by Blake Haugen
Igorovich looked as if he was struggling to enjoy the game. He looked out of place in his khaki trousers and green striped dress shirt. All the other parents were decked out in expensive, red and white sweats and sportswear. He only followed the action of the game when cheers or shouts sounded.
The shouting distracted Vanya from his observation of Igorovich. A forward on their team, a large blond boy had made a steal from the opponent’s left midfielder. As he came within shooting range of the goal, the crowd grew louder.
“Yeah, Gene! Here we go, Gene! Take the shot!” one dad yelled.
As if he heard the man, Gene took the shot when the goalie came out of the box to take him on. Gene easily faked him out and kicked a pretty shot into the far right hand corner of the goal. He jumped and turned to his celebrating teammates, many of whom he dwarfed.
“Gene?” Vanya muttered in question.
“Yes,” Tamara turned to him, rolling her squinty green eyes. “Apparently Zhenya was too babyish for high school. Some girl called him that in the summer and now he refuses any other name.”
Vanya heard her with one ear. He was astonished at how much Zhenya had grown. At fifteen he was at least six feet tall! Zhenya wove gracefully on the field with his teammates and Vanya swelled with pride at his nephew’s athletic prowess. Soon he was cheering with Tamara and the other parents. The game ended in a 3-1 win after ten minutes and Vanya helped Tamara and Igorovich pick up her bleacher seats and other game gear.
“He must take after you some, Ivan. He was the only freshman on the varsity team last year and they’re vetting him for captain as a junior next year! The coach talks about ‘scouting this’ and ‘scouting that.’ It drives Leonid crazy,” she laughed in good humor. “I won’t spoil all the news for you though. Zhenya can’t shut up about you. Your ears are going to fall off by the end of the night.”
They waited as the coach spoke with the huddled boys on the field. When they broke, Zhenya rose quickly and scanned the sidelines. When he spotted his mother and Vanya, he ran over with uncontained enthusiasm.
“Uncle!” Zhenya shouted in Russian and sprang forth. Vanya caught him, hardly able to hold onto his breath. Little Zhenya was not so little anymore. The boy was six feet and one inch by Vanya’s estimation and certainly still growing.
“Damn, boy!” Vanya replied. “You’re almost as big as I am. I can’t go three years without seeing you again. You’ll dwarf me!”
“Yeah, I was going to say you look a lot shorter!” Zhenya smiled widely revealing a mouth full of braces.
Vanya pulled away from their embrace to get a good look at Zhenya’s changes. There was no doubt he was a Pravdin. His rich blond hair, height, and large blue eyes gave him away. Though he had the height of a man, his limbs were gangly and he was baby-faced. This seemed appropriate citing his gentle compassionate nature.
The only time Vanya had seen the young man show any sort of aggression was on the soccer field. Looking at Zhenya’s cherubic face, Vanya recalled two episodes: one in which Zhenya had burst into tears at age five when he and Vanya came upon a stray cat toying with a wounded Green Heron at the park. Another time in a soccer match at age nine, Zhenya had gone after a boy who had maliciously shoved him first. He’d thrown the other boy in the mud and gave him a kick for good measure. Appalled, Tamara had taken Zhenya to the sideline for a quick, embarrassing spanking before the referee had time to eject him from the game.
The oscillation from calm to rage reminded Vanya so much of Lina. He shook his head before he slipped and give voice to the comparison. “Your mom tells me you’ve just gotten your driver’s permit?”
“Yeah, I have to be with someone over eighteen until my birthday though. I don’t care that much anyway. I’m not going to buy a car.”
“Oh no?”
“Nope, I’m saving all my money for this awesome camp in Florida. It’s crazy expensive, but Mama said if I save up $3,000 by March, she’ll give me the rest. I’ve already got $2,900! I’ll be done by January if I use some of my birthday money for it.” Zhenya beamed and his braces shined. Girls here and there congratulated him on a great game, but he barely acknowledged them. Full of energy, he nearly pranced as he walked with Igorovich and Vanya toward their respective cars. Tamara had parked closer to the complex.
“How does a fifteen year old save $2,900 and play for school and club teams?” Vanya asked, impressed.
“I mowed lawns on Mondays and Wednesdays all last summer. That was $525. Then I got $800 from Christmas and my birthday and winning this stereo that I sold online immediately because I already had one. Then, when I turned fifteen, I got a job at the grocery store because they hire at fifteen if you’re nice and you smile at people.”
“Don’t forget you have to maintain your grades as well. You’re not in the clear just yet. No more than one B. It’s only going to get harder the farther we get into the school year,” Igorovich quipped behind them.
“I know, Papa!” Zhenya huffed with exasperation, “I’m already skipping out on team dinner to hang out with Uncle and finish my English reading early.”
“Well,” Vanya cut in, “do you have your wallet on you right now?”
“Yep. Why?”
“Well, you’re going to drive me home, of course.” Vanya flourished his arm dramatically and presented his boxster.
“What! Ah!” Zhenya exclaimed. He grabbed his head and made more strange noises of disbelief.
“Oh, no,” Igorovich interrupted. “We could never afford it if you wrecked that thing.”
“Meh, it’s rented. I’ve got insurance. We’ll follow all the traffic rules. No texting and driving – all of that. It’ll just be a short drive before we all go out to dinner tonight; I want to catch up with my nephew.” Vanya turned to Igorovich and arched his eyebrow in mock deference. Zhenya looked at his father with wide eyes and bit his lip. His resemblance of a puppy was disturbing.
Igorovich sighed and waved his hand. “Alright.”
“Yes!” Zhenya erupted. He dropped his sports bag to the ground and circled the gray convertible. His hands glided over the paint and he spoke reverently over the vehicle. “Zero to sixty in 4.8 seconds. Top track speed 173 miles per hour.”
“How do you know that?!” Vanya questioned, amused.
“Chemistry project from last school year,” Igorovich supplied. “Be home by six; your mother has reservations for seven thirty.”
Zhenya listened with half an ear as he climbed in. After they were buckled in, Vanya made sure he knew how to drive a stick and they were off. Vanya was gracious enough to let him speed just a bit when they reached more open, unpatrolled roads. To his surprise, Zhenya asked to switch places about twenty minutes into the drive.
Vanya obliged. When they were off again, Vanya took them down the 101 for a more scenic view. Zhenya looked over the water of the bay and rubbed his large, thin hands against his red polyester shorts. The boy was obviously nervous about something. For the first time since he’d arrived in San Francisco, Vanya thought of Persephone.
Being around Zhenya was the only thing that had taken his mind off of her. Before their relationship, he would have just let Zhenya stew until he mustered up the courage to speak his mind. Something told him that his nephew needed more than his cool, collected exterior right now. He spoke slowly and kept his eyes on the road.
“Yevgeny, I want you to know this is a safe place and I love you very much. You can tell me if something is wrong. It’s okay. I’m always here to help you and I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of, no matter what… not to be too sentimental or anything, of course.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. It’s just – Mama and Papa told me earlier this year. You know; that I was adopted, I mean. I guess I could have guessed it though. I’m way taller and way more fair than both of them. Papa is like, kind of tan and mama is, too. I’m the palest guy out there.
“They didn’t really mean to tell me, I guess. They were arguing about me and school and Flo
rida one night when they thought I was out. I’m getting really good at soccer and there are always these scouts calling and visiting. I’ve got to go to this sports school in Florida full time if I want to be in the pros. That’s where that camp is. If I don’t go, I could miss my chance. Everyone really big goes to Florida at some point. They’ve already invited me twice and Papa said no. He says if I get injured, that’s it, and they’ll forget all about me and that will leave me nowhere with a subpar education and I’m too smart to waste all my intelligence on sports.”
“Hmm,” was Vanya’s only response. His heart was racing. How much did the boy know?
“Papa was saying that I get my sports fanaticism from your side of the family. I always thought you were my fake uncle and that night I thought that you were my dad.”
“Zhenya –”
“I know, I know. You’re not; but you really are my uncle. Mama said your big sister is my biological mother.”
“Yes.”
“And that she was too young to take care of me when she had me, so she had you help her find some good people who couldn’t have kids. Mama is like a distant relative of yours or something.”
“Not so distant, I guess. Her grandmother is my great-grandmother. I’m a Toporov, too. My mom was Tamara’s first cousin.”
“Then you helped Mama and Papa move here to be closer and watch me grow up. Is that all true?”
Vanya silently sucked in air through his teeth. Tamara had wrapped things in a neat little bow for him. He could confirm her fairytale version of how Baby Zhenya came to be a Naryshkin. He could leave it at that.
“Yes, but there’s more… I’ll have to talk it over with your parents before I tell more. They may want to wait until you’re older.”
Zhenya nodded. “I can understand that, but it’s been eating me up inside, you know? And soccer has only made things worse.”
“Why?”
“Mama said the reason Papa is so against sports is because he loves me and he’s afraid that you’ll get involved in it and take me away. She said you wouldn’t and I told her I knew you wouldn’t, right?”
“Of course not.”
“I know. That’s what I said. I wouldn’t let that happen anyway. My mom and dad will always be my mom and dad.”
“We’re in agreement there.”
“I want to know more about her; your sister I mean – and my biological father, too. Does she know that much about me?”
“Zhenya – we,” Vanya grappled for words, “I have to talk to your parents tonight. I promise that someday soon I will answer every single one of your questions in full – and truthfully – but I have to talk to them first. In private. Now, that’s my end of the bargain. Your end is that you don’t mention this at dinner tonight or thereafter.”
“Uncle!”
“Promise me. This will help me know if you’re mature enough to hear all I have to tell you. You’ve already impressed me with your practicing and your money saving. Let’s keep that going.”
“Alright,” Zhenya grumbled. His lanky body relaxed. He deflated, tilted his head back, closed his eyes. After feeling the wind on his face for a minute, he put his hand out the window at let wind blow it back until they got off the highway.
Vanya waited in the living room while all the Naryshkins changed into appropriate evening clothes. They ate at a large Italian restaurant downtown. Tamara apologized, saying that she knew Vanya preferred more polished dining, but that this location was a perfect compromise because Zhenya could tolerate its flavors and get enough food to satisfy his voracious appetite. Vanya waved her off. He didn’t expect them to waste a $150 per plate meal on an unappreciative teenager who couldn’t get full.
All the adults were quiet at dinner. After affirming that Tamara’s pediatric practice was doing well and Igorovich’s lab technician work was the same, they had little to talk about. Zhenya’s stories about soccer and school filled the evening. He was happy with all of his classes. His friends were mad that he sometimes gave all his time to soccer, school, and work. Apparently, they were really upset that Zhenya hadn’t given any attention to a girl they all wanted. She’d chased him all summer. Zhenya, however, thought she was too snotty, and was more bothered by the fact that he didn’t have enough time to pursue the girl he really liked.
“I hope no one gets to her before the Fall Ball. I can at least take her to that since I won’t have any practice that day. I’m not sure if it’s too early to ask,” Zhenya said through large bites of braised short ribs of beef. He’d saved the best for last, having already scarfed down his snap peas, polenta, fingerling potatoes, chard, and baby carrots.
“Well, maybe you can make a little time, darling,” Tamara said, wiping away a stain of beef juice from his cheek. “I think it would nice for you to have a little girlfriend.”
“Make time?” Igorovich laughed humorlessly. “Where? Something’s going to have to give this year. You’ll go crazy otherwise.”
“I don’t think I want a girlfriend. I mean, I guess it’s okay for some stuff, but I think it can get annoying. Like, Alexis Keaston-Pryor is always hanging out with Deacon and it gets really annoying. Plus, if he makes her mad, it sucks, like, for everybody.”
“Define ‘some stuff.’ Hah!” Vanya laughed and Zhenya turned red.
“Alexis? Frankly, I’m not surprised,” Tamara jested before taking a sip of soup. She ignored her husband’s reproachful look. “What? She always was a little boy crazy.”
Vanya smiled as he looked at the Naryshkins, all doting on one another in some way. Zhenya sheepishly asked for his mother’s risotto when he’d cleaned all his plates and spoke excitedly with his father about some new private space travel company. Igorovich ordered Tamara a second glass of chardonnay before she could think to do so herself and she dabbed at a small tomato stain on his suit jacket. They reminded Vanya of his family before his mother passed away. Everything seemed light and young and easy.
When they returned to the Naryshkins’ home, the adults enjoyed drinks and cards while Zhenya went up to his room to read the last chapters of Jane Eyre. At eleven o’clock, Tamara went upstairs to corral her sleeping son from the sofa of his den and into his adjoined bedroom. Igorovich explained to Vanya that she enjoyed lugging her six foot one inch teenager to bed. Since he’d started trying to pull later and later nights of homework, they discovered he’d fall asleep under a book or on top of a pile of papers in any position. Although Tamara claimed she was saving Zhenya from a backache, Igorovich knew she was happy to be able to tuck her baby in again. Zhenya was always too exhausted to protest.
“And I guess he’s still a baby in so many ways, eh?” Vanya commented.
“Yes,” Igorovich replied. “He might almost look like a man, but he’s so kind and naïve. His friends even chide him for it sometimes. Do you know he goes to church?”
“What?”
“Every Sunday at Holy Virgin. He teaches English to recent immigrants and volunteers with the city’s Interfaith Youth Commission. He started wanting to go after he turned twelve. Just up and wanted to go. Tamara and I go sometimes when he has a program or something.”
“Well, that isn’t so strange. My –”
Vanya began, but cut himself off. His what? Ex-girlfriend? Persephone was so much more than that. Most terms other than wife seemed inadequate in describing her.
“Love lost, eh? I know the face,” Igorovich said, interrupting Vanya’s musings. “Tamara and I broke up once before we decided to get married and I thought the world was over. I’m telling you, boy, if she’s alive, there’s still a chance.”
“Here’s hoping you’re right.” Vanya poured himself more vodka, tossed it, and raised his glass. With that he returned the subject to Zhenya, not willing to dwell on the more painful recent events in his life.
“Zhenya is lucky. He doesn’t have to deal with that yet. Although, after our drive today, something tells me he’d handle it more gracefully than I would.”
“Hmm,
I knew he was going to enlist your help for that school in Florida. It was only a matter of when.”
“Well, he did bring that up. And although that’s not what I’m referring to, I do think you should consider it. I’ll of course honor whatever decision you and Tamara make, but I think it would be a mistake to let him miss out on whatever he’s capable of.
“I was actually talking about the adoption. He confronted me about it.”
Igorovich sucked in a startled breath. He stared at Vanya, speechless. After a few silent seconds passed, he finally spoke. “I thought he’d forgotten about that.”
“Forgot about being adopted?” Vanya asked incredulously.
“No, I mean he never brought up. Since that night he walked in on Tamara and I fighting, I thought he had laid the matter to rest. That he was at peace with it.”
“He was full of questions about Lina.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I only confirmed what he already knew. I didn’t want to disclose anything without talking to you first.”
‘Thank you.”
“Igorovich, there’s no need to thank me. He’s your son. I meant that when I brought him to you. Zhenya will always have me to fall back on, but as long as you love him and protect him, you’ll get no interference from me. Advocacy maybe, but not interference. I’m not here to usurp you; although I do think you should let him got to Florida. We can talk about that another time. Trust me. He’s bursting with questions about other things. Did Tamara tell you what he asked her?”
“Earlier this year? Yes. Just general questions. She promised we would tell him more when he turned eighteen. I couldn’t promise him anything but a talk with you, of course.”
Vanya sat back in his chair and unclasped the first button of his shirt. Igorovich was right. The couple wouldn’t know much more than what they had already told Zhenya.
“The thing is, there’s a lot more than what I’ve explained in the past. Normally, I’d let things lie, but I think Zhenya has a right to know everything someday. I just need you to be the judge of when he’s ready.”
