Page 147 of Sexting the Pakhan

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Nadia,” Mila says, “don’t interrogate.”

“I am not interrogating. I’m assessing.”

I take a drink of water to hide the fact that I almost smile. “Enough to notice. Not enough to panic.”

Nadia accepts that answer.

Mila climbs back onto the couch.

“Mila,” Nadia says. “Mama said he needs rest.”

“I’m helping him rest.”

“You’re lying on him.”

“I’m beside him.”

“You’re mostly on him.”

Mila looks down, then adjusts herself by about two centimeters. “Better?”

Nadia’s expression says no.

I should move her. I should tell her to sit on the floor or go back to bed or find her mother. I do none of those things. Her weight is light against my ribs, and for reasons I don’t want to examine, it makes something in my chest ache worse than the wound in my leg.

Nadia finally comes close enough to sit on the edge of the armchair. She keeps the book in her lap and her feet tucked under her.

“What are you reading?” I ask.

She looks surprised that I asked. “A book about frogs.”

“Do you like frogs?”

“I respect them.”

Mila says, “She likes them.”

Nadia says, “Respect is more serious than liking.”

“True,” I say.

Nadia looks pleased despite herself.

For a few minutes, the apartment is quiet in a way that doesn’t feel like danger. Mila rests against me, half-asleep again. Nadia opens her frog book and starts telling me facts in a low voice. I learn that some frogs freeze in winter and survive. I learn thatpoison dart frogs are very small but not to be underestimated. I learn that Mila once tried to kiss a frog at the park because of “princess research,” and Nadia stopped her because science did not support the method.

I listen. I don’t know what to do with the fact that I want to keep listening.

Then I hear movement in the hallway. Zoya appears a moment later, hair loose, face tired, cardigan pulled over her nightclothes. She stops at the entrance to the living room.

Her eyes take in the room. Nadia in the armchair. Mila half on top of me. Me on the couch, holding a plastic cup with frogs being explained to me like I’m a visiting school inspector.

For one second, no one speaks.

Then Zoya says, very calmly, “Mila.”