“I left the candle in the window from last night and everything,” Oksana adds.
“What does the candle have to do with anything?” I ask, peering at the tall white candle on a circular tray filled with pooled wax. Its flicker is calming, dancing with the breeze of each person walking by.
“It’s a Ukrainian tradition. It’s to let passersby know that all are welcome in the celebration of the birth of Christ,” she says. It’s a lovely custom, though I don’t think more passersby could fit in this small apartment that’s full up with party guests.
At my first bite of kutya—a cooked wheat treat with poppy seeds and raisins—I light up with pleasure. I missed Oksana’s home-cooked meals so much. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I don’t want to cause an issue between you and my parents.”
“Oh, Matthew, I’ve worked for your family long enough. I can handle it,” she assures me.
I’ve never known a world without Oksana. She was my caregiver when Dad was at work and Mom was writing. She was my homework helper and my playmate before I had friends. She was my chaperone to some school functions.
When I was too old for an au pair, or in periods where Mom was less busy and Dad took days off, she became housekeeper and chef extraordinaire. The way she’s adapted every step of the way, anticipating our family’s needs, is a wonder to me. It’s illustrated right now in the way she pours me a glass of water without asking.
I know it’s not the time or the place, but Oksana is the only person close enough to even remotely relate. “I don’t understand why they did it.”
“No sense overthinking other people is what I always say. They do what they do, and they do it for them.” Her wisdom has always been bountiful.
It’s that wisdom that prompts me to ask: “Have you liked working for my family?”
She puzzles over this question, toying with a stray strand of straw in front of her. “I have. I didn’t expect when I came to New York that I’d end up working for such a prominent family. It was stressful at first, but caring for you when you were young brought me so much joy. Caring for you now too.” She smiles. “I have a younger brother, Amon, and I missed much of his childhood when I left. Seeing you grow up was a nice exchange. Now, I’m going to see him at his home in Italy for the first time in four years next month, thanks to your parents.”
“Really?” I ask, wondering how I wasn’t looped in on this.
“Yes, they offered me quite the lovely holiday bonus this year, so I used it to book two plane tickets. One for me and one for my fiancé,” she says.
“Fiancé?” I ask. I’ve never seen her wear a ring. Though I guess if you’re cooking and cleaning all day, there’s too much of a risk that your rock might fall down a drain or end up baked into a loaf of bread.
“Maxim,” she says. At the sound of his name, a tall man with a black beard turns toward the table. I’d know the back of that head anywhere. I have it memorized from the front of the Town Car.
“Matthew, what a surprise,” he says, coming in for a handshake.
“Matthew will be staying with us for a bit. We’ll need to fish out the linens for the pull-out sofa when everyone leaves,” Oksana says.
They live together too? I want to ask how, when, and why I never knew this before, but the answer is so clear. I never bothered wondering about anyone but myself.I didn’t even know Oksana had a brother. I feel like the biggest prick.
“I’m speechless,” I say.
Oksana laughs. “Your mom introduced us. We’ve been together for four years, engaged for two,” she says. Oksana is verging on forty. She was probably around the age I am now when she started with us. I was maybe four or five then. Awful that I never questioned her life outside of my apartment.
“I’m sorry I never asked about any of this before,” I say, overcome with the urge to go back and do better, but I know that’s not an option. Not in any avenue of my life. “Why haven’t you gotten married yet?”
“We want to do it right and big with our whole families. Getting everyone in one place would be expensive. We’re both old enough to know if we are going to do it at all, we’re going to do it right,” she says.
“If you could have your dream wedding, where would you want to get married?” I ask. My planning brain is turning on. Cogs are spinning. How could I make this happen for her? Especially since I realize she’s spent approximately seventeen years of her life helping to raise me, treating me as if I were her family when her real one was living all over a completely different continent. What a selfless act. This is the best way to repay her for how I’ve acted and how much she’s given me. I’m sure of it.
“I’d get married on the moon if it meant everyone I loved was in the same place,” she says. Her sentimentality gets to me.
“Noted,” I say.
Oksana tenderly pats my cheek. “Now, it’s Christmas Day. Don’t dwell on the darkness too much. Tomorrow, you can confront everything. Tonight, we sing carols.”
She stands and calls the room to attention, moving into the living room where there’s a keyboard in one corner. Oksana used to play the baby grand in the sitting room at the apartment for me when I was young. It always cooled my fervid temper.
Before I know it, I’m joining in the chorus, singing loud and proud for all to hear, unafraid to fly off-key or hit a wrong note. Nobody here is going to judge me. Nobody here cares. Everyone is just happy to be full-bellied and together.
Even if it started off shitty, this is the happiest, merriest Christmas I’ve had in a long while.
Once everyone leaves and I’m curled up on the fold-out, blanket pulled up to my chest, I take out my phone and make a call. The day’s events have caught up to me since I’m finally alone with my thoughts.
