“I’m so sorry,” I say to my team on our video call before glancing back down at my phone where it flashes the name and number of Stella’s school across the screen, “I have to take this call.”
I mute my microphone and my speakers on the laptop before answering. I haven’t told them anything, just that I’m staying in New York “with a friend.”
“Is this Petra Volkova?” a woman’s voice asks when I answer my phone.
Momentary panic grips my digestive system and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Yes. Is everything okay with Stella?”
“Stella is fine. But the boy she knocked down on purpose is not. We need you to come in and meet with the principal. She’s being sent home for the day.”
Oh shit. Just the other night, Stella had complained about Jason being mean to her again. He’d started pulling her hair when he was behind her, and flipping her skirt any time she walked by him. I’d told her she needed to defend herself if he put his hands on her, which means this is probably my fault.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I explain to my team that an emergency has come up and I have to go. I haven’t told them about Aleksandr and Stella or why I’m still in New York. The less they know, the better—for now.
But as much as my life has changed over the past few days of Aleksandr being gone, my work days have been fairly normal because Stella has been in school. I didn’t anticipate that there might be interruptions like this.
The school is only a few blocks from the apartment, so I’m walking through the doors less than ten minutes later. The secretary ushers me toward the door marked “Principal” and I feel like I’m about to get in trouble.
The man sitting behind the desk has on a pink collared shirt and a patterned bow tie. He’s on the phone, but gestures for me to come sit in the chair next to Stella facing his desk. She grabs my hand the minute I sit down, and I give it three little squeezes which has her face lighting up. She gives me three little squeezes back. I. Love. You. She just taught me that last night—it was something she used to do with her mother, and I’m hoping that I can handle this situation in a way that would make Colette and Nikolai proud if they were still here.
While the principal finishes his conversation, I mouth Jason? at Stella and she nods, then looks down at the ground. “Hey,” I whisper, “chin up.” In my eyes, she’s done nothing wrong here.
But as the seconds tick by, I realize I’m so wildly out of my element, and my panic grows like it’s a seed in my stomach sending roots throughout my body. My intestines make such a loud rumbling sound that Stella laughs quietly, and the principal looks like he’s holding in a smile. He hangs up a moment later and turns toward us.
“Ms. Volkova,” he starts. “We have a zero tolerance policy for violence at our school. We teach the children to work out their differences with their words, rather than their actions.”
Stella’s grip on my hand tightens. “And what do you do when words don’t stop certain behaviors?” I interrupt.
“When children can’t work out their differences on their own, our faculty members are trained to help them,” he tells me. He strokes his goatee and then tilts his chin, and I’m afraid he’s about to start a long diatribe on the benefits of mediation.
“Did you ever ask for help?” I ask Stella.
“I told my teacher the things Jason was doing, lots of times, but he never does them when she’s looking, so he never gets in trouble.”
“What happened this time?” I ask. The question isn’t addressed to anyone in particular, and Stella jumps in to answer first.
“He tripped me at recess and I fell down and skinned my knee.” She points to the bloody scrape above her knee socks. “So when I got up, I pushed him and he fell down.”
I look up at the principal. “So she’s told her teacher multiple times that this kid is being mean to her, and each time nothing happens because the teacher didn’t see him do anything. And then he trips her, and she gets hurt, and she’s in trouble for defending herself?”
“She’s in trouble because we have a zero tolerance policy for physical violence.”
“But you don’t,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies, heat creeping into his face behind that ginger goatee, “we do.”
“If that were true, then there would have been consequences each time he’d hurt Stella. But there haven’t been.”
“I can’t comment on previous instances that I’m not aware of.”
“There have been plenty of other instances of him pulling her hair, poking her between the ribs, flipping up her skirt,” I recite the instances Stella has told me about and he looks surprised that I know the specifics. “And when she’s told her teacher about it, nothing has happened. Whatever training your teachers have had on how to help your students work out their differences, it’s failed in this case. She’s asked adults for help in navigating the situation and they haven’t helped her. So tell me,” I say as I lean back in the chair and fold my hands demurely in my lap. “What was she supposed to do? Continue to take his abuse while her requests for help go unanswered?”
“Are you suggesting that she should be allowed to hurt people?”
“Not at all. In fact, we’ve talked about many different ways she can handle the situation. She’s tried avoidance and redirection, and clearly those have not worked. Neither has asking her teacher to step in. So what other options did this first grader have when he tripped her and hurt her?”
His jaw hangs open for a minute. “I’m sorry, it sounds like you’ve been working with Stella on this issue for a while. Didn’t you just start as her nanny this week?”
Stella and I look at each other and burst out laughing, which clearly makes him uncomfortable.
“She’s not my nanny, Dr. Leonard,” Stella says as she bites back a smile, and my shoulders tremble with a cold shiver as I consider how different this meeting and its aftermath would be if that horrible witch Irina were here instead of me. “She’s my uncle’s best friend.”
“Best friend from childhood. Just in town for a couple weeks,” I say, as much to set Stella’s expectations as to explain this to her principal. “I’m just helping out because Miss Stella here is in between nannies and Aleksandr is in Philadelphia for the first two playoff games.”
“When he came in the other morning with you and added you to the emergency contact form, replacing Stella’s previous nanny, we naturally assumed you were her new nanny.”
“Naturally. Now, about that question I asked,” I say, keeping my voice friendly while hopefully letting him know he’s not getting off the hook that easily. “I really would like to know how the school would like Stella to handle these physical attacks in the future. Because obviously allowing her to be abused at school like this isn’t an acceptable option for us.”
He tugs at his bow tie. “I will make sure Stella’s teacher is aware of what’s going on so she can take swift action if there’s another incident.”
“Which I’m sure there won’t be once you get done talking to the boy in question, right? With his parent too?”
The tiniest bit of spit flies off his tongue when he says, “We will handle it.”
“Excellent.” I stand and take Stella’s hand.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I was told Stella is being sent home for the day. I’m taking her out to celebrate being a strong young woman who does not let boys push her around.”
“But . . .” His mouth hangs open just enough that I’m tempted to reach across the desk and push it closed it for him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want the honor of asking us to leave?” My voice is all sweetness but we both know it’s an act. “By all means, go ahead if it will make you feel better.”
He just shakes his head and flicks his hand to shoo us out of his office.
“When I get older, I want to be brave just like you,” Stella tells me as we walk down the hall hand in hand.
“You already are the bravest six-year-old I know,” I tell her. It doesn’t matter that she’s the only six-year-old I know. I could know a hundred other kids her age and I think she’d still be the bravest because of everything she’s been through. Most people have no idea how much courage it takes just to keep living after losing a parent and she’s lost two.
She squeezes my hand three times, and I squeeze back.
“Stella? Petra?” We both turn toward the voice behind us, and a woman I’ve never seen in my life stands in the hall. “What’s going on?” she asks.
“Hi, Auntie Sofia,” Stella says.
Ah, Colette’s best friend. “Oh, hi, I’m Petra,” I say as I stick out my hand to shake hers.
She takes my hand in hers and smiles. “Yeah, I figured. I’m so glad Alex connected us via text the other night, or I would have been so freaked out to see Stella walking out of school with a stranger.”
“Petra’s not a stranger,” Stella says in her innocent little voice. “She’s Dyadya’s best friend.”
“I think it’s more accurate to say we were best friends when we were younger,” I tell Sofia.
“Aren’t you still best friends?” Stella asks.
“Well, you know how we didn’t see each other for years and years? It’s hard to stay best friends with someone you never see. But we’re old friends, anyway.” I shrug. I doubt the distinction matters to Stella, but it will to Sofia, I’m sure.
“Why’s Stella leaving early today?” Sofia asks me.
“We just had a little meeting with the principal about an incident that happened at recess . . .”
“I’m being sent home for the day,” Stella interrupts. She sounds proud of herself and while I don’t condone violence, especially among little kids, I’m really fucking proud of her too. It is hard to learn to stand up for yourself, especially around someone who is bigger and stronger. I’m glad Stella is practicing this skill at an early age, while the stakes are still low. “Because I pushed Jason down after he tripped me, and he cried like a baby, so I got in trouble.”
I glance around the wide, bright hallway. There’s no one around except the three of us, but all the classroom doors are wide open.
“That’s enough, Stella,” I say quietly.
“I’m about to go volunteer in the library. Maybe you could tell me and Harper the story later?” Sofia smiles at Stella. “Could we go for ice cream after ballet this afternoon?” she asks me.
I had been planning to march Stella out of here and straight to grab some ice cream in celebration of her standing up for herself. But when I see the way Stella’s face lights up at the suggestion of including her best friend, I suppose we can wait until after ballet. “Sure, that would be great.”
“I love watching the two of them together,” Sofia says as we wait for ballet to end. I’ve been here the whole time, but she just got here.
“They are adorable,” I agree, as I watch them practice their pliés while holding hands.
“They remind me so much of myself and Colette when we were their age.”
“You and Colette knew each other when you were that young?” I knew they were best friends, but had no idea it had been a lifelong thing for them.
“Yeah, we met in kindergarten,” she smiles a sad smile.
“I’m glad you had such a great friendship, and I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks. At least we still have Stella, though. She’s got Colette’s face, even though she has Niko’s coloring. She reminds me so much of Colette when we were younger. Strongly opinionated, but scared to voice her thoughts.”
I chuckle. “I guess I’ve seen a different side of her.”
“I think maybe you bring out a different side of her,” Sofia says affectionately. “Alex says she’s really taken by you. He seems to think you’re a good role model for her.”
They’ve talked about me? “I hope so. I want her to grow up to be strong and independent, but I also don’t have any idea how to teach a kid those lessons.” I had to learn them all the hard way.
“Well, Alex seems to think you’re doing a great job,” she tells me. “When is he coming back?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Ah, okay. I’m trying to convince him to let Stella come over for a sleepover, and I’m hoping for this weekend.”
“He won’t let her come for a sleepover?”
“He hasn’t ever said ‘no,’ he just tells me that he’ll think about it and never says yes.”
“Has she never had a sleepover before?” Maybe he’s hesitant because it’s new. But that seems odd to me since Stella and Harper have been friends since birth. How could they have never had a sleepover?
“The girls used to do them all the time. But after Colette and Niko died, Alex has been really hesitant to let her out of his sight. Which I understand, but at the same time, I think the girls need each other now more than ever before.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. Why don’t we plan something for Saturday? I’ll make sure it happens.”
“Really?” she sounds skeptical. “I don’t want to cause any problems between you and Alex. And I don’t want him to think that I went behind his back to plan this with you.”
“I never had a friendship like Stella and Harper’s when I was a kid,” I tell her. “What they have is special and we need to nurture it. I’m happy to go to bat with Aleksandr about it.” Honestly, I’m even looking forward to it. Maybe it’s a holdover from our childhood, but if there’s anything I like more than seeing the cracks in that mask of his when we argue, I don’t know what it is.
“Are you sure? If he’s not ready to let her come over, I don’t want to push it,” Sofia says.
“What do you think is best for Stella?”
“I think getting back to normal as much as possible.”
“And were sleepovers a normal thing before her parents died?” I ask.
“Yeah, honestly, they were. Either Harper would stay at Niko and Colette’s, or Stella would stay with us. All the time.” She tells me a little more about the routine frequency of their sleepovers.
“Then getting back to that will be a good thing, and Aleksandr will just need to get over himself.”
Sofia laughs. “I’ve honestly never heard anyone talk about him that way. Everyone’s so intimidated by him.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve known him my whole life. He doesn’t scare me.” At least, not in the way other people might be scared of him. What scares me, instead, is how my body betrays me when he’s around. Last week in the kitchen before CeCe and Tony came over, the way he looked at me and the raw desire I saw on his face, is everything my sixteen-year-old self wanted to see from him. And even as badly as he hurt me back then, some part of me still wants to see it. I just can’t act on it. Good. Let him desire me and not be able to have me. It’ll serve him right to feel how I felt back then.
“He doesn’t scare me,” Sofia clarifies, “but he still intimidates the hell out of me. I can never tell what he’s thinking, and with how little he actually speaks—it’s unnerving. But I’ve also seen him at his absolute lowest, right after his brother died, and I’ve helped him learn to parent Stella. So I also feel like we have this understanding.”
“I’m glad that he and Stella have you,” I tell her as class wraps up, “They’ll continue to need you . . .”
“After you leave?” she asks. I can’t tell by her tone how she intends that statement. Concern? Judgment?
“Yeah,” I say as I swallow down the thought of leaving Stella. How has this little girl wound herself around my heart so quickly? I thought I’d hardened myself off against these types of feelings, but I’d always focused on not feeling them toward men.
I know they say that the love you feel toward your child is instant and unconditional. But it never occurred to me that I could care about a child who wasn’t even mine so swiftly and so completely. The important thing is to not let her get attached to you, I remind myself. Then you won’t hurt her when you leave.
The girls come running out of class in their black leotards with their pink tights and ballet slippers still on their feet. I help Stella into her post-ballet shoes and get her into her fleece, and then we’re fighting the cold gray mist that’s settled over the city this afternoon. We slip into the back of the car and I tell Sasha’s driver where we’re meeting Sofia and Harper for our ice cream dinner.
“You did what?” Sasha says on the other end of the phone. I can’t tell if he’s upset or just surprised.
“I took her out to ice cream for dinner to celebrate.” I bring my feet up onto the bed and pull the throw blanket at the end over my legs.
“To celebrate the fact that she got sent home from school?”
I get distracted by the view out the glass wall on the opposite side of my room and into the solarium. The moon has finally peeked through the clouds and it’s lighting up the plants inside. I could get used to this. No, you can’t, I remind myself. You’re leaving in a week and a half.
“Petra, that’s not something to celebrate,” he admonishes when I don’t respond.
“We weren’t celebrating the fact that she hurt someone or that she got sent home from school. We were celebrating her standing up for herself.”
“And you think she knows the difference? What makes you think she’s not going to feel empowered to deal with every situation with physical violence now?”
“How would you have suggested she deal with this type of bullying if she were a boy?” I ask.
His pause is his answer.
“Well, she’s not a boy, is she?” His dry sarcasm is the wrong approach.
“Certainly you’re not suggesting you’re going to raise her to be a submissive weakling just ’cause she’s a girl? Because I can give you a hundred examples of what happens to women who aren’t empowered to stand up for themselves and to take control of their own emotions and bodies. And that’s not what you want for Stella.” It’s the only reasonable way to raise a girl in this world.
“No, I don’t want her to be a submissive weakling.” He sighs and I wonder if, like me, he’s curled up in his hotel room. Or maybe he’s getting ready to go out with his team. They had a narrow win tonight, maybe he wants to celebrate. “But maybe the kid had it coming.” I hear running water, like he’s turned on a faucet, and I’m trying to picture what he’s doing. Brushing his teeth before going out?
“I hope he keeps his hands off her from now on. If not, he can deal with me.”
“Whoa,” he says with a sigh, “I draw the line at you beating up a kid. No matter what a little shit he is.”
“All right,” I admit, “me beating up a little kid is probably not okay. But it makes my blood boil to think of her having to put up with him, or him laying a hand on her. She doesn’t deserve that.”
His pause is longer this time. Finally he says, “I’m glad you’re there with her. I’m glad she’s learning these lessons from you. Sometimes I think maybe I’m shit when it comes to this whole parenting thing, and yet you’re such a natural at it.”
“I’m sure there’s a learning curve, give yourself some credit. You went from being a single guy to having a six-year-old, and she’s still pretty great, so you can’t be messing it up too much. And I know nothing about parenting, so if it seems like I do, then I’m just getting really lucky that what Stella needs right now is within my skillset to deliver.”
“I think maybe you need to give yourself some credit.” The running water turns off.
I burrow deeper into the pillows as I watch the mist that’s turned into a steady drizzle slide down the roof and walls of the solarium on the other side of my room. The moon is already obscured again by the clouds.
“What are your plans tonight?” I ask him as I glance at the clock on my bedside table. It’s 11:00 p.m. and I’m exhausted from my big afternoon of telling off Stella’s principal, taking her to ballet, befriending Sofia, going out for an ice cream dinner, then getting Stella home tonight, fed real food, showered, watching some of the game with her, getting her in bed, and then watching the end of the game. And I still have a good hour or two of work I need to catch up on since I wrapped up early today. No wonder parents are always so tired!
“Sleeping. But first, a really hot bath.”
“Is a really hot bath where multiple puck bunnies show up in your hotel room for a bath with you?” I tease.
His laugh is more of a snort by the sounds of it. “A really hot bath is one where the water is so scalding I’m having a hard time forcing myself to get in the tub.”
Oh shit. So what he’s telling me right now is that he’s standing there naked while talking to me. And now it’s impossible not to picture the scene in my mind. His hard body . . . no, not going there.
Seeing him in his towel after his shower on Monday was enough to keep me up half the night fantasizing about that body. I knew he was muscular, but he’s even bigger than I thought. His wide shoulders and broad chest are nothing but well-defined muscle, and don’t even get me started on that eight-pack he’s sporting. I can’t stop thinking about how things might have gone if I’d had the nerve to walk over to that glass door and open it. He can act like he doesn’t want me, but in the moments when he forgets to put that mask of indifference on, I see the desire pooling in his eyes. But he’s still lying to himself, and I’m still not sure why.
Or maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve had sex and that’s why I can’t stop picturing him without clothes on?
“Why did you make the water so hot?” Why does my voice sound so breathy? I clear my throat to stop that nonsense.
“Our trainer insisted I needed to soak in the hottest water I could stand.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Suddenly I’m sitting up straight. It was a tough game tonight, but he didn’t appear to get hurt. Spent a shit ton of time in the penalty box, though.
“I’m getting old.”
“You’re thirty-three.” Can he hear my eye roll through the phone? I hope so.
“Which means I’ve been doing this to my body for twenty-five years. My hip’s just been a bit stiff lately. Nothing big, but I’m doing some PT to keep it loose.”
On the other end of the phone, there’s a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a sigh, which I imagine means he’s lowered himself into the water. Do not think about his naked body, I remind myself.
“Did everything else go okay today?” he asks, and it sounds like he’s talking through clenched teeth.
“Everything’s fine.” I don’t tell him about the sleepover Sofia and I promised Stella and Harper. We can cover that tomorrow when he’s back.
“All right. Thanks again for everything, and for checking in with me while I’m gone. Tell Stella I can’t wait to see her when she gets home from school tomorrow.”
“I will,” I tell him. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” he says, and the line goes dead.
