Meet the Parents, Continued

"Import and export, mostly. I leave my options open."

Maybe Kolya didn't notice the slight twitch in Alexei's eyes, or the flare of his nostrils, but Vasya surely did. He stepped in, hoping he could turn the tide of disapproval. "Nikolay has many talents, Papa. Did I tell you he is in doctoral study right now?"

But Alexei wasn't buying his ploy to change the subject. He scanned Kolya up and down, as if he were appraising a building for its architectural design flaws. There was no hint of warmth in his eyes, and Vasya knew if it weren't for a sense of obligated hospitality, he'd have taken Kolya out on his ear and tossed him into the snow without any apology, then immediately returned to continue their dinner.

Why does he hate him? He doesn't even know him yet!

Surprisingly, it was Natalya who came to the rescue; she either hadn't noticed the sudden hostility in the air or chose not to. "Well, we won't lack for leftovers. I'll have to send some home with the both of you. You'll be back at school next week, and they don't serve my pieroschki in the cafeteria."

"No wonder I gain five kilos every time I come home, Mama," said Vasya, stuffing another one of the dumplings into his mouth. "Simply delicious." He closed his eyes and enjoyed the mélange of flavors: onion, lamb, garlic, and her secret ingredient, bay leaves.

Kolya grinned through his mouthful. "Some of the best I've ever had. You're an excellent cook."

That was one of the most predictable things about the coyote, Vasya knew: no matter how old or young, and no matter her station in life, women were inevitably putty in Kolya's hands. His mother's cheeks flushed with pride. "You're too kind, young man. An old family recipe. Shame my Vasya never learned."

"I did so learn," Vasya protested, his mouth still full. "Remember that cake I baked for you on your birthday last year?"

"A noble effort, but cooking was never in your blood, khoroshiy moy." She pointed at him with her fork. "You're creative, but more like your papa's kind of creativity."

"He's going to make partner at one of these big firms before age thirty, and get rich and famous. Then maybe he'll be the one who's like Trump, eh? Or even that guy who runs the Stoneheart Group?" Kolya laughed, and so did his mother.

Vasya only nervously chuckled. He was well aware of his father's lingering scowl, which persisted despite their banter. The whole night he'd been worried about what Kolya might let slip, and so far, it was what had gone unsaid that caused all the discomfort.

"Anyone care for another course? I wonder if I cooked enough," Natalya mused, though the table was still stacked high with piles of her handiwork. "You two are still growing, you know."

"If Vasy…Vasiliy…keeps growing, we'll have to put him on display at the Central Park Zoo."

"He certainly doesn't get that from me. Your papa was tall, Lyosh'a. Perhaps it was from him."

"Hmm." Alexei grunted, chasing his food with a swig of tea.

Vasya inhaled sharply. It was one of the conversational minefields he'd forgotten to warn his friend about; extended family, particularly his father's side, were strictly off limits. Even he didn't know much about his late grandfather. Alexei had always said he was killed in the war, but nothing further, even after he'd pressed and pressed. As Vasya waited for the bombshell to drop, what he got instead surprised him.

"Natasha. While we're waiting for our stomachs to settle for the next course, why don't you give our guest a tour?" Alexei's voice was soft and bore no edge.

Her face lit up. "Of course. Why don't you come with me, Nikolay? You can help me bring in the platter of golubtsi."

He, of course, followed in her wake, chattering away and eager to have another female to charm. As soon as they were out of earshot in the kitchen, Alexei turned to face his son, his gaze icy.

"I don't want you to see that young man anymore, and I certainly don't want you to bring him here again. He is trouble, Vasiliy," he said, his voice low.

"Papa, give him a chance. He's a little different, yes, and he's, well, not as traditional…"

"Precisely. He is the sort that gives our Motherland and our countrymen a bad name here. If he is a 'businessman' then I am the queen of England. Don't you know what he is?"

Vasya thought about this for a moment. Kolya's flashy clothes, his sleeve tattoos and gold teeth, the way he effortlessly engaged with everyone from street hustlers to the faculty at Cornell. "He's American, Papa. I want to be American, too."

Whatever Alexei was about to counter with was interrupted by a loud crash in the kitchen. Both men shared a quick glance then bolted to the next room.

"I swear, I only turned my back for a second," Kolya explained helplessly as they arrived. He'd flung up his hands as if he didn't know quite what to do.

Natalya was curled into a painful comma on the linoleum floor, the laden platter of cabbage rolls scattered at her feet. Alexei squatted by her side.

"It's all right, lyubov moya. Can you sit up?" he asked gently, propping her up.

"I…I must have tripped. Terrible the way this floor buckles," said Natalya, her voice trembling. She smiled at him, then turned to Kolya, who was still frozen in place. "It wasn't your fault. I'm just sorry to see that. I can be so clumsy sometimes. Lyosh'a, I told you we need to fix that floor…"

Vasya held one hand on the old-fashioned wall phone. "Do I need to call the medics, Mama? Did you hit your head?" His heart had jumped from his chest to somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, and it hammered.

"Oh no, my sweet boy, I'll be fine. It was just an accident," she assured him, though she didn't sound at all convincing.

Kolya turned to him. "Can I get anything? Anything at all?" Along with confusion, there was a spark of something else in his green eyes, which Vasya thought might be the start of one of his crazy schemes, though for the moment he didn't know and didn't care what it might be.

"Run to the bathroom…second on the left down the hall…and get a towel," Vasya said as his father continued to minister and speak softly in their native language to his fallen mother. He was surprised at how easily the order came. Usually Kolya was the one bossing him around. As the smaller man left, he bent down and put a reassuring hand on his mother's shoulder. "Mama, you need to take it easy. You know you put on a brave front, but you are not as strong as you let on."

Alexei swallowed hard. "We'll have to make another appointment. I'll find a way…"

"You two, getting worked up over nothing! It will be fine. Really, it will. I am strong. I have always been strong."

But Vasya didn't miss the look his parents shared: fear in his father's eyes, trepidation and unease in his mother's. It had been at least a year since this had happened...and the doctors said it may happen again. What did any of that mean? Was it an accident, like she insisted, or was the silent monster inside his mother's body reawakened once more?

Don't think about that. Think about what you can do to help her right now.

Kolya stood in the kitchen doorway, a damp hand towel in one hand. "What did I miss?" he asked, cheerful even in time of crisis.

As Vasya took the rag to wipe at her forehead, he realized he'd never once told Kolya about his mother and her multitude of health problems. It hadn't seemed important, and besides, the coyote had never even asked. Now, though, it was the only thing…and might be for the conceivable future. Or, as she said, it might be nothing.

"You have no idea," Vasya said softly as he bathed the sweat from her brow.