“Babe, why’s our son a Smurf?” Niko’s still smiling, but he’s caught off guard at the way Daniil’s frozen on the spot.
Frantic googling told me that rubbing alcohol might remove the stains, but I’m not sure I should be slathering him in it. It was bad enough when we tried it on his hands. It worked pretty well, but we also found a paper cut that he didn’t know about yet, and I’d rather he be blue for a while than miserable. As it is, his hands and arms only have a slight blue hue, but his face and hair still look like he’s turning into, well, a Smurf.
My smile feels brittle as I pat Daniil on the arm, nodding toward the living room. “That’s a great question,” I say. “Why don’t we all sit down and eat while we talk about it?” Daniil nods, still staring at Niko’s face. “What do you think, baby?”
Nikolai smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. We talked while I tried to bathe him, and even though he knows it’s better if hetells Daniil what happened himself, he never wants to disappoint his dad.
When they head toward the dining room, I stop to make sure the door is locked, taking a moment to glare dolefully at it before I follow.
Daniil has pulled the glass of wine I had next to my plate in front of him, watching as Niko goes right back to his dinner. This night might have turned into a mess, but at least someone’s happy with his hobbled together meal.
“Niko, do you want to tell Papa what happened today?”
He shakes his head, guilt lining his features as he refuses to look at either of us. Daniil’s lips are pursed, and as much as I want Niko to own up to his mistakes, that might be too much for him right now. He’s still fresh off his hysterical fears that he’s going to be blue forever.
“That’s okay. We can talk about what happened when we got home from the park.”
That perks him up right away. His lingering shame is replaced with a fierce glare at Daniil, who simply takes a sip of my wine, swiping a chicken nugget off my plate without a care in the world.
“You said that when I call, you’ll answer!” For as defeated as he was, all of Niko’s anger revitalizes him, and if Daniil didn’t look so confused, I’d laugh at them both. Instead, I take back my wine, keeping it close. Daniil wipes the crumbs off his fingers and looks at me for a moment before he focuses on our son.
“And unless I’m at court or in a meeting, I do. If I can, I’ll call you back. You know that.”
“But you didn’t! We called, and you never answered.”
Daniil stiffens, face turning pale for a moment. It’s the only sign that he knows he’s fucked up before he gathers himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket and looking at all the missed notifications.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I must have forgotten to turn it back on after my meeting.” I hold back an eye roll.
It’s a fucking Saturday. There was no meeting.
I twist my ring around my finger, wishing for the millionth time that I was as stupid as he thinks I am. Niko crosses his arms in a pout.
“What does that have to do with”—Daniil gestures vaguely toward him—“all of the… blue?”
Niko goes back to poking at his plate, all his anger leaving him in a rush. “I found your paint,” he mumbles.
“What?”
“I found your paint,” he repeats, a little louder and more sure of himself. “It’s blue and has a gold sticker.”
The confusion clears from Daniil’s face and is immediately replaced with an alarmed dread. He looks at me like I have the power to change the past. “He found my fountain pen ink?” I nod, giving him a carefully practiced smile.
If I were a pettier person, maybe I’d point out that leaving out an open jar ofpermanent inkwhen we have a curious toddler is the sort of stupid that most parents learn to overcome before their kids are old enough to get into their things. I try to school my face so Daniil can’t read my thoughts, but the way the corners of his mouth tip into a frown tells me I’m not as successful as I’d like to be.
I drain the rest of my wine.
“But it’s okay, because Mama said we’ll figure it out.” Niko nods with determination. “Right, Mama?”
“That’s right, baby.”
Daniil blinks before his shoulders fall in resignation. “Now, finish your dinner so Papa can put you to bed.” Without any further prompting, Niko’s reabsorbed in his dinosaur chicken nuggets, resuming the nonsense melody he was humming to himself.
I push my mostly untouched food toward Daniil, who pokes at it like he’s trying to figure out what to say.
“So, what’s the damage?”
I close my eyes, trying to picture everything that is going to have to be scrubbed, painted over, and replaced. “There’s ink all over the walls outside your office, you need a new rug, your chair is a disaster, and I didn’t look too closely at your desk, but I’m willing to bet that’s stained, too. And I hope you weren’t attached to having a white bathtub, because that’s a lost cause.” I have a feeling we’ll be finding blue in unexpected places for years, but there’s nothing to be gained from pointing that out yet.
