“I’m making lunch,” I say finally. “Sandwiches. Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
I turn to leave. His voice stops me.
“Anna.”
I look back.
“He’s good at this. Building things. Planning routes. He has your focus but he thinks like me.”
“Is that a compliment or an observation?”
“Both.”
I leave before the conversation can go anywhere else.
The kitchen smells like fresh bread. Cook made it this morning. I slice it thick and layer turkey, cheese, and lettuce. Simple. Normal. The kind of lunch I used to make in my parents’ tiny kitchen before all of this.
Mila bursts through the door with dirt on her dress and flowers in both fists. “Mama! Look what I picked!”
“They’re beautiful, baby.”
“Can we put them in water? Elena said we need to put them in water or they’ll die.”
“We can do that. Go wash your hands first.”
She runs to the sink. I find a vase in the cabinet and fill it. Mila brings me the flowers one by one, carefully, like they’re made of glass.
“This one is for you,” she says, handing me a yellow daisy. “And this one is for Alexei. And this one is for…” She pauses. Looks down at the pink flower in her hand. “Can I give one to Luca?”
My chest tightens. “If you want to.”
“He likes flowers?”
“I don’t know. You can ask him.”
She nods seriously and sets the pink flower aside. “I’ll ask.”
Three weeks ago, Mila cried every time Luca walked into a room. Now she’s picking flowers for him.
I finish making sandwiches and call everyone to the kitchen. Alexei comes first, train car still clutched in his hand. Then Luca. Then Elena with Mila.
We eat at the kitchen table instead of the formal dining room. Mila chatters about the garden. Alexei describes his train city in exhaustive detail. Luca listens to both of them with patience I didn’t know he had.
I watch him cut Mila’s sandwich into triangles without her asking. Watch him nod at Alexei’s explanation of why the bridgeneeds to be exactly where he put it. Watch him exist in this space with my children like he belongs here.
Maybe he does.
The thought terrifies me.
That evening, bath time turns into a water fight.
I’m trying to wash Alexei’s hair when he splashes me. I splash back. Mila, already in her pajamas and supposedly finished with her bath, jumps back in fully clothed and soaks everything.
By the time I get them both out, dried, and into clean pajamas, the bathroom looks like a flood zone. Water everywhere. Wet towels. Their clothes in a sopping pile.
I’m on my hands and knees mopping up water when Luca appears in the doorway. “Need help?”
