Author's Note: Update! Yay!
Learning to Fly
Red took a sip from her coffee cup and looked around the shop. So close, she thought. Everything was so close to being finished. Her two-week deadline for having everything done and ready to open was interrupted by Healy's accident, but staying with him and looking after him was something that she wanted to do, despite his protests that he was fine by himself. When she'd finally been able to come back and work on the renovations, there wasn't really all that much to see to. Mostly just painting and decorating.
She sighed and picked up the novel she'd brought along. The past week had taught her to truly appreciate the phrase "as exciting as watching paint dry," because that's exactly what she had mostly been doing. Red chuckled briefly at one of the few memories she had of Litchfield that didn't make her want to scream and throw things. She was thinking of the time that she told Chapman, "Life is better in black and white…and red." It seemed ironic now, in light of the fact that she'd chosen to decorate her shop mostly in shades of blue. Red had always been Galina's nickname because of her hair, rather than her color preference. Left to her own devices, she always chose shades of deep purple and watery blue.
Red tried to focus on the book in her hands, but thoughts were flying restlessly through her brain. She thought of how much her life had changed in the six months since being released from prison, and how far she had landed from what she'd always thought she would come home to once her time was up. For most of those years behind bars, Dmitri and her sons and her market were what she looked forward to most, and now she had lost or given up two of those things and somehow ended up with Sam Healy. Now she was so close to having what she had always wanted: a pastry shop of her own. And, soon, she would have a huge decision to make.
To her relief, Healy seemed to have forgotten about the question he'd asked her while out of his mind on the pain meds. The fact that he hadn't broached the subject again—and that, in the weeks since, life had been going on just as it always did—was an immense relief to Red. Still, she couldn't get it out of her mind. She had always known, from the moment the relationship began, that this would come up eventually. Sam Healy, despite how much progress he had made in eliminating his prejudices, was still a traditional man, the kind who could never be content to just live with a woman without putting some kind of name to the relationship. More than that, he was a consummate romantic, and even a gloomy love life followed by a disastrous marriage hadn't beaten that out of him. This was part of what made Red love him so much, but it was also what scared her.
She didn't know if she could face the prospect of another marriage. If it came right down to it, Red wasn't sure that she understood why some people found marriage so wonderful. For her, it had been a necessity. She had been born and raised in poverty, and she'd wanted out from the moment she was able to conceive of some kind of life beyond all the shit that kept the rest of her family mired down. As she'd gotten older and less optimistic, she had come to realize that there was no way she was going to get out of it on her own. There were so few opportunities in the USSR for the poor, and especially not for poor, single women. She could have been a prostitute or a wife and not much else.
In relating her life story to Sister Ingalls, all those years ago in the medical unit at Litchfield, she'd told the nun that she had chosen Dmitri because he was going to America, and that was true. In her neighborhood, every man under the age of 30 was "going to go to America someday," or, at least, that's what they told you to get you into their bed or the backseat of their car. Dmitri had been different. He already had family there, he had ambition, and he was really going to go. And, best of all, he was a short, stout, not-overly-attractive man who had worshipped the ground Red walked on ever since they met in high school. Getting herself engaged had been easy, and after that, Red practically ran down the aisle and made a point of getting pregnant as soon as she possibly could to seal the deal. And, together, she and Dmitri had come to America and built their life.
It was a successful marriage, but never had it been anything more, for her, than a marriage of convenience. This was the reason that Red was one of the few people who didn't judge Healy for having had a mail-order bride. She hadn't judged Katya for being a mail-order bride, either. She had judged the younger woman for being stupid and ungrateful, but not for the choice she had made. Her own husband hadn't paid for her, but the younger Galina's own reasons for getting married had not been so radically different than those of most mail-orders.
She'd never told Healy any of this. He would judge her for admitting that she'd been married for 23 years to a man for whom she felt affection, but never truly loved. Given his own marital history, it would probably also make him both angry and suspicious. But now she knew that she would have to, eventually. Healy hadn't even mentioned marriage in the few weeks since the pill-induced pseudo-proposal, which, Red reasoned, he probably didn't even remember. But now Red knew that it was on his mind. Eventually, the question would be well and truly popped, and she would have to tell him everything. She would have to tell him because the thought of another marriage—a real marriage, built on love rather than economic necessity—was such a foreign concept as to be almost inconceivable to her.
Love hadn't even been a consideration to twenty-three-year-old Galina when she said "I do." Love was something that had been made up for the movies or for love songs; it wasn't an actual emotion that real people could feel. Love was the lie that had gotten her mother saddled with a man who could barely provide for her and his children. Love was the trap her girlfriends fell into that got them chained to junkies and alcoholics, or cast out of their families for getting pregnant out of wedlock. Love was for fools, or so Red had believed all her life. Until Healy happened. Somehow—Red still didn't know how or why or even when—he had made her love him, and she was still learning how to navigate that, and it was hard enough without having to think about marriage and everything that came with it.
She took another sip of her coffee, and then almost spit it out when the phone rang, making her jump in her chair. She glared at the device on the table in front of her and considered ignoring the call, but at least one of her sons called her every day, and if she didn't answer, they started sending frantic texts. When she looked at the screen, she saw that it was Healy calling her. Odd; he never called. Then again, that was because they were almost always together. Officially, she still lived with Maxim, but only because it was one of the conditions of her parole. In practice, though, she had all but moved into Healy's house; she only went to Maxim's now for family visits and weekly meetings with her parole officer.
"Hello," she greeted.
"Hey," his voice said on the other end of the line, "I was just calling to see if you were okay."
Red rolled her eyes. "Really? You're as bad as the boys. Why do you all think I'm going to spontaneously combust if I leave your sight for more than a few minutes?"
"Sorry," Healy said, "I don't; I promise. It's just…you said you'd be home an hour ago. So I was wondering what was keeping you."
Red held the phone away from her face and checked the time. Damn; he was right.
"Sorry, lyubov," Red said, "I got caught up doing some last-minute things here. I didn't realize the time." She stood up from the table and walked around the shop, closing the windows that she'd left open to let out the paint fumes. "I'm just finishing up here; I'll be home in a bit."
"Oh, well, good, because I have a surprise for you."
Red's heart dropped into her stomach.
"Oh, no," she said, trying to sound casual while visualizing nightmare images of him down on one knee or rings in a glass of champagne, "Should I be afraid?"
"Possibly," Healy said, "I guess you'll have to come home to find out."
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When Red entered the house, she was greeted by the unmistakable smell of fresh food. She followed the aroma to the kitchen, where she found Healy pulling a tray from the oven.
"You cooked," she said, unsure if that was meant to be a statement or a question.
"I did," he replied, "Pork chops, gravy, potatoes, carrots. I even made garlic bread."
"When did I teach you to make pork chops?" Red asked. Lately, she had been showing Healy how to make a few things here and there, and she was surprised at how quickly he caught on, despite never having been shown how to prepare food before. His making dinner was an even more impressive feat considering that his hand was still healing.
"You didn't. I found a recipe online. I followed it, and I didn't fuck it up" he replied, cutting a piece of pork chop, then forking it and holding it out to her. Red stared at it suspiciously. "Come on," Healy coaxed, "Don't make me talk to you like you talk to Katie when you're trying to get her to eat her baby food."
"Do that, and you die," she replied, taking the fork from him and tasting the food. It was surprisingly good, and she told him so, happy to see him smile proudly. At his urging, she went to sit at the table, letting him serve her. This, she reflected, was a nice change. She would never give up her kitchen, but it was nice to come home from working on the shop all day and not have to make dinner on top of everything else. Healy sat down with his own plate, and began eating, while Red sat and only picked at her food.
"What's wrong?" he asked, "Did I screw something up after all?"
"No," she replied, "The food is good." He still looked concerned, so Red gave him a smile. "Not as good as I could have made," she said, in an attempt at humor, "But still pretty good."
"Are you really not going to tell me what's the matter?" he asked.
"It's not something I feel like talking about," Red said, "Remember what I told you about not making awkward situations even more awkward?"
"Remember what I told you about bottling up your emotions?" Healy countered.
Red sighed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked at him contemplatively, the way she did regularly, whenever she was trying to figure out whether or not to tell him something.
"You proposed to me," she finally said. Healy's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
"Excuse me? What?" he asked.
"A few weeks ago," Red clarified, "When you were totally stoned on pain medication. You asked me to marry you. I've tried to ignore it, because you were high at the time and you obviously don't remember. But I can't."
"I'm…" Healy stuttered, "I'm sorry, Galina."
"Sorry that you proposed?"
Healy shook his head. "No. I mean, yes. That is…I'm sorry it happened that way. And that it upset you."
Red took this in, thinking through his words. "So…you were planning to…"
"Galina," Healy said, "I think you've always known…I mean, I just assumed that someday…is that not what you want?"
"I don't know," she said, biting her lip, "I honestly don't, Sam." She took a deep breath, then looked into his eyes. He looked hurt, and she could only imagine what deductions he must be making. "I don't want you to think that I don't want to be with you. I do, indefinitely. It's just…marriage is so…I don't know…"
Red picked her fork back up, and began attacking her food, more as a distraction than anything else. Healy followed suit, and they ate in silence until his plate was clean and she was full.
"I don't even know if I believe in marriage anymore," Red said honestly, looking at the ceiling, her wine glass, the window, anywhere but at Healy, "I guess I just…don't see the point. I'm not against it, though. If you want it."
"I want you to want it, too," he replied, standing up and beginning to clear the dishes. Red watched him as he put them in the dishwasher and began spooning things into containers. She had hurt him. She knew it, and she hated it. She stood up, emptied her wine glass, and brought it with her to the sink.
"I didn't say never," she said, turning to him, "I just said that, for now, I'm not sure. But I'll keep thinking about it." She reached for his hand, folding it in both of her own. "Can that be enough for now?" Then, she added, "Since I don't even consider what you said while stoned a real proposal, seeing as how you also thought I was the Queen of Hearts and said you wanted to speak to the captain of this starship because housekeeping misplaced your frog?"
Healy couldn't help chuckling at that. "Did I really?"
Red nodded. Still laughing, Healy pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head lightly.
"Yes," he finally said, "Don't worry about it. Everything is fine…your majesty."
Author's Note: I just couldn't resist slipping a low-key Star Trek reference in there, since I'm currently watching and marveling at our girl Mulgrew in Voyager. Also, next chapter...there will be angst.