His eyes warmed with love, and I pressed my mouth to his, hoping my kiss would show him how strongly I shared his feelings.
“Thank you for telling me everything,” I said, taking his face into my hands.
He enveloped me in his arms and brushed his lips against my hair. As he held me, images of Sergei and Elena stealing kisses in secret hideaways snuck into my mind. The pictures were all too familiar. I clamped my eyes shut and buried myself deeper into Sergei’s embrace.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I hope the weather isn’t an omen for this dinner,” I said as the rain pounded against the windshield of Sergei’s SUV.
Sergei steered the car onto my parents’ street. “At least your mom was willing to invite me over. Your dad must’ve done a lot of persuading.”
“She’d better not bombard us with reasons why we shouldn’t be dating.”
Sergei pulled into the driveway and dropped one hand from the steering wheel to my knee. “No matter what she says, I’m not going anywhere.”
I leaned across the console and kissed him. “Good, because neither am I.”
We ran under a shared umbrella up the steps to the front porch, but we couldn’t escape the wind-blown rain. I flicked drops of water from the skirt of my flowered sundress, while Sergei smoothed his khaki pants and straightened the collar of his pale blue oxford shirt. I was about to insert my key into the door when Dad opened it. The smell of sautéed vegetables wafted out onto the porch.
“Hey, sweetie. I’m glad you made it in this storm.” Dad hugged me, and I kissed his freshly shaven cheek. He extended his hand to Sergei. “It’s good to see you.”
Sergei pumped Dad’s arm with vigor, and I smiled, knowing how much my father’s support meant to him. If only my mother would stop dwelling on potential problems and see the positives Sergei brought to my life. In the weeks since Worlds, I’d focused my conversations with her on skating and minimized discussion of my relationship. I couldn’t handle her constant negativity.
“Is Mom in the kitchen?” I asked.
“Yep, she’s working on a new recipe,” Dad said.
We crossed the foyer into the cozy kitchen. Mom flitted between the stove and the narrow island in the center of the room. A bevy of mixing bowls, steaming pans, and cooking utensils surrounded her, but she moved about them with the ease of a skilled restaurant chef.
“Hey, Mom–”
She flipped on the food processor, and the loud whirring drowned out my greeting. When she appeared satisfied with the consistency of the green mixture, she shut off the machine. “Hi, honey.” After a pause, she added in a dry tone, “Sergei.”
He stepped toward the island. “I really appreciate you having me over.”
Mom kept her head down and spooned what looked like pesto into a small bowl. “Well, I thought it was time we got together and talked.”
I groaned on the inside. Mom’s idea of talking would undoubtedly be preaching to Sergei and me.
Dad patted Sergei’s shoulder. “I’ve got the Sox game on in the den. Why don’t we let these two work their magic in here?”
“As long as you don’t need any help,” Sergei said to Mom.
She spun the rotating spice rack and selected two bottles. “Emily and I have it covered.”
Sergei squeezed my hand before following Dad into the den. I picked up the recipe card from the counter and read aloud, “Pesto-Encrusted Trout.”
“One of the ladies at church made it for us at a dinner party last week, and it was fabulous,” Mom said as she spread a thin layer of the sauce over the fish fillets.
“I’m surprised you’re not serving gruel since Sergei’s here,” I muttered.
The spoon froze in Mom’s hand, and the tight set of her mouth relayed her lack of amusement. “I would never serve anyone a bad meal.”
I circled around her to where she’d lined up the salad ingredients. “I’ll work on this while you finish the fish.”
From the den, Dad’s and Sergei’s voices mixed in with the familiar babble of the Red Sox play-by-play announcer. A loud rumble of thunder roared over the house, and Dad said, “Good thing they’re playing in New York tonight.”
I took a large knife to the head of romaine lettuce, shredding it into tiny ribbons. After transferring the greens to a large glass bowl, I concentrated on the long cucumber and peeked up at Mom as I sliced and diced.
“When you said you want to talk to Sergei, I hope you meant pleasant dinner conversation.”
“I’d like to know more about the man my daughter is dating.” She slid the tray of fish into the oven. “Like why his skating career fell apart.”
My hand jumped, and the knife missed my fingertips by a centimeter. “Please don’t bring that up.”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“I do know, and it’s a personal matter that’s frankly none of your business.” I used a tone as sharp as the blade in my hand.
Mom grabbed the wedge of parmesan cheese next to the cutting board and grated furiously over the lettuce. “Anything that affects you is of concern to me, so you can either tell me or I’ll ask Sergei about it.”
I pitched a handful of cubed cucumber into the bowl. “Why can’t you just let it go?”
“It must be bad if you don’t want to tell me.”
Knowing she wouldn’t relent, I reluctantly gave her a brief summary of Sergei and Elena’s situation. She regarded me with one arched eyebrow.
“Surely you see the similarities in Sergei’s relationships with you and Elena.”
“The only similarity I see is a parent with unreasonable objections.”
“It doesn’t alarm you that Elena lost everything she’d worked for because of her involvement with Sergei? Don’t you see how you could end up in the same position?” She clanged the metal grater onto the counter.
My face burned with anger. I gripped the edge of the island and swallowed the words I wanted to say but knew I’d regret. I replied calmly, “Elena didn’t have a choice. I do. And I choose to be with Sergei.”
I fled to the den and let out a breath at the sound of Dad and Sergei’s laughter. The den and the kitchen were on different planets. Sergei held out his hand, and I grasped it as I sat next to him on the couch. We watched the Sox batter the Yankees until Mom alerted us dinner was ready.
The four of us occupied only half of the large oak table in the dining room. Dad, Sergei, and I carried over our baseball chatter, and Mom said, “Sergei, it sounds like you know a lot about the game. You’ve become pretty Americanized. Have you applied for citizenship?”
“Yes, a couple of years ago. The process takes a while.”
Mom sat back and swirled the white wine in her glass. “Why did you want to leave Russia to coach? I’m sure you could’ve found opportunities there.”
A piece of sautéed zucchini stuck in my throat, and I gulped my water to wash it down. I sensed where this line of questioning was headed.
Sergei took a sip of wine. “I had a friend who offered me a position in Virginia, and I knew the facilities and opportunities here would be better.”
“I’ve heard the skating programs in Russia aren’t as organized as they used to be,” Dad chimed in.
Before Sergei could comment, Mom inserted, “I was wondering if maybe you left because of the fallout with Elena’s father.”
Sergei looked at me. His eyes spelled confusion. I set down my fork and touched his thigh.
Mom took care of responding for me. “I asked Emily what happened with you and Elena. I find it a little disconcerting you seem to follow a pattern in your relationships. Have you had any girlfriends you didn’t have to hide?”
Thunder clapped and lightning flashed through the two tall windows. The chandelier above the table blinked twice then plunged us into darkness. Could that be God’s way of telling my mother to back off?
“Let’s get some candles,” Dad said.
Both his and Mom’s chairs scraped over the wood floor. My eyes adjusted to the loss of light, and I saw Sergei’s stone face.
“I’m sorry.” I rubbed his leg. “She said she was going to ask you about Elena, so I thought I could stop her by telling her myself. I should’ve known she wouldn’t let it rest.”
“Maybe we should go. I don’t feel like defending everything I’ve ever done.” The edge in his voice reached me through the darkness.
I glanced at the windows, which were being pelted with rain. “It sounds bad outside.”
My parents returned with a flashlight and two thick vanilla-scented candles. The glow warmed the room but not the chill between Mom and Sergei.
Mom tilted her chin upward. “I believe I asked a question before we were interrupted.”
“Why don’t we give all the questions a break?” Dad suggested as he refilled his wine glass.
“Emily needs to know if Sergei can be trusted to–”
“Mom, stop!” I threw my napkin on the table.
Sergei stood. “Jim, thank you for making me feel welcome. Laura, I don’t think anything I say is going to change your mind about me, so it’s probably best if I leave.”
My legs trembled, but I jumped up alongside Sergei. In the shadows, Mom’s face held a look of disapproval that made my skin prickle.
“Everyone take a breath.” Dad held up one hand, his palm facing Sergei and me. “No one should be on the road right now. Please, let’s finish dinner.”
“Mom’s never going to let up. Sergei doesn’t deserve to be badgered like this,” I cried.
Dad faced Mom, and his normally gentle blue eyes were steely. “I think we can all be civil for the rest of the evening.”
Mom fingered the short strands of hair against the nape of her neck. The old clock on the wall tick- tocked each second of her deliberation.
“There’s no need for anyone to leave,” she clipped.
Sergei moistened his lips as if to speak, but instead he sat down. I took my seat and refolded my napkin in my lap. Silence hung over the table like a black veil.
Dad cleared his throat. “ Em , are you and Chris skating in any summer competitions?”
I breathed easier at the change in subject. “We might show our short program at the Cranberry Open, but we’re not sure we’ll be ready by the end of August.”
While Dad, Sergei, and I talked, Mom said a maximum of ten words during the remainder of dinner. The torrential rain and howling wind subsided, but the power remained off, adding to the ominous mood of the meal.
Mom cleared the dishes, and I trailed behind her and the beam of the flashlight to the kitchen. “Why can’t you be like Dad and accept Sergei as part of my life?”
She set the light on the counter and piled the plates beside the sink. “I love your father dearly, but like you, he trusts people too easily.”
“While you always assume the worst about everyone.” I squeezed my arms across my chest. “If you’re going to keep treating Sergei like a criminal on trial, don’t expect to see me very often. Because if he’s not welcome here, then I don’t want to be here either.”
“Think about what you’re saying. Are you willing to put him before your family?”
I couldn’t see Mom’s face clearly, but I could hear the distress in her high pitch. My chest ached with a pang of regret. All I wanted was for everyone to get along, but I was driving us farther apart.
“I don’t know how else to make you understand what he means to me.”
She swiped at the counter with a dishrag. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just blindly support this. I still have a lot of questions–”
“No! No more.” I shook my head and backed toward the door. “Until you can stop with the questions and accusations, I can’t deal with you.”
Dad and Sergei still sat in the dining room. I touched Sergei’s arm with a shaky hand. “I’m ready to go.”
We bid farewell to my father, whose disappointment showed in the creases around his mouth. He said in my ear, “I’ll keep talking to her.”
If Dad found a way to get Mom to back down, he’d be even closer to sainthood. Mom didn’t come out of the kitchen to tell us goodbye, and Sergei didn’t seem interested in seeing her, so he and I slipped out the front door.