He kisses me on the cheek, smelling of something citrusy and fresh, and my brain keeps short-circuiting. I’m on a date, I’m on a date. A date with the kind of guy I never really imagined being sat across from. My previous boyfriends have been geeky scientists who couldn’t bench-press a watermelon and have never seemed to like me all that much. Small talk used to involve complaints about Atlanta traffic and wondering what our table would be like. Now it involves broaching the topic of immunity and the looming question above Simon’s head: How are you alive?
The bar feels so familiar—I’ve spent evenings in cocktail bars before—and yet so different, it’s discombobulating. The musicians are all women—the double bass player, the drummer, the saxophonist—and it’s only as I look at them that I realize the bands have always been male. The menu is entirely British-made drinks—sloe gin, cider, English sparkling wine—and due to shortages everyone is restricted to one drink. Other women in the bar eye us enviously and sadly, which I might be imagining but I don’t think I am. It’s as though I can hear them wondering what a man like that is doing with a woman like me. I’m talking about my old life but I feel like I’m floating, untethered from the room.
“Are you okay?” Simon asks softly, about thirty minutes in. Part of me wants to scream, “Never been better!” and I would sort of mean it. Part of me wants to burst into tears at how gloriously normal all of this is and how awful it’s going to be to go back to my tiny room, in this cold city where I only have two friends and God I just want my old life back when my dad was alive and going on dates was normal.
“It’s just a lot,” I eventually say. “I’m having a really nice time though. Sorry, that sounds weird. I honestly am. It’s just this is the first date I’ve gone on in a long time and life is really different now, you know?”
Simon’s face breaks into a smile that I swear could light up this whole room and he says the perfect words. “I know exactly what you mean.” He looks around the bar. “I don’t go out that much anymore. Everything feels so different.”
“You don’t get asked out on dates all the time then? I would have thought you’d be out a lot,” I ask, testing the waters and preparing myself for the inevitable shrug that means yes.
Simon smiles and reaches over, takes my hand. “I do get asked out, yes. But I’ve never been asked out before by the American girl I remember from eight years ago, who was so funny and friendly and bright that we all desperately wanted to hang out with her at lunch every day. And beautiful,” he says, quietly into his drink as though he’s used up his bravado in a rush of words.
A smile overwhelms my face and I have to contain myself from reaching across the table and kissing him, right then and there. And then I remember that the world is falling apart and nothing is like it used to be and I haven’t been on a date in a long, long time. So I reach across, kiss him and it’s the best first kiss of my life.
IRINA
Moscow, Russia
Day 232
I’m praying in the Cathedral of Christ the Savior like I do every day. Save me. Please God almighty. Take him away from me. Please don’t let him be one of the chosen few. I will be your loyal servant for the rest of my life, both in life and in death, if you will please, let me be free. Why is my husband not dead yet? Please God, kill him.
It has been months. He is still alive. Why? Why him? He beats me every evening. He is the worst kind of man. Katya is growing up in a house that is no place for a child.
The priest looks at me with a frown. It’s probably the black eyes. Or maybe it’s my nose. He did that last Monday. I’ll probably have a bump in it forever now. I liked my nose. I want to tell him they’re not my fault, but he’s already passed me. My husband cannot be immune. It would not be right. Babies and little boys and doctors have died. Good people. It is not right for bad people to survive. It cannot be right.
Life was still and quiet and occasionally terrifying for a long time. Mikhail drank too much, earned too little. I worked in the shop, I kept Katya safe. There were only a few beatings. It was manageable. He made sure to leave my face alone. No need for awkward questions.