Lara Vapnyar - Still Here

“How was your trip?” Bob asked, shaking his head because it was a pretty obvious question.

She sighed. They had Skyped every day, so there wasn’t much she could add to that except of course to tell him about Nastya.

“Exhausting,” she said. Bob saw that she was too tired to talk and started telling her about Dancing Drosophilae in more detail — they were definitely signing the deal with DigiSly. He thought of making his programmer Dev the head of the project. They would start with a very simple app. It would allow people to see how many “relatives” they had in various parts of the country, then they would expand it for different locations. It was going to be an amazing opportunity. Regina found it hard to concentrate on his words. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said, “I’m just still out of it.”

That night Regina woke up at 3:00 A.M. — 10 A.M. Moscow time — nauseous with anxiety and went to check her e-mail right away. There was no reply from Aunt Masha. She checked her sent folder to confirm that e-mail was sent. It was. She wrote another e-mail to Aunt Masha asking her to confirm that she had received the first one. Regina spent the rest of the night pacing between the living room and the kitchen, switching between the sofa and their three armchairs, trying to relax. Aunt Masha was a compulsive e-mail checker and she usually answered right away. Regina must have offended her when she offered her money. Well, the hell with her, Regina thought, even as she was physically hurting with mortification. She understood now why she couldn’t tell Bob about it last night. He would be ashamed for her if she told him. “What the hell is wrong with you, Regina?” he would say. “Masha asked you to take that child, to provide her with a family, with love, with protection, and you offered to send her a check instead? Offended her like that? Masha, the closest you yourself have to a family?”

No, no, she couldn’t bear to tell Bob. In fact, Regina found that she could hardly look at him when he woke up that morning.

“Do you want to go to Becky’s place with me?” he asked. “She wanted to show you how the renovations are going.”

Regina declined, saying that she wasn’t feeling well, but the true reason was that she didn’t think she could stomach a parent-child lovefest now.

Bob left around eleven and Regina went to check her e-mail again. Nothing. She was starting to worry that she would never hear from Aunt Masha again.

She took the suitcase with her mother’s things, put it in the middle of the living room floor, and unclasped the lock. There was an old photo album on top. Regina had seen most of the pictures many times before, but there was a thin stack of photos that she didn’t remember. Her mother was in her twenties in them. Lounging on the beach. Testing the water with her toes. Splashing. Posing with some mountains in the background. She looked like a prettier version of Regina. Actually, her mother looked like Virginia Woolf a lot. They had the same dark, deeply set eyes.

There was a photo of her mother and Masha together. They stood on the beach holding hands, laughing, waving to the camera. There was a big white ship in the background. The sign in the corner read: YALTA, 1970. It was strange that her mother never mentioned that trip. Regina picked up the photo, peered at it closer. Her mother was big, dwarfing Aunt Masha, but she looked so happy. Regina couldn’t remember ever seeing her so happy. Were they lovers? Olga Zhilinskaya — straight as an arrow.

She remembered her photograph on Masha’s bookshelf. Aunt Masha didn’t just keep her mother’s photos, she kept hers too. It suddenly occurred to her that Aunt Masha was actually doing this whole adoption thing for her, Regina, not just for Nastya. Aunt Masha cared about Regina, she wanted the best for her, and she believed that the best for her was to have a child. And in return Regina offered her money…Regina felt like writing to Aunt Masha and begging her for forgiveness, except that she didn’t think she deserved it.

Regina put the album away and reached for the dresses. She recognized her mother’s favorite: a simple silk frock with an open neck. Dark brown, almost black, with a pattern of tiny flowers. Her mother had had it for as long as Regina could remember. She had worn it at Regina’s sixth birthday party. There were many guests, mostly her mother’s friends. Regina thought that her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. The tallest too. At one point Regina’s mother took Aunt Masha’s hand and whirled her in a waltz. The material of the dress seemed to move along with her mother’s movements, making all those little flowers waltz too. Of course they were lovers. Regina couldn’t understand how she hadn’t seen it before.

She saw a vivid image of her mother as she stood in front of the mirror putting the dress on. She would always furrow her brow as she adjusted it so that it looked just right. Her mother was around forty in that memory. Strong, healthy. This was the first time since her mother died that Regina was able to conjure up her younger self. She was overcome with emotions that had eluded her during the cemetery visit. This was what people who had lost someone needed instead of stupid cemeteries. Virtual Suitcase. A little nook on the Web where you could store precious memorabilia: letters, photographs, videos, playlists, maps. Where you could visit and imagine the departed at their best.

Regina really needed to talk to someone. To someone who wouldn’t be judgmental, who would understand and support her decision, who would be able to relieve her guilt. Who would agree with her that Aunt Masha’s actions were crazy and that Regina’s letter to her was the natural reaction of a sane person.

Vadik? No, not Vadik. Even if he did listen to her, he wouldn’t understand. Sergey? She had been ignoring him for so long that she didn’t feel that she had the right to involve him now. And then expecting a sane response from someone like Sergey was kind of crazy.

Her dad? Regina had been longing to talk to him ever since she got back from Russia. But in order to ask him anything, they would have to get reacquainted, really get to know each other. She would have to face some more unpleasant facts about her mother. Regina didn’t feel that she had the strength for that.

What she really needed was to talk to a woman. Vica? Vica was a mother. Regina wasn’t sure if that made her more or less capable of empathy. Would she take the child’s side or Regina’s? No, Vica wouldn’t take Regina’s side in any matter. And she was probably upset with Regina. Vica didn’t have anyone in the United States and now she was going through a separation all alone. She should have called to ask her how she was, to offer her support. Several times Regina was about to dial Vica’s number, but then changed her mind at the last moment. She was afraid that Vica might think that she was gloating, that their conversation would turn all awkward and wrong. Still she should’ve called her!

Her phone beeped. There was a message from Vadik. “Are you back? I’ve missed you like crazy!”

“Coffee?” she texted back.

They met at La Colombe on Lafayette.

“Finally!” Vadik said as soon as he walked into the place.

They settled at a tiny table, too tiny and too low for both of them, neither Vadik nor Regina could comfortably fold their legs. There was barely enough surface area for their coffee cups and their two chocolate croissants.

Vadik looked at her expectantly, obviously waiting for her to tell him about her trip.

What should I start with? Regina thought, pouring sugar into her cappuccino carefully so as not to disturb the beautiful foam heart. Russian politics? Russian TV? The dumb, angry madness that was catching on all over Russia like an infectious disease? But Vadik was so obsessed with trying to fit in as an American that he cared very little about Russia. She could just try to tell him about Nastya.