Page 163 of Sexting the Pakhan

Her mouth tightens like she almost wants to respond, then decides not to give me the satisfaction.

From the kitchen, Mila calls, “Mama, Nadia says backup spoons are not real.”

Nadia says, “Because they’re not.”

Mila says, “What if the first spoon gets tired?”

Zoya closes her eyes.

“Are they always like this?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “What do you think?” She turns toward the kitchen. “One spoon, Mila.”

There’s a pause.

Then Mila says, “Fine.”

Nadia adds, “Thank you.”

Zoya exhales and looks back at me. “This is my life.”

“I see that.”

“No, you don’t.” She says it flatly. Not cruel. Just true.

She’s right. I know nothing important.

And still, looking at her in this small room, I have the insane thought that some part of me recognizes all of it.

The girls call again, this time together. “Mama!”

Zoya turns her head. “What?”

Mila says, “The milk is too high.”

Nadia says, “It’s on the second shelf.”

“That’s too high for me,” Mila says.

“It’s not too high for Mama.”

Zoya mutters something under her breath and starts toward the kitchen.

I move without thinking. “I’ll get it.”

The second I put weight on my injured leg, pain cuts through me. My knees give out under me.

Zoya reaches for me. “Ruslan, wait?—”

I reach for the arm of the couch, miss it, and start to go down.

She catches me. Or tries to.

Her hands grab my shoulders, and for one second it almost works. Then my weight pulls her off balance. She stumbles forward, her knee hitting the edge of the couch, and we both go down onto the cushions.

Zoya lands on top of me.

Everything stops.