Five Steps Closer
20 hrs. 42 min.
Language
Russian
Author
Julie Dace
Author
Julie Dace
Narrator
Tatyana Ivankova
Narrator
Tatyana Ivankova
“Madi!” I parody it. “Shut up, both of you.” Aiden speaks up. “And you—what the hell are you yapping about, kid?” I laugh. “Stop it all,” Mom exhales. Dii тихо laughs, looking at her; Dad smirks smugly.
Madi crossed her arms under her chest and wrinkled her little nose, meeting Mom’s eyes for a second.
“God, someday we’ll have dinner like normal, right?” she says.
I don’t think Mom talked to us—rather, it was a conversation with herself, but it was pretty funny.
“Remind me how old you are?” she continues.
“Twenty-two, a week, and twenty-three,” I say.
“There’s still a fifteen-year-old kid.”
“I’m sixteen,” declares my younger brother.
“And I’ll be twenty-three soon—so what now?”
“Your head’s empty,” he mutters. “If I were you, I’d be quiet. My elbow might twitch by accident.”
“And mine—my leg.”
“Can we have dinner in peace?” Mom interrupts.
“Fine,” I smile, glancing at Dad, who can barely hold back laughter.
“And the prayer?”
“Each of you take a leg,” Mom says. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, but obey—same as Aiden.
“And now put it in your mouth to make you shut up for at least five minutes,” she finishes, and Dad can’t take it anymore—he bursts into loud laughter and lets out drawn-out yells.
Madi crossed her arms under her chest and wrinkled her little nose, meeting Mom’s eyes for a second.
“God, someday we’ll have dinner like normal, right?” she says.
I don’t think Mom talked to us—rather, it was a conversation with herself, but it was pretty funny.
“Remind me how old you are?” she continues.
“Twenty-two, a week, and twenty-three,” I say.
“There’s still a fifteen-year-old kid.”
“I’m sixteen,” declares my younger brother.
“And I’ll be twenty-three soon—so what now?”
“Your head’s empty,” he mutters. “If I were you, I’d be quiet. My elbow might twitch by accident.”
“And mine—my leg.”
“Can we have dinner in peace?” Mom interrupts.
“Fine,” I smile, glancing at Dad, who can barely hold back laughter.
“And the prayer?”
“Each of you take a leg,” Mom says. I raise my eyebrows questioningly, but obey—same as Aiden.
“And now put it in your mouth to make you shut up for at least five minutes,” she finishes, and Dad can’t take it anymore—he bursts into loud laughter and lets out drawn-out yells.
