Page 190 of Sexting the Pakhan

I hate that word in his mouth. It sounds like a locked door.

The girls come back before either of us can do more damage.

Mila wants to know which cereal gets opened first. Nadia wants to know whether lunch can now be called dinner because of the time. I answer them. Ruslan says nothing. We move through therest of the afternoon like people in a room where a glass has shattered but no one has swept it up yet.

By evening, the girls are tired and overbright in that way children get after too much disruption. I get them fed. Washed. Into pajamas. Into bed.

Ruslan stays out of my way.

When the cottage finally goes quiet, I sit at the edge of the sofa and rub my eyes. “I need to go back,” I say.

“To the apartment?” he asks.

“Not tonight. But I need clothes. School things. My work setup. Their medicine.”

“I’ll send someone.”

I laugh without humor. “No.”

“I’m not going myself.”

“No,” I say again. “No one from your life is touching my daughters’ toothbrushes.”

His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t argue.

That’s new.

Or maybe I just never saw him forced to choose silence before.

I stand. “I’m going to shower,” I say.

He nods.

I get halfway to the hall before he says my name.

I stop but don’t turn around.

“I did let you go,” he says quietly. “That part is true.”

I look back then. He’s sitting in the chair by the window, one hand on his injured leg, his face older than it used to be.

“I know,” I say.

“And you never really left.”

For one second, I can’t answer. Then I say the only thing I can.

“No,” I say. “I guess I didn’t.”

I leave before he can say anything else. Because if I stay, the fight will start again.

Or worse, it won’t.

And right now, I don’t know which outcome scares me more.

26

RUSLAN