Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in!” I straighten my shoulders and bite my lip as I glance at the clock. I need to leave in an hour if I’m going to arrive two hours and twenty minutes before my scheduled flight. I’ve never flown at a regular airport before, always using my father’s private jets, but it’s time, and my research says two hours and twenty minutes is a perfect plan.
“Oh, honey. Vera.” My mother’s voice wavers from the doorway. Her short hair, once a thick, glossy black, is speckled with gray, but the lines around her eyes hint at someone who loves to laugh and does so often. Now, however, her eyes are brimming with tears.
I swallow a lump in my own throat.
“Is this real?” She walks over to me and takes me in her arms, holding me away a little to look in my eyes. “You look so grown up.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. If she starts to cry, then I’m going to cry, and I can’t do that. Nope. Not now.
But my mother’s a strong woman, and she raised me to be the same. I take a deep, calming breath and start to tell her I’ll call her every night and FaceTime every Sunday because that’s the best time I can fit in a call with my rigorous schedule. But when I open my mouth, all that comes out is, “Oh, Mom. I’m going to miss you so much.”
Then we’re both crying and hugging each other. It’s a good thing I don’t wear make-up because I’m sure it would be smeared all over the place with these fat, ugly tears. I’m leaving my best friend.
“I wish I could go with you,” she whispers. “Are you sure I can’t? I could take up an apartment downtown or rent a house a bit away. I could—”
“Mom,” I tell her gently. “You’re needed here. You’re planning Lydia’s wedding, and I won’t even have time to see you if you did come. My schedule’s insane. Makes my undergrad days look like a cakewalk. But I promise I’ll be in touch, and it’s only six months.”
Only six months. It sounds like an eternity to be in a foreign land, away from home. I love my home. While it’s been unconventional, to say the least, my mother did everything she could to keep our childhood normal.
I glance at my watch. Half an hour left.
“Alright,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll put on my big girl panties and deal with it. I cried when I sent you to kindergarten, you know.”
I smile. “I know.” She’s told me this story a hundred times. My father was away on business, and it was my first day. Apparently, I ‘bravely soldiered on’ even though I’m mostly quiet and introverted, while my mother hung back and called her mother, and they both sobbed about it together on the phone.
“Your grandmother came to see you before you go. She’s downstairs. Come, let’s have a cup of tea together, and you can tell her all about what you’ll be doing there.”
I hide a smile because it’s kind of cute. My mom wants me to explain to my grandmother because she doesn’t quite understand it herself. It’s alright, though. I’d be surprised if my father even knew where I was going.
“My only regret now is never teaching you Russian,” she says, biting her lip.
I wave my hand at her. “Mom, the majority of the people I’ll be spending my time with are American anyway. I’ll pick up what I need to. And anyway, they say the best way to learn a language is full immersion, so I’ve got that covered.” I force a laugh. I’m skilled at medicine and particularly good at all things science, but linguistics, not so much. Lydia got all those genes.
I am admittedly a little nervous that I don’t speak the language, but I only found out two weeks ago I was accepted into the program because of an additional grant. There was no time to learn the language.
My mother never taught me Russian because she hates my father. That’s no secret. So she did her best to make sure that I was fully raised American in every way she could. A descendant of Polish immigrants, my mother had no use for the Russian language, and my father is too self-absorbed and absent to ever really care.
Mom reaches for the bag. “Oh, Mom, not that one. It’s got my books in it, and it’s so heavy.”
She strains under the weight but winks at me. “It’s fine. Go on, now. Let’s go see your grandmother.”
“Mom, seriously. Take the lighter one.”
I manage to wrestle the heavy bag out of her hands and cajole her into taking the backpack.
“Alright, alright,” she says. “Let’s get these downstairs. I have something to tell you before you go.” When she doesn’t meet my eyes, my curiosity is piqued.