15
TATI
Ican’t believe she’s gone.
It’s like I dreamed that she passed away and any minute, I’m going to wake up and call her, relieved to hear her voice. Then we’ll laugh about how silly it is because there’s no way that Marla would ever leave me like this. After everything we both went through with losing Nicki, she’d never, ever do this to me. She’d never just leave me alone in this cruel fucking world.
It’s far too sunny out today. We’re all standing out by the gravesite after the whole, drawn out Orthodox funeral. Marla’s mother came here straight from some little village in Russia, so if there were ever a possibility that she might be buried in any kind of Americanized service, that went out the window the moment she found out her daughter was dead.
She’s being buried in white. The dress she had on was beautiful. Lying there in the casket with her colored hair in curls and a crown of flowers, she looked like a fairy princess stuck in a magical sleep. Or just that she was just having an overly dramatic nap. I don’t know how soothing that’s supposed to be,but it did take my mind off the fact that she’ll never wake up again.
The priest is standing by the casket that’s due to be lowered. We’re all gathered in black in this little audience, the main event of Marla’s casket right before us. Her mother’s weeping has been the soundtrack for this entire thing. Otherwise, her family has been stone-faced… a Mount Rushmore of people.
I, my father, and the prime members of the Bratva are all in attendance. Including Viktor, who’s been by my side this whole time. He hasn’t made any effort to comfort me, but then, I haven’t made a spectacle of myself, either. Can’t have that. My father would throw the locks back on my door if I lost my shit today.
Which isn’t fucking fair. Of any day in the world, I should be allowed to completely lose my shit when my best friend dies of a random gunshot wound.
Yeah. Random. I push that out of my head. I just don’t have the bandwidth to analyze the circumstances of her death right now.
The priest is doing the final prayer now. Good. I’m ready to go home.
I lower my head and as he speaks, I hear my father whisper, “We are expected to be in attendance for the repast. You should say something to Marla’s mother while we’re there.”
“Yes, Papa,” is all I whisper back. I hate it when he’s right.
Marla’s mother’shome is humble. Much more humble than any of our other friends were when I was growing up. When her father was alive, he had a big problem with her connection to the Bratva, hated that she was seeing Nicki, even. As a result, any time Nicki offered to do anything that might elevate their station, even a little, her father rejected him entirely.
So, this house has a modest-sized living room with couches and armchairs that have a faded flower pattern, a wooden coffee table with chipped edges, and old landscape paintings that look like they were bought from a secondhand store. And I’m sitting here watching as Marla’s family mixes with mine and my father’s top generals.
It’s enough to make an FBI agent ejaculate with glee.
At the moment, I’m watching Yanny talk to my father in the far corner of the room. They look like they’re conspiring, but I think that’s just how they always look, huddled up together like lovers discussing whatever devious plans they’re hatching together.
A plastic cup filled with punch is handed to me. I take it and look up to see Viktor at my side. “Are you all right?” he asks.
I don’t say anything. It’s a dumb question. Of course I’m not all right. I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again. Viktor sits down next to me on the couch.
“It was a beautiful service,” he says. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a traditional Orthodox funeral before. I didn’t know her family was so devout.”
“Her mother is. Her father was, when he was alive.” Probably why he hated my father so much. I don’t know what Marla’s mother’s excuse is. She’s currently decided to interrupt Yanov and my father’s conversation at the moment.
“Her mother seems to have a good relationship with your family,” Viktor says. “That’s good. Nikolai will probably offer to take care of whatever expenses are incurred. Marla was very close to you, after all.”
Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think I care. I glance over at him to see he’s not looking at me. He’s watching the room just like I am.
“Are you assigned to watch me?”
He shakes his head. “You lost your best friend today. That warrants someone looking after you.”
“And that’s you? Watching over me like some father figure.”
He looks at me curiously, then he looks away. “If that’s what you need.”
My heart jumps a little in my chest the way it did that first night we were together. That feeling of his hands on me, guiding me, encouraging me… protecting me. I didn’t know how much I needed it until he was right there.
Goddamn him. He says something like that and I’m back to questioning his role in my life. In this baby’s life.
My stomach starts to turn. This periodic morning sickness is a bitch. “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask him.
