Lifting my phone, I extend it to him in an offer. “Do you want to look?”
His face is a mask of contemplation as he eyes it. “You deserve privacy,dochen’ka.Even if it terrifies me.”
“It terrifies you?” I ask, swallowing as I let my phone fall back into my lap. “I didn’t think anything scared you,Papochka.You’re the Pakhan.”
He shakes his head, a vein in his thick neck almost popping as he does. “I may be Pakhan, Anya, but I also have a daughter. I’m always scared.”
“Because of what happened?—”
He doesn’t let me get the rest of the question out. “I was scared the moment you were born. Nothing will ever change how much I worry about you. I want you to be safe and happy more than I want anything. I will never forgive myself for the pain you’ve felt and the memories that I can’t erase for you.”
My bottom lip trembles, and I sniff back my welling emotions. “We never talk like this.”
“You’ve only recently started talking to me again at all,dochen’ka.” His response is so quiet, so soft, that I almost don’t recognize the sound of his voice.
“I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, setting down his coffee to give me his undivided attention. “You weren’t speaking to anyone, Anya. I didn’t take it personally. It was difficult just to get you to speak with the doctors.”
I look away from his gaze, down to my lavender painted toes. “Things are easier now. I’m getting better.”
“You’ve been getting better for months,” Dad corrects gently. “It’s been a slow process, but you’ve been putting in the work. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but I want to thank you, now that I feel like you’re ready to hear it. Thank you for trying. Hearing your voice, seeing you heal, it’s the only thing that’s kept me going.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes and I swallow hard. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything at all,dochen’ka. You’re doing enough. When you hugged me on the plane…I—you’re doing enough. More than enough.”
“Okay,” I whisper, fighting back the instinct to ball my eyes out.
I could hug him again, I think. Maybe soon, but not now. I might just break down sobbing if I hugged him after such an emotional talk.
My phone buzzes and the sound grabs his attention immediately, pulling us out of the moment. A surprising amount of humor bubbles up in me at his alert response. I smother a laugh, offering up the device again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to look?”
“I never said I didn’t want to look,” Dad grumbles, grabbing his mug again to take a short gulp. “I only said that you deserve privacy.”
Opening my messages, I begin to read Matteo’s newest message. “He says, ‘if we’re going to be good friends, I’m going to need to know your top three songs right now. Choose carefully, I will be silently judging you.’ In parentheses, he says, ‘(judgment-free zones have a music exemption).’”
Dad lifts a brow. “Judgment-free zone?”
“Something he said earlier,” I explain. “Apparently, friendships are meant to be wholly nonjudgmental.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you have friends,Papochka?”
Surprised by my question, he answers quickly, “Your uncles.”
I thought as much. “No one else?”
“Bosses don’t have many friends, Anya. There are very few people I trust.”
“What about Mr. Moretti?” I ask, having just thought of it. “Couldn’t you be friends with him?”
He blinks at me. “We’re acquaintances. Allies.”
“You share grandchildren now,” I point out innocently. “You could be friends, I think.”
