Her dress for the night is a simple dark green one that stops above her knees, but it hugs her figure in all the right places and makes her look no different than a model. I’ve come to the realization that she might be a vampire, because she hasn’t aged one bit since I was young.
“Hi, Mama.” I play with the belt of my coat.
“Don’t hi me, young lady.” She reaches into her cross-body bag and retrieves a small brush. She always has these little kits and emergency stuff that can be used for everything. “You look like a rat who’s out of the sewer. Didn’t I tell you to be presentable, at least for today?”
“That’s what I said,” Anton adds needlessly. “Apparently, your daughter wants to act like she’s ten forever.”
I glare up at him, and he merely watches me with that stupid blank expression of his. I swear to God, he’s growing up to be a second Babushka—minus the cane.
Maybe one day, he’ll inherit our grandmother’s cane and chase me out of the house with it.
Mama undoes the buttons of my coat and removes it in swift, firm movements. “I guess I should be glad that you didn’t smudge or tear your dress yet. I don’t even know what to do with you anymore, Malyshka.”
She gives the light pink lace a little fluff and adjusts the ribbon at my waist, then brushes my hair.
“I’m okay, Mama. Look.” I pull at my dress. “It’s all good.”
“Your shoes are ruined!” She rushes to the cabinet underneath the stairs and comes back with a second pair that looks exactly like what I’m wearing. Only Mama would buy duplicates of things because she knows I’ll destroy them in no time.
She helps me change my shoes while Anton just shakes his head like a bastard. He could’ve left or something, but he’s leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, looking pristine in his suit and judging me six ways to Sunday.
He's also enjoying watching me being scolded until eternity by our mother.
All I get to do is lower my head and take it with a pout. If I attempt to defend myself, she’ll really give me an earful. Not that I have too many arguments that could work in my favor.
The office door opens, and Papa steps out with Uncle Albert. My papa, Akim Ivanov, is the most handsome, compassionate, and charismatic man I know. I don’t care that those who work for him think he’s as authoritarian as Babushka. He’s not that way with me or with the rest of the family, and that’s all that matters.
Anton takes after him in almost everything except for the dark hair. I’m the opposite, yet I have Papa’s golden hair.
Upon seeing me, he smiles. “Sasha!”
I release myself from Mama’s merciless hold and run into his open arms. He embraces me and kisses the top of my head. “You look so good, my Sashenka.”
“That’s only because I salvaged the situation last minute,” Mama says from behind me with a huff.
“And I prevented a disaster from happening,” my brother supplies.
“Sasha will always be Sasha,” Uncle Albert says with a heartfelt laugh.
“That’s my charm.” I smile coyly at my father. “Right, Papa?”
He caresses my head. “Correct. You’ll be my little girl forever.”
“Yes!”
“Don’t encourage her, Akim,” Mama scolds him as well. “You’re the reason she’s like this.”
“I agree.” Anton stands beside our mother. “You’re spoiling her too much, Papa.”
“I don’t care. I want her to stay young for as long as possible.” He hugs me again, and I nuzzle my nose in his chest.
Papa smells like winter. Harsh on the outside but with a warm core on the inside. He feels like an anchor that can never be snatched away.
Mama and Anton—who belong to the tough love club—shake their heads as Papa holds me by the shoulder and leads me to the dining room.
Everyone is already inside, chatting among themselves and starting to take their seats. The dining room is majestically decorated with a Christmas theme. The long table takes up most of the room, overflowing with countless dishes covered with golden cloches. Matching utensils are aesthetically placed in front of every seat.
Erik and Eduard both make a face, and I make one back as I grab onto Papa.
Uncle Anatoly intercepts Papa and Uncle Albert—and me. He’s the youngest of my uncles, and the twins' father. He’s leaner than Papa but is the same height and has similar features. His face is closed off, and he has dark circles beneath his eyes.
Papa is the most handsome, Uncle Albert is the least, so that puts Uncle Anatoly right in the middle. He’s also funny and has made cracking jokes his entire personality.
Not lately, though.
In the past few months, it looks as if life has been sucked out of him and left a soulless skeleton in its wake.
I’ve noticed some changes in Uncle Albert, too. He usually has time to indulge us in playing or assembling something we buy, but not lately.
Only Papa is an unchanging anchor, short of some dark circles because he’s been spending a lot of time in the office lately.
“What have you decided?” Uncle Anatoly asks in a low voice.
“This is not the time,” Uncle Albert whispers back.
“You shut up!” Uncle Anatoly hisses. “We should’ve stopped this before it got to this stage, but no, we had to hold on to a sinking fucking ship—”
Without letting me go, Papa reaches out his free hand and squeezes his shoulder. “Not another word, Anatoly. This is neither the time nor the place. I need you to get yourself together. Go sit beside your wife and children and be an Ivanov. Control that turbulent energy of yours and calm the fuck down.”
Shivers break on my skin even though the words aren’t directed at me. This…is the first time I’ve heard Papa be so…insensitive.
It’s clear that Uncle Anatoly is suffering with something, but instead of offering him any form of comfort, Papa all but humiliated him. No, maybe humiliating is a strong word. He scolded him.
In no time, a smile lifts Papa’s lips, and it’s like he’s flipped a switch to return back to the father I know. “We’ll talk after dinner.”
Uncle Anatoly glares at both of them. “We’re in immediate danger, and all you care about is a stupid fucking dinner?”
He shakes his head and, without waiting for an answer, walks to his wife, then flops down beside her while wearing a solemn expression.
“Never mind your uncle Anatoly, Sashenka. He’s just tired.” Papa kisses the top of my head. “Go take your seat.”
I smooch his cheek and then trudge toward my chair. When a leg trips me and I nearly fall, Erik’s and Eduard’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.
Oh, you want to play?
I push Erik’s chair and both of them almost tumble to the ground.
A cane taps on the ground, and I straighten. Babushka, who’s at the head of the table, narrows her eyes on me and I smile and then sit beside the twins. These bastards want to see me die by our grandmother’s cane.
After everyone is seated, Babushka nods at the head maid, who’s as stoic as she is, and the lady motions to the rest of the staff to remove the cloches.