Chapter Three : Insight
Corinne
The water kissed my skin, enveloping me in a soothing hug, smoothing away all my hidden wounds and self doubts like little else could. It was a homecoming of sorts, being wrapped up in the element herself. Her song was one of truth, her patter spoke of wellness and purification. The heated water burnt hot against my skin, and yet I did not move - internally refused to adjust the tap, lowering the heat.
Her secrets cascaded through my hair, and I hoped that my strands would retain some of her wisdom, allowing it to burrow itself deep into my thoughts while I slept through the night.
My skin felt lighter - smoother somehow, and when I entered the kitchen, the row of recipe books stared back at me in defiance.
But armed with those recipe books, filled with instructions, I felt empowered - confident, capable, even. Because if there were instructions, it couldn’t be that difficult, right?
I ran my fingertips over a dark brown leather book with a cracked spine, and immediately images of a past I shouldn’t have been privy to tumbled forth.
A man - who must have been Dimitri’s father - based on the countless similarities I woke up to daily - walked into the kitchen. The golden cufflinks that he was sliding into his white dress shirt glinted in the light, and I realized that very little of this house had changed since their death - not even the overhead lights.
His walk was not one of caution, there wasn’t even a confident gait to his step. In fact, it was almost an aggressive march, and watching him walk - even if it was only through the image currently projected in my mind, sent a wave of shockingly cold chills across my body, because in many ways it was Dimitri.
Did he know? Did he know how much of his father was in him? That he carried himself like he had?
Arlo had known. Had seeing Dimitri’s father in Dimitri himself made it easier or more difficult to take him in - to love him - to teach him?
I wasn’t sure I would ever know the answer to that question.
The man walked up to a beautiful, petite blonde woman. Her blue dress hit just above her knees and she seemed to sway as she stirred the pot on the stove. And there - in that moment, something softened in the man’s footsteps as he pulled back, lingered and simply watched her.
And even though it was simply a memory - a looped impression of this house, I felt like an interloper - as if I were intruding on something private.
The woman muttered something in Russian, and she sounded mildly frustrated. The man’s lips quirked into a semblance of a smile and my heart flipped slightly, because that same quirk had graced Dimitri’s full lips only a handful of times since my stay here.
His steps were now seamless as he glided towards her, banding one large hand on her waist. She didn’t gasp, or seem the least bit surprised, all she did was lean into him. And for a moment I was saddened that I had never seen anything remotely like this kind of love between my parents. It made me ache for them, for myself, and for the couple before me, who I knew wouldn’t see their love story play out - not fully anyway.
She tipped her head up at him and said something low in Russian, and the man simply burst into laughter.
The smell of bubbling tomato soup enveloped the kitchen, scenting it with a mixture of homeliness and love.
A little boy burst into the kitchen - a young Dimitri, and he couldn’t be more than five, waving a wooden rook from a chess board in his hand, words tumbling from his lips in rapid excitement - all in Russian, and I strained to understand what he was saying.
“He won.”The blonde woman smiled up at her husband, and this time she spoke in English.
The man grinned. “He let him win.”
The woman shrugged in his arms, a smile blossoming across her face, and even though she was beautiful and all too feminine, I found Dimitri in her features as well - the curve of her cupid’s bow of her lips. The way her brow furrowed when she concentrated. These two people were him, and he was them.
The little boy was soon followed by a dark haired Arlo, and I noticed now that his pallor was a much healthier color - that his back stood straighter, and there was a lightness to him that did not seem forced.
“You let him win?” Dimitri’s father directed the question to Arlo in English, whilst Dimitri himself seemed oblivious, continuing his excited explanation in Russian that his mother indulged.
“He won fairly.” Arlo answered with a small wink.
I felt my own smile stretch across my face as I took in the scene. It wasn’t fair, but I had long since understood that life wasn’t fair.
As they continued to discuss the strategies a five-year-old Dimitri had used in his chess game, Arlo seemed to pivot his gaze, and it was almost as if he was staring right at me - as if he could see or sense my presence there.
I dropped the book. Startled by the revelation, suddenly wholly aware that my cheeks were wet, and that my lips were tinged with the taste of my salty tears. My breath was hurried - rushed - as I fought to separate my thoughts - fought to grip onto my current existence - my current reality.
Dimitri. Dimitri had lost so much. More than I could possibly imagine, because he hadn’t just lost his parents - he had lost his family, lost his home, lost his very foundation. And so when he rolled over in the middle of the night, seeking comfort because he had lost the last person that connected him to that life, I could not deny him - didn’t want to. Because even in that sleep-addled angry haze of his, he still thought of me - still lit my skin on fire as he pulled emotions and feelings from me as if he alone knew the notes of my body.
And then again this morning, he had lingered, as if he didn’t want to leave the bed - leave me. His lips brushed my forehead and he whispered Russian words against my skin as if he were saying a prayer, and that scared me more than anything else. Because I wanted him to want me for me, not because he assumed I would bless him or some nonsense. But this morning he had asked me to start planning the family dinner - a dinner for seven people - a dinner in two nights time, here.