Strong Enough
Page 57
“What?”
“Sunshine and palm trees and tropical flowers. Everything is bright and sunny and colorful. And when I breathe in the air, it smells like oranges.”
“Can I visit you?”
“Yes. As soon as I can arrange it. But it will take a while for me to get settled, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can you put Mom on, please?”
“Yes, but don’t hang up. I want to talk again.”
I smiled, meeting Derek’s eyes. “She misses me,” I told him.
“Of course she does.”
My insides melted a little.
“Maxim!” My mother sounded worried. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine. How are you?”
“Good.” Then her voice was muffled. “Liliya, stop! I’ll give you the phone in a minute. Sorry,” she said clearly again. “Liliya misses you.”
“I miss her too. I miss both of you. But I’m thinking of you because I want to make syrniki, and I forgot parts of the recipe. Can you tell me how much of each ingredient to put in?”
“I just guess at it by now, but I think I have it written down here somewhere. Hold on.”
While she looked, I asked Derek where I could find a pen and paper to write it down. He came around the counter, opened a drawer, and took out a pencil and stack of yellow Post-It notes. Then he refilled his cup of coffee while my mother recited her old recipe and I wrote it down.
“Perfect, Mom. Thank you so much.” I turned around and found Derek leaning back against the counter across from me, lifting his cup to his lips. I switched to English. “I don’t want to screw it up because I’m making it for someone special, and he’s very picky.”
He rolled his eyes, but smiled too.
“Let me know how they like it,” my mother said. “Liliya wants to talk again.”
“Okay. And then I should go.”
“Okay. Bye, honey. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
My sister came back on. “Maxim, sing me the song.”
I cringed. ‘The song’ was the theme to Spokoynoy nochi, malyshi, a Russian children’s show that had been around forever. It was silly and childish and I did not want to sing it in front of Derek. I don’t even have a decent voice. “No, malyshka. I can’t sing it right now.”
“Please, Maxim! I can’t sleep without it. It’s the only thing that will help.”
A stab to the heart. “Can’t Mom sing it for you?”
“No. She doesn’t remember it.”
I groaned, and Derek looked at me quizzically.
“Please, Maxim. I miss you so much.”
I exhaled, defeated. “Okay.” Then I closed my eyes—as if that would save me from mortification—and started to sing, at a much quicker tempo than usual.