“Do you have a wife?” Oduvanchik asks, hands on hips. Such a tiny thing—and already horribly businesslike. Do women have this kind of behavior in their blood, or what? Like, it’s included as standard equipment?
“Not,” I reply, trying to keep a serious expression. But it’s nearly impossible with this little girl—blowing away a curl that’s fallen onto her forehead, puffing out her cheeks.
“And what about kids?”
“Kids too. No wife, though.”
Varya rolls her eyes. Where do they teach that?!
“It’s not necessary for mom and dad to live together for them to have children. You’re just like a little kid.”
“Honestly.”
“And do you like my mom?”
“I do.”
“Great!” she claps her hands, as if delivering a verdict. Absolute. “You’re a perfect match for us. Will you be my dad?”