disaster, they will retire in comfort with all their children’s college educations paid for in full. Which is exactly what Katya wanted, along with the beautiful home, two new cars, and happy, conventional stability.
So, who is she to complain?
“Aren’t you cold?” Irina has appeared next to her and settles into the lawn chair at her side. “It’s pretty out here.”
Katya looks over. She’s wearing one of Darius’s suit jackets; it’s tremendous on her. She also looks about twelve years old.
“Congratulations,” says Katya, trying to screen for bitterness, but feeling impaired in that goal by all the wine.
“Thanks. I didn’t mean to upset Mom like that.”
“What did you think she would do?”
“She normally rolls with things. Ivan freaking out, sure. But I didn’t expect that from Mom.”
“Wait ’til you have kids someday. You’ll understand.”
Irina shifts in her chair. “I guess. Anyway, I apologized. Seems like something’s wrong, though.”
“You heard her. She’s just emotional because of tomorrow. Thirty-five years married, wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
“Aren’t you happy? You’re a newlywed.” Katya studies Irina and detects not an ounce of marital glow.
“I am, I’m just overwhelmed is all. Tired by the flight.”
“Where are you going to live?”
“Darius has a condo in Bloomfield Hills.”
“He seems very nice.” Katya can’t help herself, and says, “But he’s so much older than you are.”
Irina sinks lower in the chair and pulls the jacket tighter. “And?”
“Isn’t that a problem?”
“It’s my business if it is, and no, it’s not,” she snaps. Katya could have anticipated her answer. Always on the defensive.
“Does he have other kids?”
“Oh, why? Because a black guy has to have three other baby-mamas in the ’hood?”
“I don’t even know what you just said. A guy doesn’t usually get to be forty years old or whatever without an ex-wife and kids behind him in the dust.”
“Go to hell, Kat.”
“So I’m right?”
“He has an ex-wife. No kids, by her or anyone else. Happy?”
“If you say so.” Katya sips again. The sky is bluing above her, the pink fading away. It is getting chilly, and Katya is relieved, because that means maybe the weather predictions are wrong, and the storms predicted for tomorrow night will miss Charlevoix. Though she’d just checked her phone before coming outside, and the forecast hadn’t changed, Katya reaches into her pocket to look again. But she must have left the phone in the kitchen.
The boats are coming in from Lake Charlevoix to one side, Lake Michigan from the other, gathering in Round Lake, a man-made harbor between the two. They’re tying up at docks, mooring out in the water if the boat’s draft is too deep. Charles wants a boat, says he’d name it Katya, or Kitty Z, if she’d prefer.
“How did you meet?” If Irina is going to remain sitting, Katya might as well get her out of sulking.
“At the dealership.”
“You bought a BMW? Never pegged you for the type.”
“Har de har. No, I was applying for a job as a receptionist.”
“Did you get the job?”
“Actually, I never even took an application. Darius came out to help me, and I left him my phone number. Forgot all about the job until I got home.”
“He is a handsome man.”
“That he is.”
“He looks a little like Denzel Washington, doesn’t he?”
“I guess.”
“Or maybe a young Sidney Poitier.”
“Yes, I get it, Kat. You think black men are handsome. Fine.”
“What is up with you? I’m not prejudiced against your boyfriend. Husband. Nobody is, it’s all in your head.”
“So stop trying to prove it to me. And anyway, you certainly asked him lots of questions about his job, didn’t you?”
“I do that with everybody. It’s just interesting to know what people do.”
“Hmmph.”
Katya and Irina both turn at the sound of shoes gliding over grass. It’s Ivan, carrying a bottle of beer
So, who is she to complain?
“Aren’t you cold?” Irina has appeared next to her and settles into the lawn chair at her side. “It’s pretty out here.”
Katya looks over. She’s wearing one of Darius’s suit jackets; it’s tremendous on her. She also looks about twelve years old.
“Congratulations,” says Katya, trying to screen for bitterness, but feeling impaired in that goal by all the wine.
“Thanks. I didn’t mean to upset Mom like that.”
“What did you think she would do?”
“She normally rolls with things. Ivan freaking out, sure. But I didn’t expect that from Mom.”
“Wait ’til you have kids someday. You’ll understand.”
Irina shifts in her chair. “I guess. Anyway, I apologized. Seems like something’s wrong, though.”
“You heard her. She’s just emotional because of tomorrow. Thirty-five years married, wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
“Aren’t you happy? You’re a newlywed.” Katya studies Irina and detects not an ounce of marital glow.
“I am, I’m just overwhelmed is all. Tired by the flight.”
“Where are you going to live?”
“Darius has a condo in Bloomfield Hills.”
“He seems very nice.” Katya can’t help herself, and says, “But he’s so much older than you are.”
Irina sinks lower in the chair and pulls the jacket tighter. “And?”
“Isn’t that a problem?”
“It’s my business if it is, and no, it’s not,” she snaps. Katya could have anticipated her answer. Always on the defensive.
“Does he have other kids?”
“Oh, why? Because a black guy has to have three other baby-mamas in the ’hood?”
“I don’t even know what you just said. A guy doesn’t usually get to be forty years old or whatever without an ex-wife and kids behind him in the dust.”
“Go to hell, Kat.”
“So I’m right?”
“He has an ex-wife. No kids, by her or anyone else. Happy?”
“If you say so.” Katya sips again. The sky is bluing above her, the pink fading away. It is getting chilly, and Katya is relieved, because that means maybe the weather predictions are wrong, and the storms predicted for tomorrow night will miss Charlevoix. Though she’d just checked her phone before coming outside, and the forecast hadn’t changed, Katya reaches into her pocket to look again. But she must have left the phone in the kitchen.
The boats are coming in from Lake Charlevoix to one side, Lake Michigan from the other, gathering in Round Lake, a man-made harbor between the two. They’re tying up at docks, mooring out in the water if the boat’s draft is too deep. Charles wants a boat, says he’d name it Katya, or Kitty Z, if she’d prefer.
“How did you meet?” If Irina is going to remain sitting, Katya might as well get her out of sulking.
“At the dealership.”
“You bought a BMW? Never pegged you for the type.”
“Har de har. No, I was applying for a job as a receptionist.”
“Did you get the job?”
“Actually, I never even took an application. Darius came out to help me, and I left him my phone number. Forgot all about the job until I got home.”
“He is a handsome man.”
“That he is.”
“He looks a little like Denzel Washington, doesn’t he?”
“I guess.”
“Or maybe a young Sidney Poitier.”
“Yes, I get it, Kat. You think black men are handsome. Fine.”
“What is up with you? I’m not prejudiced against your boyfriend. Husband. Nobody is, it’s all in your head.”
“So stop trying to prove it to me. And anyway, you certainly asked him lots of questions about his job, didn’t you?”
“I do that with everybody. It’s just interesting to know what people do.”
“Hmmph.”
Katya and Irina both turn at the sound of shoes gliding over grass. It’s Ivan, carrying a bottle of beer
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