“You’re asking us to say goodbye to our daughter… to our grandson,” her mother says hoarsely.
Ivy shakes her head. “I’m asking you to understand why I can’t stay here. I’m not cutting you off, please don’t think that. I know we had a long rough patch where we didn’t speak, but this isn’t the same. We’ll still talk, Leo and I will still come back and visit. I’ll send videos and pictures andeverything I can to make it easier, but…” She trails off, then finishes softly. “This is what I have to do for my family.”
The word lands heavily in the room.
Her family.
Not just the one she came from but the one she’s building. Withme.
They’re quiet for a long time. When father finally speaks again, he lets out a slow breath. His arms slowly uncross from his chest, his strides pulling away from the window to head over toward us.
When he reaches where Ivy’s sitting, he holds out his arms to her. “You come back to visit. Often. You don’t shut us out.”
“I won’t,” Ivy promises, standing up to hug him.
Her father glances at me. “You get one shot at this, Antonov. Don’t waste it.”
“I won’t,” I say.
I truly mean it.
And somehow, just like that… it’s done.
29
IVY
Hours later, when my sister arrives home from her classes, she finds Maksim and me in my bedroom, half-kneeling on the carpet as we sort through piles of clothes and throw them into my open suitcase.
Though I know there’s hardly a point in taking most of these things to Russia—Maksim has made it more than clear that he plans to replace just about everything I own with rich finery—I still find comfort in the act.
Folding my favorite hoodie, shoving in the soft flannel shirt I stole from Lettie last year, zipping up Leo’s worn little backpack with his name stitched on the inside—it makes this move feel a little less like I’m abandoning my whole life and a little more like I’m carrying it with me. Even if just symbolically.
Maksim doesn’t say much, but his fingers brush mine occasionally as we work in tandem, and I feel that same ridiculousflutter in my chest every time he looks at me like this is exactly where he belongs.
My sister’s knock is sharp but brief, giving me no time to brace before the door creaks open. She leans halfway into the room with her bag still slung over one shoulder. “Hey, Ivy, do you know why Mom and Dad are?—”
Her words evaporate the moment her eyes land on Maksim sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of my open closet, holding one of Leo’s stuffed animals like he has no idea what to do with it.
Her gaze flicks to me.
Then back to him.
“Oh,” she says, voice laced with smug amusement. “Sothat’swhy they’re acting all weird downstairs.”
Maksim lifts an eyebrow, clearly amused by her lack of surprise. “Lettie.”
She nods with mock solemnity. “Maksim.”
I groan and toss the pair of jeans I’d been folding onto the bed. “Acting weird how?”
Lettie pushes the door shut behind her with the toe of her boot and walks further into the room, her hair slightly windblown from the walk home.
“Mom’s being all weepy. She’s got Leo in the kitchen with her right now and was showing him how to roll dough and burst into tears when he asked if she’d help him make Christmas cookies like last year.” She dramatically flops down across my bed, practically draping herself over my pile of clothing.
Maksim lets out a quiet snort of laughter, glancing up from where he’s folding one of Leo’s shirts.
I blink. “You’re kidding.”
