I brace myself for either an attack or a fight but all I see is her licking her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks. She sits down and her emerald eyes speaks volumes. Oh, my wife likes to play.
“Next time, yes,” my mother says, cutting through the whirlwind of thoughts. As we all sit down, the heat I felt just seconds ago vanishes into thin air as my mother’s tone shifts. She folds her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes me straighten my spine. “But first, I think you have some explaining to do.”
Here it comes.
“Mama—”
“You get married, and we find out from gossip website? FromElena Petrova,who sends me link saying,‘Did you know your son has American wife?’” The English drops away from her entirely. “I call Lara. I say, ‘My son is married?’ and she says, ‘Of course, everyone knows.’ Everyone? Everyone except your own mother!”
Ouch.
Beside me, Jenna reaches for my hand under the table. Her fingers lace through mine while her thumb strokes the back of my hand in a soothing rhythm. It’s such a simple gesture, but so unexpected that it momentarily derails my thoughts. I almost forget what Mom’s arch enemy Elena Petrova did.
“We wanted to tell you properly,” Jenna jumps in, rescuing me, her voice apologetic. “We were planning to visit you, weren’t we, Colton? But then everything happened so quickly with Livy’s case and your illness...”
My mother’s expression softens slightly at the mention of her granddaughter but the second she sees me it hardens again.
“That might be, yes. But your poor mother! Elena Petrova!”
“I’m sorry, Mama. But your health was more important, and I didn’t know you’d be lying in bed, scrolling the internet while you’re battling for your life.”
“It’s not that bad, please. What’s worse, is that I could have died because you didn’t tell me you got married!”
I look at her hands. She’s folded them over the table. The backs of them mapped with bruising, still yellow-green at the edges from the IVs. I put my hand over hers. “Mom, it’s not nothing, okay. There was so much happening, we didn’t want to bother you. It wasn’t the big wedding.” And shit. Just like that I made everything worse. Jenna’s foot finds mine under the table. I glance at her. She widens her eyes at me, just slightly. I cringe back. Yep. I am an idiot.
Suddenly my mother’s hands come together with a crack. “Koltun.” She switches to Russian. “A real wedding. When? Where? The church on Nevsky, or—your father’s cousin has a dacha outside Petersburg, we could—” She turns to my father. “Anatoly, remember the Volkov wedding, with the—will you wear white?” This last one is directed at Jenna in English.
“Honey, please…” my father groans in Russian and that’s actually the only thing that stops her. She swallows.
“Okay. Okay. Next time, you call first. No more surprises.” She lifts her fork and points at us. “And I want to know everything about the big wedding. I want to help. But now eat, before cold.”
The conversation shifts to safer topics as we dig into dinner. Livy finds it all boring and after my mother stopped scolding me, she vanished back into her room once she finished her plate.
I can’t blame her. My father talks about his conference, my mother asks about our apartment, Jenna tells carefully editedstories about our “courtship” that somehow manage to be both vague and convincing. I watch her work her magic on my parents and memorize the performance in case I need to repeat details later.
“And then your son—” Jenna pauses, taking a sip of wine, her lips curved in amusement, “—forgot the tickets on the counter. We had to beg the usher to let us in.”
The story is complete fiction, but she delivers it with such authentic exasperation that my mother nods knowingly.
“He forgets everything since boy. Once left hockey skates at home for championship game.”
“That was one time,” I protest, falling into the rhythm of their exchange.
My father laughs. “Your Coach was furious! He had to borrow too-small skates.”
“Did you win?” Jenna asks.
“Of course,” I say. “I was the best.”
“He always finds ways to win,” my mother says, patting my hand with unmistakable pride. Then she turns back to Jenna. “You will learn this. He’s stubborn like a mule, but always finds a way.”
“I’m counting on it,” Jenna replies, and this time when she looks at me, something flickers in her eyes that isn’t part of the act. Oh, it feels so easy with her. I wish this dinner night could be real. I don’t want it to end.
Then my mom clears her throat. “Now, most important question. When do you give us grandchildren? Besides Olivia?”
Jenna chokes on her wine. Okay, maybe I want it to end.
I pat her back automatically, shooting my father a look. “Mama, please.”
