Page 45 of The Harbinger
She shook her head and ran her hands along the books. “He’s very particular. He had them organized by author name.”
“I can’t read Cyrillic. I didn’t know.”
“That’s okay. I can help you put them back.” She shuffled forward. Her dull blue pants, which resembled a dress when her legs were together, flowed with the sway of her hips, her matching-colored long-sleeved shirt tight but flattering for her figure.
“But what if he likes it this way?”
“He won’t.”
“He doesn’t come around enough to notice.”
The thought of undoing what I had just spent hours accomplishing pulled the remaining energy from my bones. And then to look at the chaos on the shelves afterward…
“It’s okay,” she said, noticing my sagging shoulders. She wrapped her arms around me in a side hug and rubbed my arm. “Maybe he’ll be okay with it.”
There was no way it’d get past him. Especially since his bookshelf now looked like a vibrant rainbow. The pattern was unmistakable, aside from the singular black book at the center, which had no place.
I’d been so consumed with my organization I hadn’t glanced inside the uniquely spined book, even though I gravitated toward it like the Earth towards the Sun.
“How about some tea?”
I nodded and followed her down into the kitchen.
We split off in the kitchen. I sat at the bar across from the stove, and Katya stood in front of a tall silver pot with a spigot on the side and a small teapot resting on the top.
“What’s that?”
“It’s an electric Samovar. We’d heat the traditional ones with coal outside.” She pulled a rectangular silver tray away from the wall and filled the teacups and small teapot with hot water. “We warm them first, so our tea doesn’t cool.” She glanced back at me as I looked on, my chin in my hands.
Katya slid in a plastic top with a filter and filled it with loose tea. “We Russians love black tea. We would have some treats with it, but you aren’t feeling so well, so we’ll drink.”
“I’ve never had black tea before.” At least, not that I could remember. “We don’t have these traditions where I’m from.”
“Just wait until you feel better.” Katya brought the silver tray with the hot tea and cups and placed them on the counter beside me. “The tables are full of food.”
I reached for the teapot, and she slapped my hand. “It must steep.”
“Sorry.”
“You’ll learn.” She gave me a soft smile, her nude-colored lipstick filling her lips and stressing her cupid’s bow. She tipped the teapot and poured a small amount into the cup. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Grabbing the tray, she walked back to the Samovar, watered down the tea she’d poured into my cup and hers, and then brought it back over. “That’s better.”
“Thank you.” I brought the cup to my lips.
“Why are you thanking me? You haven’t tried it yet.”
I shrugged. “We say thank you for everything in America.”
“No. No.” She shook her head. “You only say thank you once the task has been completed or you’ve tasted your meal.”
“Sorry.” I hid my frown behind my teacup. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”
“Stop apologizing. That can be your first lesson.” Katya sipped her tea, her smile hidden by the cream cup, with tiny acorns decorating the sides.
“It smells… different.” I took a sip, letting the bitter warmth soothe my throat and belly.
“It takes some getting used to, but it’s one of my favorites.”
“How long have you lived here?”