Now the question was whether it was because she was angry that he hadn’t returned to Russia, or that being apart had made her realize that hot sex wasn’t the same as love.
Or maybe she’d realized there hadn’t been much to love about him at all.
* * *
The racket the toaster made when it popped gave Konstantin another item to add to his list. Aspirin, nicer friends, quieter toaster, possibly more beer. Who would convince a guy to drink too much the night before a series of important meetings? Sure, the first one wasn’t until two o’clock, but if he could get this hangover under control by then it would be a miracle.
He buttered his toast and went to sit in the living room, forcing himself to leave his phone on the kitchen counter. Staring at the tiny screen and memorizing Varushka’s last text message while he suffered through a splitting headache wasn’t doing anything for his mood.
Scrolling through the channels wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying without Varushka there to yell and throw cushions at him every time he stopped on a car-overhaul show. Cars were ridiculous and boring, and didn’t he want to kiss her rather than watch television anyway?
Every girl he’d ever dated had either been interested in cars or pretended she was. Maybe it was crazy, but he loved the fact that Varushka forced him to leave work at work. She reminded him that there was more to life than engines and custom paint, and even more mind-boggling, that there was more to life than sex.
He eyed his untouched toast, his stomach in knots. It wasn’t just the hangover. He’d had no appetite for days.
Giving up on the idea of breakfast, he walked back to the kitchen and dumped his toast in the garbage, then went outside to give the animals food, and let the goats get some exercise. He wasted another few minutes weeding a garden Varushka would probably never set foot in again, even though when he bent over his head throbbed like somebody had hit him with a rock.
Later, he wandered back to the house for a shower. He wished he could have slept in, but Varushka had gotten him used to waking up early every day. Starting the day with a snuggly girl crawling up his chest had become one of his favorite things.
As the sun rose, he’d woken from a dream where she’d been sitting in his lap, wrinkling her nose at something he’d said, then kissing his chin. His bed had been an empty, sad place to wake up in. There’d been no going back to sleep after that. He’d stared at the ceiling making lists of the pros and cons of flying back to Russia immediately to reclaim her. The pros were all good for him, but not so good for her.
When he’d checked his phone there were still no messages.
Showering and brushing his teeth helped him feel more human, but the bathroom counter had been empty and forlorn without her. Usually, when he was getting ready for work, she followed him around like a puppy, looking for attention and stealing kisses and generally making a nuisance of herself. She would sit on the counter and talk to him while he shaved. A few times she’d even shaved him. There was something about a girl worshiping the ground he walked on that agreed with him. The fact that he worshiped her back was the best part.
What was the point of walking through life empty like this? How had he ever been content with it?
It was hard to decide if he was torturing himself on purpose or not when every little thing in the house reminded him of her. He contemplated selling the place if things between them were done, but could he let it go considering all of the memories it held? He was going to end up wandering the house like the madwoman in the wedding dress from the Dickens book.
From the kitchen came the sound of his cell ringing. He considered ignoring it until he realized it was Varushka’s ringtone. His heart revved and he barreled down the hall. On the way, he stubbed his toe but was only vaguely aware it hurt. When he scooped up the phone and answered it, his hands were shaking.
“Hello?” He tried to slow the thudding of his heart, aware that his voice sounded as anxious as he felt.
“You’re never coming back are you?” Varushka was sobbing hysterically.
His heart sped faster, making him feel sick. For some reason he’d pictured her sliding back into her old life and being happy there. He’d imagined she was on her way to forgetting all about him. Finding out he’d been wrong made him the happiest asshat on the planet.
“I have meetings for the Nebraska deal for the next three days. Then I’m flying back this weekend, remember? I’m sorry this is taking so long.” When she’d stopped talking to him, he’d wondered whether he’d be going at all. He tried to swallow the feeling of panic that came with hearing her cry. When she cried he just wanted to fix it, and knowing she was crying because of him made him feel like a monster.
“You’re not sorry!” She made a strangled noise that broke him. “You took everything, promised me everything, then you dumped me here and forgot about me! I hope she’s pretty at least, whatever girl you’re fucking. I know I’m not like those fancy women you used to date, but telling a girl like me that you love her to get into her pants is just mean. You could’ve had me without that.”
Her sobbing sounded completely out of control now.
“Varushka? Varushka!” he called, but she didn’t respond. He’d be surprised if she could hear him. Under his bare feet, the granite floor was smooth, but the cold radiated up his legs as he paced. “I’m just here for work. If it wasn’t for that I’d be with you right now. There’s no one else, Varushka. After being with you no one else would ever be good enough.”
There was no way to guess whether or not she’d heard him. She kept crying and he realized that if he gripped his phone any harder he’d break it.
“You said you’d come back, but you left me here! My father keeps saying you changed your mind about me, or that you lied so that I’d give myself to you. I didn’t believe him, but then you didn’t come back . . . What am I supposed to think?” The misery in her voice made his chest ache. “I’m not a pretty girl. I’m nothing special. I should’ve known.”
He sank onto the floor and leaned against the cabinet. “I’m only here because of business, malish. It was probably good for you to have time to think about whether or not you wanted me and the kind of life we have together. You’re a good girl, and I’m not a nice man. The things I do to you—I just want to give you time to decide if you’d rather have a husband who is kind and doesn’t make you do perverted things.”
“I love our life, and you are kind to me.” Her voice was raw and she sounded exhausted. “It’s different from the love you see on TV, but I really believed you loved me. And now? I think maybe you broke me. Mama wants to take me to hospital. I can’t stop crying. It’s been two days and I can’t stop. I think there’s something wrong with me.”
Oh fuck. He was trying to be a gentleman and give her time to think, not push her over the edge. What kind of services were available for people having an emotional crisis in Russia? He had a feeling their methods wouldn’t be the same as they would be in America. The thought of her going through that with an ocean between them was completely unacceptable.
He lurched to his feet and bolted to his room then started to throw random pieces of clothing into his suitcase. “I’m coming, malish. Wait for me if you can.”
There was silence on her end of the line. When he looked at the screen of his phone, it read CALL ENDED.