Garik returned with what looked like toilet paper. Yana grabbed it without a word, tore off a section, rolled it, and promptly stuffed it up my left nostril. Obviously, she thought it should be lodged all the way in my brain. I gasped at the final push and Davit laughed. He rattled off a statement that had Garik joining him. I looked at Viktoria, who smiled.
“They have memories,” Viktoria answered the unanswered question. I guess Yana was used to bloody noses. A few moments later, I had two wads of toilet paper stuffed up my nose and Yana was satisfied I wouldn’t bleed in her house.
“Thank you,” I said in my best Armenian. She smiled and then gave her boys a stern look. I guess they were sparse with their thank-yous.
“Where is Tamara?” I asked Viktoria. Viktoria had a conversation with Yana that seemed to make Garik and Davit smile. I understood that she was coming, but missed all the nuances and the part that was making Tamara’s brothers smile.
“Armen will bring,” Viktoria said. I assumed Armen was the older brother who lived next door. I wondered why Tamara wasn’t here.
“She doesn’t live here?”
“Down floor,” Viktoria replied, pointing at the floor. I guessed that meant downstairs.
“She has her own apartment?”
“No,” Viktoria said and didn’t elaborate. Thoughts entered my head. I should have known that Tamara had gone on with life. I was bedridden, so it didn’t occur to me to move on. The sly smile on Viktoria’s face had me prepared for a surprise. One, I suspected, I might not like.
Tamara’s brothers started conversing as their mother left the room with the dirty towels and water. Viktoria found humor in what they were discussing. I knew it had something to do with me. I looked between Viktoria and them with concern.
“What are you talking about?” I asked when the pressure got to me.
“Not important,” Viktoria replied. She said something to the brothers, and they all started to laugh. Yana returned with a scowl that halted the laughter quickly. She spoke, and all discussion stopped. She sat down next to me on the couch and patted my knee.
“Tamara worry,” Yana said slowly, in simple Armenian words. Probably the same words found in an Armenian first-grade reader. The look in her eyes was loving, almost parental. I assumed she meant that Tamara was worried about me. “She can’t find,” more simple words.
“I had trouble finding her as well,” I said in English, then looked at back at Viktoria. She interrupted my words, which brought a smile to Yana. We waited, and I listened to brief conversations where I understood one word in ten. The talking ended when the door opened.
Armen walked in, and a worried eyed Tamara followed. I stood when I saw her. She carried a bundle and didn’t approach as I neared. She carried a child. Viktoria was looking between us, her eyes wide with anticipation.
A series of thoughts ran through my mind. Tamara was a nanny; possibly she found another job downstairs. No, the way she held the child spoke of love, not duty. She had it close under her breasts as if it belonged there. Of course, she found someone else. The watery eyes fit. She was too pretty to be alone. She had too much love.
The expression on her face denied another love. I had seen that expression before. Once, in the hovel, she held out a pot with embarrassment. The look was near the same but held more concern. Her eyes searched mine, and I saw something there. Our time together had allowed me to read slight changes in her expression. The way her shoulders curled toward me and the way she resettled the child in her arms. Entire sentences were there, and my throat thickened. It was my child, our child, she held.
I moved forward, more hesitant than I should have. I wasn’t prepared to be a father. Tamara saw my nervousness and her eyes swelled. Her hand pulled the cloth away from the baby’s face, letting me see it unobstructed.
The child was sleeping, it’s skin perfectly pale. It’s mouth was moving rapidly like it was feeding from a breast. There was a calmness about it. Something so perfect. I felt my eyes fill. It didn’t matter if I was ready or not. The desire to wrap the child in my arms and protect it from the world was overpowering. I looked up at Tamara.
“I never thought anyone could be as beautiful as you,” I said in English. Viktoria unnecessarily translated. I could see that Tamara understood when her smile grew. I added my arm to help cradle the child and found Tamara’s lips. They were as soft as I remembered. A year did not diminish the love I felt in them. I ignored the conversation that erupted behind me as I lost myself in Tamara and our child.
“I love you,” I whispered in Armenian. Ruben at least taught me that well. I felt passion when our lips merged again. A felt the desire grow as it had in the hovel so many months ago. Tamara pushed me away gently, a smile holding a promise for later.
“Mother here,” Tamara whispered slowly. I smiled back, knowing that she felt the passion as well. I held out my arms and without hesitation, she placed our sleeping child in them. “Milena,” she told me my daughters name.
Milena fit her perfectly. She was so light and so comfortably asleep in my arms. “Milena is beautiful,” I said carefully in Armenian. I guess I got it correct when Tamara blushed with pride. I turned back to the couch with my bundled treasure. Yana was beaming like her daughter. I now understood why she thought I had ruined Tamara. They had thought I left Tamara with a child to raise on her own. In some ways, I deserved a bloody nose.
“You like surprise?” Viktoria asked me as I sat down with Tamara. I could see the thrill in her eyes. She had been waiting for this all along.
“She’s perfect,” I replied. I looked at Tamara. “They’re both perfect.” Viktoria chuckled while she translated. Yana responded, and Tamara shook her head. I looked between them both and then at Viktoria.
“Your family not like you now?” Viktoria asked. I smiled at the thought. They were convinced I had to choose between Tamara or my family. I guess my parents didn’t make a very good first impression with Tamara.
“I think Milena changes everything,” I said. I placed Milena in Tamara’s arms making sure Milena’s beautiful face was exposed. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. I had no idea what ungodly time in the morning it was back in Chicago, but I sent a text nonetheless. A picture of my daughter in her mother’s arms. The words simply said, ‘your granddaughter.’
I sat back on the couch and greedily took back the sleeping baby. I wanted so much for her to wake up, but I didn’t want to disturb her sleep. All my thoughts were jumbled. Milena changed everything. Tamara curled into me, and I made room. She liked me caring for Milena. Like I had any choice. God knows how much more of myself I would lose when Milena opened her eyes, which I prayed was soon.
“I am so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” I said to Tamara. She understood, but Viktoria translated anyway. “She is so wonderful. I can’t believe we made her,” I added. Tamara smiled and tucked herself closer. Viktoria started to translate and Yana interrupted with some quick commands that sent everyone but Tamara and I scampering away. Yana smiled at me and left to what looked like the kitchen. The woman was smart.
I wrapped my arm around Tamara, and we shared Milena between us. Our child slept as we found each other again. All my reservations were consumed by her lips. It didn’t matter that my Armenian sucked. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have clue-one on how to raise a child. Tamara and I would fuck up parenting together.
My phone rang. I pulled it out and smiled at the caller ID. My mother always kept her phone close when I was out of the country. It didn’t matter how old I got; she worried all the same. “Mother,” I said to Tamara in Armenian. She nodded as I put my mother on speaker. Even if Tamara couldn’t understand, I didn’t want to go private right now.
“Sorry to wake you, mom,” I said, “you’re on speaker with Tamara and me.”
“Oh,” my mom stuttered, not expecting a public conversation. I heard some shuffling, probably putting on her robe as if we could see her. “I… she’s beautiful, Jonathan… so beautiful.”
“She is incredible, I’m holding her, and I still can’t believe it,” I replied. I gave Tamara a quick kiss to ease her mind. I could tell she was apprehensive.
“Jonathan… I did things I regret,” I could hear tears in my mother’s words, “I didn’t… I thought… I wasn’t thinking. I am so sorry, Tamara.” I translated as best I could. I am sure it came out something like, “Mother sorry.” Tamara nodded and wiped at her eyes. I think she could hear the grief in my mother’s voice.
“Oh, Jonathan, I’m so sorry,” my mother continued. I thought it was done with. “Tamara tried to find you, and I told the embassy things when you were unconscious. I don’t want her to hate me.” I looked over to Tamara and saw her stiff face. She was tolerating my mother, not forgiving her.
“Did you know where Tamara was?” I asked. I was trying not to be angry, but this could be an issue. God only knows what Tamara thought of me during that time.
“I’m am really sorry,” my mother admitted without saying so. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. My anger flared, but the child in my lap refused to let me show it. Right at that moment, I hated my mother. I reached forward and disconnected. The strain building in my shoulders faded with the end of the call. If my mother knew, then most likely Kimberly knew as well. I moved Milena fully to Tamara’s lap. I dropped to my knees in front of her.
“I’m so sorry, Tamara,” I said in English. There was no way I could say it clearly in Armenian, “my mother didn’t understand. She was a fool.” I paused for a moment, looking into her dark eyes. Her family’s initial reaction to me made complete sense. I would have beaten myself up. “I love you,” I said in Armenian. Her forgiving smile was so lovely. She reached forward and pulled me up to her. She may not fully understand what transpired, but she understood my current desire. Her lips forgave me in so many wonderful ways. I was hoping I would learn to forgive myself and maybe even my mother.