I continue in English, “Some might even say you’re giving your father a run for his money.”
He doesn’t say a thing, just calls Pavel and has a banal conversation with him, asking for reports on the guards who patrol the grounds. Apparently, nothing’s amiss, everyone is doing their jobs, and I’m not sure who’s more bored by this conversation—me, Demyan, or Pavel.
When he finally hangs up, our drinks arrive, and he downs his vodka and orders another.
I sip my bourbon.
This is high-school shit at best and childishness at worst.
Demyan continues to ignore me, this time putting his phone face down and seeming to find the air more interesting than me. I almost reach the bottom of my bourbon as his second vodka arrives.
This time he sips, too.
I sigh. “You know,” I say, switching to Russian, “you’re being childish.”
There’s a part of me that wants to tell him about the pregnancy, but it isn’t the place, and it isn’tmyplace. So I don’t.
But I’m not letting him off the hook, either.
Demyan may scare a lot of people, but he doesn’t scare me.
What does scare me is he may hurt his sister beyond what he means to, and what Demyan means is not to hurt her at all. A little pain in making her see the light, his light, perhaps, but not real hurt, not to the point where he scars her.
Alina’s been through so much, and she’s come so far. I’m scared he’ll send her tumbling back, and then?—
I shut that down.
Instead, I try to appeal to his better nature.
If he still has one, because right now, I’m not so sure.
“Whatever issues you have with me are things we can either work through or just agree to call it quits on our friendship,” I say to him. “But that doesn’t change the fact—no matter which path you choose—that me and Alina are together, and I’m not about to go anywhere.”
His mouth sets into a hard line.
He looks like he wants to crack skulls.
Starting with mine.
“And you need to get used to that, or you’ll lose your sister,” I say, unwilling to let him off the hook.
“Me losing my sister?” Demyan growls, throws back a big swallow of vodka. “Is this you telling me that you’ll have a say in such a thing?”
“No. I won’t have a say in anything. This is about Alina, and her decisions. What I’m doing is warning you, continue this and she’ll go. We both know it.”
“I don’t need or want your advice, Belov, on how to deal with my own sister. You are nothing more than a blip.” He finishes the rest of his drink, gets up, and storms out.
“Well, fuck,” I mutter with a sigh as I lean back in my chair.
I pull their bill over to me and add it to mine. Then I slide my card inside for both of them and rub my eyes.
It feels like I ran a marathon super hard and came in last.
Honestly, I’m at a loss. I don’t know what else I can do to fix this.
I’ve never seen Demyan like this. Ever.
The man I know, no matter how furious, wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t turn to stone where nothing could touch him. Sure, he would have hit me, but he’d have laughed by now, softened a little, taken some of the things I’ve given him to save face, and turn it all around.
