“Well, my mother said only the working class eat so early.”
“Afraid of mingling with the working class?” His tone was serious.
“It isn’t like that—”
“Would you be ashamed of being seen with me in work clothes, then?” He looked stern, his shoulders tense.
I took a second too long to reply, so he shook his head and looked away.
“I don’t ... care about those things. I wouldn’t have married you if that were the case,” I explained, though my hesitation was hard to brush off.
“Why do you care about these rules, anyway?” He tilted his head at me. “If you struggle to keep up with them, why bother at all? You don’t even like being in public.”
My fingers picked at the pilling blanket as I took my time with his words.
“If you want to be free of your parents, their expectations, whatever they may be, you have to allow yourself to be uncomfortable. I think you find safety in the privileges of your parents, even if it is to your detriment.”
“It isn’t easy, you don’t know them,” I snapped.
“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?” He smirked.
“No I ...” I pushed a sharp breath from my nose, gathering my next words. “I want to be free of many things. But I don’t think it would be possible unless I disappeared into obscurity. It’s hard to wean yourself from a life you’ve known for so long. It takes time to weed by the root.”
He nodded, seemingly entertained by the idea as he looked out in the distance.
“Run away with me, then,” he said finally.
I laughed. Perhaps I shouldn’t have.
“Is it so foolish an idea?” He nudged me.
“Someday”—I placed my hand over his, squeezing—“may it be.”
“It could be today.”
I shook my head, then leaned to rest it on his shoulder. “Ask me at another time, maybe the answer will be more in your favor.”
“Arkasha?” a voice said behind us.
Arkady twisted his head, looking behind us before his face brightened. “Kostya! What luck we have running into you.” He laughed, reaching his arm up as his friend hoisted him to his feet.
I rose to greet him. Much like ourselves, Kostya was paired up. A blond woman with a pram, I assumed his wife, stood idly beside him, smiling and giving a tired nod to myself and Arkady. She rocked the covered baby trolley back and forth on its wheels.
“May I?” I whispered to her as our husbands finished their hardy greetings.
“Yes, of course, she is sleeping off the meal,” the woman answered, lifting the hood of the trolley.
A small baby, plump with red cheeks, sleeping soundly in white cotton.
“What a darling.” I beamed at the tiny swaddle. No matter how normal children were, it was always hard to believe they were so small. Frail, pudgy things that somehow learned to eat and talk on their own. “Oh, where are my manners? Petronille Kameneva.” I pulled a card for her.
“Emily Bezkorovainyi.” She traded her card with mine. “I’ve heard much about you. Konstantin keeps me up to date with his dear friend’s endeavors. I think he talks about him more than his work.”
“I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t imagine cadavers are cheery to hear about after a long day.”
“You have a point.” She laughed, sighing as she wiped her temples with a handkerchief. “Would you like to join us? We were just heading to the menagerie.”
“Yes, of course.” I glanced at Arkady, who was occupied talking to Kostya, though even within earshot, I couldn’t understand. It sounded vaguely Slavic, I wasn’t sure which kind. Whatever it was, the conversation was lively, excited.
