He sees me. For a second, he freezes. Something quick and elusive flashes in his eyes. I don’t have time to understand what it is. Surprise? Fear?
No. It’s annoyance.
Annoyance that I’ve come back at the wrong time. Tomorrow morning, I would have been met with a different surprise—less shocking.
I stand in burgundy lace, in heels, with my hair down, and I feel like an idiot at someone else’s celebration of life. In the decorations that I myself created ten years ago.
— Oleg, — my voice is programmed to be polite. — What’s going on here?
My husband is silent. He looks at me, then at Alina, and then back at me. His jaw is tense. His tendons tighten beneath his skin.
— Polina, — he begins, — This isn’t what you think…