Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 25. Chapter 25

I left New York gladly, Daniel.  It wasn't home for me now.  Kathy and Al were there, but...I didn't feel the connection.  They love me, but...you were the connection.  I love them.  A year now.  It seemed to crawl by.  I love you, Daniel.
 
(Kathy and Al are real family.  Thanks for being patient, everyone.  )

Our meal was consumed as the conversation and good feelings seemed to just blossom if you can comprehend that. Things were good in the beginning, but now…it just got better. Mario was fitting in just fine. His aristocratic Italian accent was charming. Again, it wasn’t just for show, it was just him.

Olek sat back from his position at the head of the table with a smile on his face that was very satisfied. “I just have to say…” he took Helga’s hand in his as sat next to him. “This has been quite a year!” He shook his head. “The things that we were planning for…” he chuckled, squeezing Helga’s hand, “and things we didn’t expect to happen.” He looked up at Peter and me. “Technically, my brother and Eric came together the year before, but got officially engaged this year. This table is getting crowded!” He said happily. “We have new friends.” He looked at Drew and Wayne. Then smiled at Mario.

It was when he said that, Mom took Mario’s hand and I noticed…barely, a slight change in Peter’s expression. He was happy, but he was feeling something about this. Later. I knew Peter and had some issues with Mario and Mom. I had issues with Olek and Mom, too. I was protective of them both.

“What sort of fireworks to you have here?” Drew asked placing his napkin on the table.

Olek shook his head and waved above his head. “Have you seen our sky right now? It’s too overcast for any fireworks.” He said simply and shrugged. “We usually see the fireworks from Kiev or Moscow on television if we see any at all.”

I chuckled. “It’s more like Christmas Eve here now.”

Peter nodded. “It is what the Soviets accepted as Christmas Eve and we just kept it going. Most of the families are enjoying their family tonight.” He said in light excitement as many children were very excited now. “Ded Moroz comes tonight. We still have Sviaty Vechir, the Holy Night on the sixth.”

Wayne nodded. “Because of all the religious connections.” He said understanding.

Peter nodded. “The Soviets didn't like any religion. Father Frost was no threat.”

Olek grinned and his face took on a more devious look and he raised a finger to point something out. “Don’t forget his granddaughter!” He said happily as he raised a bag to the table.

Peter’s eyes widened and then he shook his head. “No, not the task bag.” He groaned but smiled at his brother.

“His granddaughter?” Drew asked smiling.

“Snihuronka!” Olek stated the simplicity of that as if that explained it all. “The Snow Maiden!”

Mario shook his head. “And what about this…” he waved at Olek’s bag, “task bag?”

Olek shrugged and ventured a little hesitantly. “We don’t have to, but…” he waved the bag, “in here are tasks and things we need to do. You must do the tasks; or do an embarrassing thing.” He chuckled. “When I was away in school we had this version where we had to drink a whole shot of whiskey if you can’t do what you asked to….” He waggled the glass of wine. “It is better with stronger alcohol. We can do it with wine, but,” he looked at little guiltily. “I suppose it’s sort of childish, but…”

“The punishments for not doing…whatever is not childish!” Wayne stated vehemently. “It’s a drinking game.”

Olek shrugged to Wayne. “It was when…” he saw everyone’s shocked expressions to him. “What?” He said helplessly. “I was young once!”

Queen Alla shook her head laughing lightly. “Well, the repercussions can be an unpleasant consequence. We can all decide what that consequence will be. You might have to sing a song or something embarrassing…like say a national anthem or…” she touched her wine glass and looked at Olek. “Drinking is only one possible consequence.”

I literally bounced in the chair. “No! It is all VERY childish! I love the Snow Maiden! Snihuronka’s task bag is great! We did it in Asheville!” I looked at their faces were curious. “A quarter of my heritage comes from this part of East Europe and it’s a pretty strong one.” I chuckled looking at Olek. “Only with no drinking when I was little but embarrassing tasks like act like a monkey, but…I haven’t played in years!”

The things to do were funny, especially with so many countries here tonight and so many languages and customs. If you couldn’t do what the thing instructed to do. You did something we chose them to do. It was fun! There was the challenge that Mario got that was a letter of the alphabet and he had to name something on the plates on the table that started with that letter. The problem here was, he got a letter in Cyrillic the letter Г. Mario leaned into Mom and we heard them speak in Italian and heard her tell him what the letter was and what it sounded like.

“This really isn’t fair, Olek!” I waved at Mario and Mom who were still talking about it. “Poor Mario! The letters are Cyrillic! How can’t…”

“Giardiniera!” Mario blurted out quickly and confidently.

Olek’s grin grew. “I am not fluent in Italian, but isn’t giardiniera a condiment?”

Mario nodded. “Yes.” He waved at his plate. “Made of pickled vegetables including carrots, celery, and peppers…it’s used in many Italian homes on sandwiches and some dishes to make them spicy.” He smiled at me. “I believe they use it in the United States…Chicago? Or so I was told.”

I shrugged with a chuckle. “Probably, it’s a big country. Italians are everywhere! Especially Chicago.”

Ole shook his head. “How is what you have on the plate giardiniera?”

Mario smiled. “You gave me that letter.” He said simply. “Alla said what it was or sounded like a ghe and that’s what this is.” He pointed at his plate. “Pickled carrots! Right?” His eyebrows rose daring anyone to say they weren’t.

“But that isn’t how giardiniera is spelled!” Olek objected but was smiling.

Alla laughed. “Do you know how giardiniera is spelled in Makarovian?” She shook her head. “It’s right…” she thought but couldn’t think of the English word and said it in Makarovian, “фонетично!”

There was laughter around the table from everyone except Wayne and Drew who were just staring at us, not understanding.

“She said phonetically, guys.” I translated to them quickly. It was fun. “Olek, there are four or five languages at this table. Ukrainian and Makarovian have the similar alphabet. Italian and English have similar alphabets, but we have English, Italian, Makarovian, German, Ukrainian and Russian here!”

We were all adults and it was great to see the child in each of us come out.

At about 11:3opm we did go to the communal room where a large screen television had been set up, along with champagne was set up. The idea of any fireworks in Makarovia, or rather the lack of them, I was fine with. I hate to say it again, but it was COLD out there! The roof would have been great if we did had fireworks, but with the wind as high up as we were…no…I wasn’t disappointed about not seeing it “live” here. It was way below zero in Celsius and Fahrenheit!

I did miss the ball dropping in New York and then I realized I wouldn’t have to! I was only early evening in the Eastern Time Zone. It was a few hours before midnight. We did the count down for the Eastern European Time Zone and welcomed the new year in.

Saying goodnight to everyone, Peter and I headed up to our rooms. I watched as Peter watched Mom and Mario go down the hall to the room they shared. I sighed knowing this needed to be addressed. “Okay, Peter.” I began with Peter as we walked slowly hand in hand. “What’s going on in your head?”

My question made him come back to himself a little. “What?” He sounded surprised but knew by looking at me what I asked about. “Nothing.”

“Peter,” I said his name slowly and pointedly. “We agreed not to do that. What are you thinking? Say something.”

Peter gave a shaking nod, knowing he couldn’t get by with this. “What do we really know about him?” He waved at where Mom and Mario had gone.

I nodded. “We know he’s Mario Basso. He’s Italian and rich. We know that Mom likes him…I think she even loves him.” I stopped him. “She’s known him longer than we’ve known each other.”

Peter nodded in a near whisper as he pointed after them. “He was there just as it was known the uranium was here.”

“So?” I asked wondering what he meant. “What…” and I got what he was saying. I could read him easily now. “No,” I said quickly and firmly. “No!” I pointed after Mom and Mario. “He’s not with the consortium, Peter!” I looked in his grey-green eyes. “You want him to be!”

“No, I don’t,” Peter whispered as if anyone could hear us if he said it loud. “But we don’t know he isn’t.”

“Peter!” I said the name calling him down a little. “You do!” I took his hand. “You want to find a reason to break them up. Why?”

He was shaking his head at the conflict he was having in his head, but part of his was losing. “It’s stupid,” Peter said quietly and wouldn’t look at me.

I forced his face back to me so he had to look at me. “It’s how you feel, Peter. You know what I say to you about feelings.”

“But you know he could be.” Peter defended in a harsh whisper.

“Why?” I asked. “Because you don’t know him?” I sighed sadly, but sort of knew why. “Because he’s taking your father’s place?” I asked carefully.

Peter’s eyes widened. “She said…”

“She said she wasn’t replacing your father.” I reminded him. I looked down the hall. I was already holding his hand, so I pulled him farther into our rooms. After closing the door, I turned him around. “Could he be with that consortium? Sure. Then again, so could Helga and…” I shrugged with a laugh, “I could be, too.”

Peter’s eyes widened again. “But you are not!”

I shook my head at him. “How do you know?” I walked away from him deeper in the room. “I show up just as all this was coming together for Makarovia. We become lovers pretty damned quickly and you asked me to marry you pretty quickly…unofficially.”

“You aren’t with this consortium!” Peter said firmly coming across to me and turned me around, firmly grasping my arms. “You are not!”

I chuckled, putting my hand on his chest. “How can you be so sure?” I asked smiling. “Because you know me?” I closed the distance between us kissing him gently. “But you don’t know him.” I pointed the problem out to him.

“She could be hurt!” Peter defended weakly in a near whine.

I nodded. “She could.” I brought him to the couch and sat him down. “She’s your mother.” I grinned. “You’re protective.” I chuckled. “Would it be better if she had you do interviews so you could preapprove?”

Peter growled lightly hearing what I’d said and how. “You’re being sarcastic.”

“Yes, I am, baby,” I admitted as I rubbed him on the chest. “Stating the absurd because it is absurd. Mom’s not stupid.” I said firmly. “Neither is Olek.”

“Olek?” Peter asked.

“He was fooled by that Baldwin bitch.” I reminded him. “We were, too.”

Peter nodded and sat forward a little as his hand rested on his forehead, pinching his nose. “I told you, it was stupid.” He ran his hand through his hair in quiet frustration.

I got closer as I nuzzled the side of his face, tracing the line of his jaw chuckling lightly. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.” He nodded with a grunt. “But, I also said it’s what you feel. Stupid or not, you have these feelings. I do, but it also says volumes about you. You love her.” I stated simply. “You really care about her.”

Peter chuckled as his arms came around me. “Yes, I do.”

I nodded. “That’s not stupid. That’s being a son.” I pulled him in for a deeper kiss. “You continue to be protective, but until Mario does something suspicious, remember Mom’s a big girl. Can she be hurt?” I nodded. “Sure, just be there to help her, but cut Mario some slack. I think he’s nice.” Again, direct translation doesn’t always translate accurately, Ukrainian and Makarovian were similar, but sometimes not the same. I used Резерв часу for slack.

“Резерв часу?” Peter thought out loud and then he nodded. “Oh, свободу дій!” He said in Makarovian. “Got it.”

I crawled over him as I chuckled, straddling his lap. “So, I’m not fluent in Makarovian yet.”

Peter kissed me deeply. “I understand you perfectly. We communicate very well.”

Yes, we did just fine…communicating…that night.

I did wake up as my alarm went off on my phone. Peter stirred next to me with his arm across me as always.

“Another odd tradition?” He asked sleepily from under the covers. He looked at the clock. “It’s only six forty-five in the morning!”

I nodded. “And eleven forty-five at night in Asheville!” I pulled the covers down kissing him lightly. “And still last year!”

Peter chuckled. “Oh, I get it.” He threw the covers back. “Okay, let’s go.”

He at least grabbed his robe this time when he got up.

Peter and I shared the chair again. Grandma’s face greeted us as she sat before her computer at home. To my surprise, there were people at her house in the background and music played. She was having a party? The drone of voices in the background was muffled a little.

“Hello, Dears!” She greeted happily. “So, how is the new year?”

“The few hours we’ve been in it has been fine.” I tried to see who was back behind her. “You’re having a New Year’s Eve party?”

Grandma nodded as she looked back and then turned back to us. “It’s sort of a combination party.” She gave a softer smile knowing something she was going to say would be hard. “I sold the house. I’ll be moving soon.”

I was surprised and a little disappointed. “Oh, that was quick. You’ve only been back a few weeks.”

“It’s a well maintained and attractive house!” She chuckled and shook her head. “You love the house, I know.”

I nodded. “I do,” I admitted. “There are good memories there. You and Grandpa…Mom…”

She nodded with a soft laugh. “Yes, …memories.” She pointed that out. “No one can take those away from you.” She smiled. “Keep those and remember.”

“I do and will.” I smiled sadly. “It’s just Grandpa and you worked hard for that house. I just don’t like the idea of losing it.”

“You aren’t.” Grandmother said. “It’s still right there.” She pointed so she was pointing at my head. “I will be going to a retirement community in Surf Side Beach, Texas. It’s a little town South of Houston. Right on the beach.”

“Texas,” I said smiling, but hating that things were changing.

“It’s always warm there.” She stated simply. “It will be fine. You have all the pictures of the house, your Grandfather, me, your Mom and the memories.” She shrugged slightly. “Change is a part of life.”

“Yes, I just hate that it is,” I grumbled.

Grandmother laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel laugh. It was more of a laugh at the futility of what I complained about. “It’s going to happen, honey. Find a way to stop it. You can’t. I choose to look forward to change.” She smiled softer at me. “I think what you have in your future will be nothing short of spectacular.” She held her hands together almost in a prayer of thanksgiving to someone. “I wish I could see it all, but…I will be here for the beginning of it.”

“I hope you are.” Peter said. “You’re welcome here anytime, but I know our weather is hard to take…like it is now.”

“I will be there when you two marry and I will come to Boston as often as possible,” Grandma promised. “I will die.” She said casually.

Hearing her say that hurt again. “But…” I started.

“I don’t plan on it any time soon, but it will happen.” She said quickly shaking her head. “All I want…is for you two to be happy. Promise me you will do whatever you have to, to keep your connections strong. What I’ve seen you’ve started very well. Don’t lose focus.”

Peter looked at me. “We won’t, Grandma.”

“You’re coming back when?” She asked.

“We’re leaving on the 5^th,” I explained. “Two days before Sviaty Vechir.” I sighed. “We can’t be too late for classes.”

She nodded. “Well, you’ll be there a lot later on. Call me before you leave and let me know when you get to Boston.” She kissed her finger and touched the monitor. “I love you both.” We heard the others in her urging her to come as the countdown was starting.

“We love you,” I assured. “Happy New Year, Grandma.”