Iris
The man has a weak chin.
I tilt my phone another fifteen degrees, as if changing the angle will somehow improve the situation. It doesn't. He's still standing on a dock somewhere, holding a fish he did or didn't catch, grinning like he's just conquered the Atlantic. His name is Brad. His bio says he's "fluent in sarcasm." His chin is retreating toward his neck like it owes money. "Nope."
Grace glances up from the cutting board where she's slicing strawberries for Mila. "Another one?"
"Brad. Thirty-two. Sales executive. Enjoys hiking, craft beer, and lying about catching fish." I swipe left with the conviction of a woman performing a public service.
Katya leans against the counter, holding baby Nikolai in her arms. He's milk drunk and asleep and so utterly gorgeous I could snatch him up and eat him. "The last three were also nopes," she says, while yawning. She was like this with Sasha too, in the early days. Present, but exhausted. Her and Killian taking it in shifts to deal with baby related stuff, only now they have two and it’s become a juggling act of epic proportions.
"That’s because the last three were also terrible." I shift on the sofa, hooking one knee over the back so I'm fully upside down now, my hair pooling on the floor beneath me. Blood rushes to my head. Everything looks better upside down. "One of themhad a photo with a sedated tiger. Asedated tiger, Katya. That man looked into the soulless eyes of a drugged apex predator and thought,yes, this is the image that will make women want me." I’d shudder if my body weren’t confused about gravity right now.
Tanya laughs from the table where she's sorting through fabric swatches. At seven months pregnant with her first, I feel like they’ve left the nursery decisions to quite late in the game. "What about the one with the guitar?"
"Shirtless. Shirtless with anacousticguitar. In his bathroom mirror. With visible toothpaste smeared on the counter." I grimace at the thought of whatever poor woman who ends up with him essentially having just one more person to clean up after. "I deserve better than a man who doesn’t clean up after himself and thinks he is a god because he knows how to play the guitar..."
"You deserve better than all of them," Nadia says quietly from the window seat opposite me. Her two-year-old daughter, Eva, is sprawled over her chest napping with fists full of Nadia’s hair clutched in each hand.
Something warm and complicated moves through my chest. I ignore it the way I always do and swipe to the next profile. "This one's name is Chad.Chad.His parents looked at a newborn baby and said, you know what this child needs? The name of every man who's ever been kicked out of a bar."
The kitchen fills with laughter.
“I don’t know,” Grace says. “I mean, Chad sounds good on Chad Michael Murray.” She swoons a little and flutters her hand near her face, causing Mila to bang her chubby hands on her high chair.
“Don’t let Liam hear you say that,” Tanya points out, lifting another swatch of pale gingham to the light as Katya tells her she’d be better off doing that in the actual nursery because the light would be different.
The Orlov kitchen is never empty. It's the center of everything. On any given afternoon you'll find at least three of us here. Today it's Grace, Katya, Tanya, Nadia and me, three of the kids, and the smell of Ma's bread still lingering from this morning.
Ma's in town picking up something for dinner that apparently cannot be trusted to anyone else. The lamb, probably. She has a relationship with her butcher that I'm fairly certain qualifies as an emotional affair.
Liam drifts through at some point, pausing to drop a kiss on Grace's temple without breaking his phone conversation. He's talking about shipments. He's always talking about shipments. Grace watches him leave with that expression she gets sometimes, the one that's equal parts adoration and mild concern, and then she goes back to the strawberries which are now a pink, pulpy mess in Mila’s chubby hands.
“How’s Lorcan finding Pre-K?” I ask as Grace wipes the strawberry gunk from Mila’s hands with an expression that can only be described ascartoonish.
“He screamed at first,” Grace says. “But settled as soon as he saw the ride-on-tractor in the sand pit.”
Killian appears, grunts a greeting at the room, steals a piece of bread from the table, and drops a kiss on Katya’s head as she lifts Nikolai to her breast for another feed.
“Have you eaten?” he asks her, like she ever stopped eating since she fell pregnant to begin with. Having babies is hungry work, according to Katya, at least.
“Yes,” she says, ensuring Nikolai is latched properly before raising her eyes to Killian’s. The smile that breaks out on her face is one of contentment and pure, exhausted, happiness.
“Sasha?” she asks.
“Down for his nap. It only took four full read-throughs of Jumping Beans Save the Day.” Killian makes a mocking kill-me-now gesture with his fingers, and Katya laughs.
“Any news on Anya?” Nadia asks and I lift myself up to look over at Killian properly. It’s the question on all of our minds. Anya is currently in hospital having her second baby… and even though we’ve been through this several times now, it never gets easier.
“Not yet. Connor said the contractions are getting closer and Anya is doing great, but no signs of baby, yet.”
I flop back down on the sofa. This is my life. This warm, loud, chaotic, beautiful life. I love it. I do.
I swipe left on a man named Derek who describes himself as "a simple guy who loves to laugh." As opposed to, presumably, a complex guy who hates laughing.
The thing is, I'm happy. I am genuinely, completely, ridiculously happy for every single person in this kitchen. I was there when Liam brought Grace home after the masquerade ball. I watched Killian burn down half his carefully constructed walls for Katya. I held Nadia’s hand after she had been kidnapped and helped clean up her cuts and bruises, because that’s what family does. Family is there for one another.
I'll always be there.
