The walk to the Belikov family home, though barely three blocks, felt like a lifetime where my nervousness was concerned.
Dimitri led the way, practically bouncing with excitement to see his family. Alexei, meanwhile, busied himself with telling me some of Yeva's greatest hits.
"Did you know she called us, right before the attack? She told us that we were on the eve of changing our world's order."
He was referring to the Strigoi attack that had nearly claimed their lives; when they'd been outnumbered and Ivan's use of fire offensively, something that was nearly taboo in our society, had saved all of their lives.
Ahead of us, Ivan chuckled. "She told me that I had to make the choice between going against the status quo, or nothing altogether. Guess, in retrospect, that nothing really meant nothing, as in I would have died.
"She told Alyosha, when he felt left out that he hadn't gotten a prophecy like Dima and I, not to be an idiot."
Ignoring Alexei's rising protests, I addressed Dimitri. The midday sun shone down on all of us and he seemed to be glowing in the warm light. "What did she tell you?"
Dimitri paused. "I was supposed to be taking a trip home, the day of the attack," he admitted. "She told me that if I came home, I would lose everything I knew, but I would gain much more despite the pain. If I cancelled the trip, she couldn't guarantee that I would ever be able to regain what I had given up. It didn't matter though, they come first."
"What did you give up?"
He shrugged, eyes meeting mine and he held open a gate for all of us to enter through. "I guess I'll never know."
The Belikov home was just a cozy as I imagined a small family home could be. As soon as we entered, I was hit by the smells of spices and baked bread lingering in the air. A chorus of voices rose from the living room beside the entryway, and Dimitri moved to wrap his arms around a kind looking woman that I could only assume was his mother Olena.
"Uncle Dimka," a high voice exclaimed. I saw a blur run down the stairs and fling itself at Dimitri's leg. Once it had settled, I could see a small boy about ten years old get scooped for a hug.
"I didn't get that warm of a welcome," Viktoria remarked, moving beside me. It was a welcome comfort in this room full of familiar, yet new faces.
In all of them, I could see Dimitri. None of them outright looked like his carbon copy, but I could see their shared features.
Having moved through hugging Ivan and Alexei, Olena stood in front of me, her warm brown eyes nearly identical to her son's. "I've heard so much about you," she exclaimed, wrapping me into a hug.
I was surprised, to say the least, unfamiliar with familial interaction. I hadn't been hugged in what felt like a lifetime; since Lissa had seen me off on the tarmac and, last, when Abe had bid me farewell at St Basil's.
Olena pulled me further into the living room, where each of Dimitri's family members stood ready to receive the guests.
I could pick out Karolina, Paul's mother and Dimitri's oldest sister, easily. In her arms, she held a teeny baby, obviously very new to the world, who must be Zoya, Dimitri's newest niece. To her side stood Sonya, who rushed forward to hug her brother. Then, pushing herself up from a rocking chair adorned with cushions, there was Yeva.
The eldest Belikova woman shuffled over to her grandson, placing a wrinkled hand on his arm and speaking to him in faster Russian than I could even try to understand. He glanced to me, rolling his eyes and it figured that he could tell she was probably doing it on purpose. Of the words I caught, I didn't really understand what they meant, so I didn't bother trying to follow along.
Seeing Yeva measured up to Dimitri was even more comical than the difference in stature between him and Alexei. He stooped to bring himself closer to her. She stood five foot nothing and looked as if she was going to keel over at any moment. Her back rounded in on itself slightly and, even through layers of shawls, I could see that she was so thin even a breeze might cause her to break before our eyes.
Despite her frail body, her dark eyes regarded everything with tremendous alertness. They held knowledge and a stony skepticism that, in this moment, was trained right on me.
We stared at each other a moment, her eyes never leaving mine. "I'm Rose," I said to her in Russian.
"Ya znayu," she barked, turning to move down the hallway in the direction of what I could only guess was the kitchen. She knows.
"Don't you worry about my mother," Olena spoke to me, looping her arm in mine and leading me in the same direction, the rest of the family following behind us. "She's a tough old bird, but she doesn't bite. I, for one, am so glad you're here. How do you like Russian food?"
I laughed, welcomed by her warmness as she steered me to sit at the head of a table overflowing with plates. A platter in the center held something that looked like a savory stuffed cabbage covered in tomato sauce that I had had before. Golubsty, I remembered. Next to it, a plate held thick slices of the black bread I had come to love at St Basil's.
"We get some in the dining commons at school, I've liked most of it."
"Roza quite likes the black bread at school," Dimitri continued as he took a seat across from me. "But I told her that yours will make her realize that she hasn't had real black bread yet."
Something fluttered inside me. Dimitri so rarely called me by the Russian equivalent of my name, that it felt almost intimate to me.
Of course, Alexei didn't know that. "Roooooza," he sing-songed. Viktoria chuckled from her place at the table, but Ivan shot daggers at him. The shorter guardian always had a way to ruin a moment.
Olena let the whole interruption roll off her, placing a large piece of the bread on my plate and leaning to get the butter. "It's still warm, and there's no greater joy than salted butter on fresh bread in good company."
Under her gaze, I slathered some of the creamy butter on the heavy bread in my hand. I passed the butter back to her, only now realizing that everyone was looking at me expectantly.
I blushed under their gaze, but took a large bite regardless. I'd come to love the bread served at St Basil's, but knew as soon a bit of Olena's loaf hit my tongue, that the store bought alternative they served would forever be underappreciated by my taste buds. This was the real deal.
I hummed in delight, eager to be done with the bite only so I could wax poetic about the loaf to its baker. But with every crew, a new complexity revealed itself to me. Sour pumpernickel cut with rich molasses. Cocoa and coffee melted together underneath it all. It was divine.
"Mrs Belikova," I whispered. "You have to give me this recipe."
She laughed, everyone reaching to fill their own plates once the spectacle had ended. "Oh dear, you can call me Olena. It's a family recipe, but you just might be worthy of the secret."
Lunch had settled down and been cleaned up, but everyone stayed at the table, broken off into smaller groups for the standard catch-up. My conversation with Ivan and Karolina broke away, so I excused myself, trying to find a bathroom for a quiet moment.
Instead, I moved to the living room, leaving the noise and bustle of the kitchen for the quieter room near the front of the home.
I had lived at the academy from a young age, dumped off by a mother eager to return to the career she'd built for herself, so I had no clear memories of having lived anywhere else. Even on the occasions I'd spent with the Dragomir's, who became like a second family to me after I befriended Lissa, there had always been an air to their home that made it feel like it was only for display. Everything had been so clean it felt disrespectful to even breathe.
The Belikov home, by contrast, felt lived in. In the best way.
The soft couches in the living room were draped with homemade blankets, probably knit by Yeva's own hands. The walls and tables were adorned with family photos. I moved towards the far wall, where a large wooden bookshelf leaned, filled with old, leather-covered books. I ran my finger unconsciously over gold-embossed lettering on the spines, each meant for a different place in the world, as best I could read.
Someone entered the room behind me and I was surprised to turn and see Yeva of all people staring back at me, the same eyes that hadn't left me throughout lunch boring a hole into me once more.
I suppose I hadn't left the kitchen to escape the noise so much as I'd left it to escape her stare. No such luck.
"Hello," I spoke to her in Russian, unsure what she wanted from me.
Yeva shuffled over to take a seat in the rocking chair. The carpet beneath the legs was worn from use, making the whole image seem like a scene from a movie. When she finally spoke, her words surprised me. "I've been waiting to meet you Rose."
"Excuse me?"
"In a different world," she spoke cryptically. "Our meeting would not have been pleasant. But this world, right now, holds so much potential."
Just then, Dimitri turned the corner, taking in the room with surprise. We were probably the last two people he expected to see together. "I was just looking for you, Rose. Is Yeva bothering you?"
He was joking, but Yeva let it roll right past.
"Yes you have been, Dimka," she answered cryptically. Dimitri whipped his head to meet his grandmother's eyes, frowning.
"What do you mean we would have met in a different world?" I pressed, ignoring whatever she might have meant to Dimitri.
"Let's not dwell on things that never happened," she offered, eyes staring stonily into mine. If I looked close enough, it almost seemed as if she was smirking. "We can only control how time moves forward, now. You have someone to meet." Yeva turned towards Dimitri. "Make sure she goes to see Oksana tonight. Not too early, or the timing won't be right. Sometime after your training and dinner."
"It'll be too late," Dimitri started to protest. "We were planning on tomorrow."
"Tomorrow will be too late. They'll know you're coming."
Yeva Belikova was honestly, really getting on my last nerve. She didn't seem to have a straightforward answer to anything she said.
I followed Dimitri back towards the kitchen, where he told me his mom had set out some dessert and wanted to learn more about me.
"Your grandmother told me… that she's been waiting to meet me. What does that mean?"
He fumbled. "I mean, I've told Mama about you… but that would be too simple for Babushka."
Something about the way Dimitri said he told him mom about me made me forget all my worries. I smiled up at him, thoughtful.
"Don't pay her any mind," he assured me. "Sometimes it doesn't mean anything at all."
