him, but he got under my skin.”
Vassili’s hand glides along my calf, he lifts my leg up and plants it on his knee. Then gestures for the cocoa butter. His tone has lost its edge. “How?”
“In retrospect, I snapped. I got on him because of how he treats you and–”
Massaging the lotion into my foot, Vassili says, “Baby, forget about me. I can’t have you putting our child in harm’s way. Maxwell can't touch what we've built.”
“I know, Vassili. But you didn’t let me finish, I was going to add that I argued with him about my childhood.” I pause, glancing toward the ground.
“Talk.”
“You’ve had a hard life as a kid. In the beginning, I assumed you had the world handed to you or…”
“Or I strong-armed that shit?” he cracks a smile.
“Exactly,” I grin. “The Resnov name implies that any asset is at your disposal, willing or not. Remember when I told you about my dad hitting my mom?”
“Yes. And because he's your dad and you love him, he’s still breathing.”
“Anywho, after I learned more about you, Sasha, the awful things Anatoly has done to your mother, well I … I've just tried to keep in my emotions about my dad, the things I've seen while I was raised.”
“Why?”
“Because you had a worse life,” I shrug. “I don't know. My mom always told me I tried to compensate for Ronisha’s life. With us, I just worry about Natasha. I know without a doubt that you’ll be a good dad, because you're strong.”
He clasps my face in his hands. “And you will be a good, good mother, Zariah.”
When Vassili zeros in on the hot tears on my cheeks, kissing each one, I cry harder.
“We are fearless people, Zariah. Ronisha had a fucked up life. Sasha did, too. No life is perfect. Our experiences make us stronger.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Now, I've got something to tell you, Zariah.”
He rubs a thumb over his eyebrow. “I don't want you to come to Kentucky when I fight Cordova. I'd pull out if you’d prefer since it’s near Natasha’s birth, but—”
“But we have bills and you'll take a loss.”
“Fuck a loss. Can’t bring a baby into the world with debt.”
I pout, my swollen face feeling extra fat as I do. “Since we've been together I haven't missed a fight.”
“You hate when I fight, though.”
Ain't that the truth. “What if I go into premature labor?”
“You won't.”
“If I did?”
“I’d race the sun to get to you, Zariah. There's no way you'll have Natasha all alone. I will be there.”