Shep eyed me. “Dude, you have to go.”
“No, I don’t.”
He slid my phone across the table toward me. “Yeah, you do.”
I picked it up and put it in my pocket.
“Listen, Joel. I get it. I really fucking do, but you can’t keep pretending that you didn’t play a part in all of this.”
“Trust me, I don’t. You said we had two options, so what’s the other one?”
He shook his head. “You’re not gonna like it. But you need to consider it.”
“Tell me, already.”
Shep watched me for a beat. “Make up with her.”
“What?” I shot the word at him like a cannonball.
“I don’t mean you have to be with her, but if you can figure out a way to let it go, everyone else would fall in line. You’re their fearless leader. They’d follow you anywhere, even down the path of redemption. But so long as you’re wounded, they will be too. The longer they see you hurting, the more they dig in their heels.”
My nostrils flared as a hot breath left them. It was impossible. But he was right. I deflected.
“I’m not going to her fucking cat’s funeral, Shep.”
He shrugged. “Even if you don’t go for her, you should go for that little girl.”
I glared at him. “It’s a cat funeral. A funeral. For a cat.”
“Yeah, I get what it is, I’ve got ears, asshole. But if you go, it’s an olive branch to her. You’re there for the little girl who I’m assuming must really want you there, since it convinced Annika to call you.”
I blinked at the sound of her name. “I’m not going, dude.”
He frowned. “Stop acting like you’re the only one who got hurt. She’s not wrong, you know. You gave her permission to do her job, and she did. You lied to her. She lied to you. You hurt each other.”
“It’s not the same,” I growled.
“I’m not saying it is. I’m saying you led her on just as much as she did you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t lie to her and then fuck her.”
He gave me a look. “That’s exactly what you did.”
“You know what I mean, Shep.”
“I do know what you mean, but I’m saying that what you did to each other was shitty. You’re both assholes. I’m not saying you have to be best friends with her. I’m not even saying you have to forgive her. But either you find a way to work with her or she’s got to go. You can’t have it both ways.”
I turned for my room, not knowing where else to go. But I had to get away. “I’m not fucking going, Shep.”
And he sighed as I closed my door to shut the world out.
Chapter 27
BLACKBIRD
* * *
Annika
* * *
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, I FOUND myself in my childhood kitchen, milling around with my family, all dressed in black, somber clothes. It felt more like an actual human wake than I cared to really acknowledge, and with more people than I’d anticipated, including several family friends who I’d known all my life. Mama had cooked enough food to feed half of Russia, including all of Kira’s favorites, and desserts galore.
All I’d had to eat was half a dozen chocolate pirogi, and I didn’t even feel bad about it.
Papa had pulled me aside and asked me about Joel, after Kira wouldn’t stop talking about him, wondering if he would come, and I’d told him everything, the two of us in the quiet bedroom hallway. And I cried again, loss piled on loss, and I couldn’t find the edges of the two anymore to separate them.
After a little while, when we’d said the little service would start, we moved into the living room where a table covered in black cloth stood with Kaz’s tiny cat-sized coffin on top. Papa had built it the day before out of simple pine and dug his small grave in our sliver of back yard, and Mama had covered the mirrors in mourning. I took my place next to the table as everyone sat in folding chairs lined up in the living room. Kira sat in front, her eyes big and shining, her stuffed bunny in her lap and hair braided in a crown around her head. Her small mouth was pinched, her rosy lips tight.
I took a heavy breath as they all got settled, blinking back tears, telling myself the show was for Kira. But it was more for me than I was really willing to admit. I fought the urge to lay my hand on his little coffin, winding my fingers together in front of me instead, squeezing them tight.
“I’d like to thank you all for joining us today to say goodbye to Kazimir, destroyer of peace, shoes, and sometimes, hearts.”
A chuckle rolled through them, and I gave a small smile, feeling a little better. Until the door opened, spilling slanted daylight into the room.
Joel stood in the doorframe, massive, imposing, his brows low and lips drawn, his eyes connecting with mine immediately.
I couldn’t breathe, the room suddenly hot, stifling.
Everyone had turned to the motion, and Kira cried, “Hairy!” before bolting around the chairs and into his arms.
He scooped her up, clutching her into his chest as her little arms wound around his neck.
“Hey, kid. You doing okay?” he asked softly.
She leaned back, arms still circling his neck, sniffling. “He’s gone.”
His face softened and bent, his eyes brimming with sadness. “I know. I know he is. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, fresh tears slipping down her round cheeks. When he set her down, she slipped her tiny hand into his gigantic one and pulled him to the front. And he did her bidding, sitting right next to her.
Right in front of me.
I swallowed down a dozen emotions, his eyes heavy on me as I looked away. I felt cheated by his presence, no longer free to feel however I felt, everything complicated simply because he was there. So I looked at everyone but him, determined to keep it together.
“Mama found Kaz behind the shop, tied up in a trash bag with his brothers and sisters, the lot of them mewling and crying to get out. When she freed them, they took off, all of them but Kaz, who climbed into her lap and purred his thanks. She gave him milk and brought him here, brought him home.”
Kira leaned into Joel, Roxy nearly forgotten altogether. She looked a little miffed at the fact too, shooting him looks, though it may have also been on my account.
“I was beside myself — Mama had refused me a pet since I’d been able to talk.” Another chuckle. “But Kaz wiggled his way into our lives easily, mine easiest. You might remember me pushing him up and down the street in a buggy with a bonnet on.”
Mama laughed, which turned into a sob. She dabbed the corner of her eye with her handkerchief and leaned into Papa.
“He slept in my bed and let me walk him with a collar. And even though Mama threatened to turn him out for scratching at the sofa and marking her closet when he was mad, she never did. I don’t think she could have, because even though he was impossible, he was family. He was ours.” Another swallow, another breath, another heartbeat. “He didn’t have many friends, which made his affection that much more enviable. And they say that only the good die young, which is probably why he lived for eighteen years, and we all thought of him as immortal. But everything has its end in life, and nothing lasts forever.”
Joel’s eyes screamed at me, begging me to look, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I forged on.
“And so, to Kazimir, we say goodbye. I hope that your heaven that awaits is full of bright yellow canaries and big windows where you can watch the cars all day. I hope there are warm squares of sun for you to nap in and couches to scratch without anyone to stop you. I hope your belly is always full of milk and fresh fish and that there’s someone to hold your face and tell you how lovely and horrible and crazy you are. We’ll miss you, old friend.”
I bent down, extending an arm to Kira, and she slipped out from under Joel’s arm and next to the table. I took her seat, twisting my hands in my lap, unprepared to be next to Joel. The heat of him, his body so close to mine — I could feel him through the space between us l
ike he was calling me.
Kira clasped her hands in front of her, bobbing her head as she sang, in Russian, a children’s song with a shaky voice, her eyes trained on the ceiling and around to the walls, avoiding looking at any of us. Even that young, she tried not to cry and knew that if she did meet our eyes, she wouldn’t be able to stop her tears.
* * *
In a far, far away Kingdom,
Where there is a castle, a river and a garden,
Maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred years ago
Only lived cats,
And more cats,
Kingdom of the cats,
Kingdom of the cats was there.
* * *
Cats, cats,
Cats and cats
Cats, cats, cats,
Furry tails.
* * *
In be Kingdom of the cats, they happily lived-
Made fairytales, made songs, danced and sang.
Cat king, Princess kitten,
Ruled happily over their land.
Danced, had fun every day.
Milliner and washer woman cats,
Cooks, artists,
Kingdom of the cats,
Kingdom of the cats was there
* * *
Cats, cats, cats,
Cats and cats
Cats, cats, cats,
Furry tails.
In the kingdom of the cats,
Lived happily,
Made fairytales, made songs, danced and sang.
* * *
Throughout her song, I wanted to reach for his hand, which rested in his lap. But I was no longer welcome to touch him, particularly for comfort. I’d done that and paid the price.
When she was finished, her cheeks were pink and she looked to me.
“And now,” she announced, “Anni will sing ‘Let It Go’ for Kaz. It was his favorite.”
I stood and we switched places again. In part, I hated the idea of singing a Disney song in front of anyone, not only for the fact that it was maybe the most played out song in the history of Disney songs, but because I never sang in front of people. But there was my whole family and the guy whose heart I wrecked, and Kira, my sweet Bunny, waiting for me to sing it to give her reprieve. And I couldn’t deny her that.
So I took a breath and began to sing. I sang like she was the only one in the room, though it took me a second to find my footing. But when I did, I sang. I sang it loud and proud, my eyes on her the whole time, if they weren’t closed. I told her to let it go, to be strong, to leave her hurt behind her and keep going.
When I was finished, she bounded out of her seat and rushed me, and I knelt to meet her, closing my eyes.
“I love you, Kira. I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“I love you too, Anni,” she whispered back shakily. “I miss him.”
“Me too.” She was so small in my arms, my hand splayed against her back as we hugged until I had to let her go.
She took her seat again, and I made the mistake of looking at Joel. His eyes told me a thousand things I couldn’t decipher, and my heart said a thousand things he couldn’t hear. But it said them all the same.
Joel
Annika looked away, and for that I was thankful. Because when she looked at me like that, I forgot why I hated her so much. When I witnessed her sadness firsthand, heard the catch in her voice as she sang a song I was sure she didn’t like to a little girl who she loved so much, it was hard to remember.
But I had to remember. Because what she’d done couldn’t be undone, not by something so simple as a song at a cat funeral.
When Kira took her seat again, Annika stood and spoke, avoiding my eyes. “I have one more song to sing for Kaz, and for Mama for saving him, and for Papa for taking care of all of us. And I wanted to thank you all again. It means so much to us that you’re here.” She looked to Kira, then briefly to me before threading her hands in front of her and taking a deep breath.
Somewhere in the first line of the song — “Blackbird” by The Beatles — my heart stopped, then started again with a painful thump in my ribs. She didn’t cry, but her eyes were wide and shining, as she sang of his broken wings learning to fly, her cheeks flushed and knuckles white where they twined together as she sang of his freedom. And she said goodbye to her old friend as a little girl leaned into my side, her breath hiccuping as she cried with the openness that only a child could have.
When the song ended, we all stood, and Max walked from the second row to pick up the pine box. We followed him through the kitchen and to the backyard, under a hemlock tree where he’d dug a small grave. Some words were spoken in Russian and maybe Hebrew, and everyone reached down and grabbed a handful of earth, tossing it into the grave. Kira, whose hand was in mine, nodded to me, urging me to do the same, so I did.
It was somber, final, and the sadness of death seeped into me. I chided myself — it was a cat funeral, and not even for a cat I knew particularly well. But I couldn’t shake the heaviness of it as we headed back inside single file. He was an old cat, a part of their family. And he only liked three people in the world, it would seem — Annika, Kira, and me.
Everyone gathered in the kitchen, moving toward the food, but I edged for the door, bending down to get level with Kira.
“Thank you for inviting me, Kira.”
“I didn’t, Anni did.”
I kept my eyes on her when they wanted to look for Annika. “Yeah, but she just invited me because of you.”
She shook her head. “Nu-uh. She wanted you to come too. Kaz would have been sad if you didn’t come, Hairy.”
I chuckled. “Maybe so. I’m glad to see you, but I’ve got to get going.”
She pouted. “You haven’t even had Babushky’s pirogis yet. They’re my favorite.”
“I bet they’re delicious, but I really do have to go. I’m sorry about Kaz.”
She nodded down at her shoes. “He was super old. Babushky says he’s in heaven now.” She didn’t sound like she believed it.
“Is that what you think?”
She rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “I dunno. It makes me happier to think he is.”
“Then you should think about him there with a big bowl of cream and a can of tuna fish.”
She smiled at that and grabbed me around the neck, surprising me. “Thanks, Hairy.”
I hugged her to me and smiled. “Anytime, Bunny.”
When she let me go, Annika was there, and I stood as ice ran through my veins. Kira hugged Annika’s leg with her bunny hanging in her arms, and Annika rested a hand on the back of the little girl’s head. We watched each other for a heartbeat.
“Thank you for coming, Joel. I know this wasn’t—”
“I didn’t come for you,” I said, the words harsh, harsher than I’d intended. I swallowed and turned for the door, leaving her there with splotchy cheeks and brimming eyes. I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk to her. I couldn’t deal with her. Not then. Maybe not ever.
I’d almost reached the door when Max materialized on the stairwell in the entry.
“Ah,” he said, smiling jovially, “the bear has come to bid the cat farewell?”
I kept my back to the rest of the house, anxious to be done with the whole affair. “Only because the bunny asked me to.”
He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets as he descended the last few steps. “I see. Do you remember zvezda moya?”
“I remember,” I answered quietly.
“It hurts, I know, but to hold the star in your hand is worth the pain.” His eyes were so much like hers, crystalline, somehow cold and warm all at once, bottomless, and they looked into mine, telling me things I didn’t want to hear.
“Not if it burns me to the ground, Max.”
His smile fell, making him look older, and he nodded, clasping my shoulder and squeezing once. And we turned away from each other like conspirators after their last deal was settled and done.
Annika
Papa’s eyes were heavy with sadness as he w
alked toward me and Joel walked away, never once looking back. I stood there with Kira clinging to me, feeling like I’d lost the whole world, like I’d never be happy again. And when Papa reached me, I leaned into him with a burning throat, comforted by his big, strong arms as he whispered consolations in Russian. But I kept it together, transferring Kira to her mother before making a plate under my mother’s watchful eye.
So much of Russian happiness is tied up in food and the care of others, and they’re not afraid to tell you exactly what to do if they’re worried about your well-being. Like eat.
I picked at my food, opting mostly for pirogi. Because if ever there was a food that would solve problems, it would be chocolate-stuffed dumplings.
Our family friends left after a little while, and then it was just the Belousov clan, including Andrei. Once Mama, Roxy, and I had moved the food from the table and into the kitchen, we all sat down, with the exception of Kira, who had fallen asleep on the couch.
I scanned their faces, landing on Andrei. He sat next to Papa, the thinner, harder, less hairy version of his older brother. They had the same icy cold eyes, the same color hair, all salt and pepper, but that was where the similarities ended. His smile was thin and frosty where Papa’s was big and warm, Andrei’s jaw clean and sharp where Papa’s was hidden under his heavy beard.
“I want Mama and Papa to retire,” I said in Russian, without the energy to beat around the bush. “They can’t sell the business because you’ve been laundering money through the store. So, I have a proposition.”
His smile pulled up on one side. “Of course you do, Annika. You have my ingenuity. What do you propose?”
I sat straight enough it almost hurt, but he didn’t intimidate — I was angry and determined, but not intimidated. It was hard to be intimidated by a man who had given me piggyback rides and bought me ice cream.
“Pay Mama and Papa to manage the shop and hire some of your goons to run the day to day. They can’t sell, and they can’t quit the shop, so this way everyone wins. They can stay home, you can keep your front, and no one is the wiser.”
Forbidden Desires Page 63
