But I think I’m the man she needs, now. I learned. I don’t think I’ll snap.
I think God hates me.
Or maybe I’m just unlucky. But what happened to Pasha really ruined my mood. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I felt bad. Misha felt bad too.
I don’t enjoy placing Misha in these situations because he doesn’t agree with me, and he doesn’t always see my side of things. I want to respect that. But it was an important day, and Pasha set me too close to snapping. I would not call the whole thing off because I was afraid of snapping.
I spent most of the party being a coward, but she must haveknown because she approached me first.
And that’s how she found out she was mine.
I suspect she already knew it, because the way she looked at me was exactly how I imagined.
That’s why we’re so good together, my Kotik and I.
Meant for each other.
Made for each other.
My Kotik.
Mine.
26
LittleBitch
The conversation got very tiresome, and it happened more and more often.
“Allo?”
“Irina Ivanovna, is Elena home?” I twirled the phone cord around my finger. It’d been weeks since I left my number for Elena, and I still hadn’t heard from her. She was mad—I could understand that—but I’d never gone this long without talking to my best friend. It was a week before my birthday, and we always spent it together. Besides, she hadn’t truly met Vitali, and I had been more nervous about that than having him meet Mama.
“No, Katenka, I haven’t seen her. Please try back later,” her mama said, voice worn. There were things left unsaid, but I heard my phone ringing in the other room and hurried to get the words out.
“Could you please let her know I called?”
“I will.”
Having both phones was still strange, and I kept forgettingabout the mobile one until it rang.
“Allo?” I said, fully expecting it to be Vitali. Instead, I heard Misha’s strained voice.
“Katya. I need you to make soup.”
“What?”
“I need you to go fill a pot right now. Put it on maximum heat. Throw whatever you want in there, I don’t care. Just make sure you chop it on the table. Leave the knife dirty.”
A chill ran through me, and I stood very still in that sliver of time before his words made sense—and they didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Only that something was happening, and it wasn’t good.
“Katya, I need you not to panic.”
No other words in the Russian language could make one panic more.
I scrambled to the kitchen, and Mama yelled something from the other room, but I didn’t slow because when a man of Misha’s reputation tells you not to panic, you don’t pause.
“You get that on there, and you take Mama and your brother to the neighbors.”
