Soul

I woke up an hour ago; it's just eight in the morning, and I've done nothing but watch her sleep. I've had enough time to wonder if what I'm doing is crazy or if I should follow my heart. My heart is clear about it, I want her. With everything it entails, with all the fears and all the hopes. I just want her.

With my index finger, I detail every part of her perfect face. Her skin is so soft, she even looks younger while asleep. That makes me feel a bit guilty. In perspective, eight years mean nothing. I know, I understand, but my pessimistic side says I'm taking too much away by accepting this. Someone her age, someone with similar interests, someone who can take care of her, who loves her.

"That's me, damn it," I grumble; for a moment, I fear my multiple personalities will come into play. I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.

Kate shifts a bit but keeps sleeping. I leave a kiss on her forehead before hopping out of bed. I head to the bathroom before making my way to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. Her fridge is half empty, and when I close the door, I see a note: "Two months behind" with a name and a considerable amount requested to catch up. I glance out the window, spotting a small supermarket. I grab my wallet and head there, making sure to leave the door slightly ajar to re-enter.

It takes me a few minutes to decide what to buy. I return home and thankfully confirm that Kate is still deeply asleep. It takes me very little time to whip up a decent breakfast. I'm about to finish when I hear lazy steps behind me; within seconds, delicate hands hold onto my hips.

"Good morning, beautiful," her face hides in my neck. I take her hands to prevent her from pulling away.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," I lean into her body as I would at home. "Did you rest well?"

"Wonderfully. I'm starving."

"Just in time. I'm looking for the instructions for the tea you prepared for me yesterday."

"I'll make it," she leaves a kiss on my hair before letting go. I shiver as her warmth fades away.

A few minutes later, we're cheerfully having breakfast. She looks well-rested, a bit calmer than yesterday. There's no need to hide our gazes or what we're feeling; unabashedly, we look at each other for a moment. Her beautiful eyes look at me with tenderness, and I know they reflect mine. I am completely captivated by her. Without thinking, I bring my hand to her face.

"Are you sure?" She remains silent for several seconds, just looking at me.

"Absolutely." I smile.

"Me too," I assure; her smile grows wider. My phone interrupts the moment. "That must be my mom; it's time to pick up Max."

"Can I come along?"

"I have some errands to run after picking her up, and I'd like you to rest more," disappointment is evident on her face. "But you can join us for dinner and maybe paint a bit. Tomorrow it's school day."

"I would love that."

"Deal," I stood up, intending to clear the plates. Her hand stops me.

"I'll do it. Go get your daughter." I nod and gather my things, sending a message to my mom to pick me up. When I return to the kitchen, she's still comfortably seated.

"My mom will pick me up; I'll see you later," I ponder a bit before planting a prolonged kiss on her head.

"Until later," I don't let her get up.

"I know where the door is; go rest," she smiles weakly. I sway a bit more than usual because I know she's watching me.

Mom arrived quickly, I almost thought she was nearby. I greet my daughter with a huge smile as she looks at me from the back seat.

"Good morning, muffin," I lean in to kiss my mom's cheek. "Good morning, Mom."

"Is this the apartment of who I think it is?"

"We'll talk about this another time," I whisper.

"Whose apartment is it?" Max asks.

"A friend's, muffin."

"Are you sure about this?" Mom hesitates.

"I haven't felt like this in a long time," I explained in Russian to my mom. Yelena and I were born in Russia, we were very young when we moved to the United States; we spent a couple of years in Ohio before moving here to New York. Despite not having lived in Russia for many years, Mom always encouraged my sister and me never to forget our native language. "I feel alive and happy."

"Mummy, I don't understand what you're saying," my daughter speaks from her seat.

"I hope you're not trying to forget in a bad way."

"Because she is younger than me?"

"No, because they reopened the case. Things..."

"I see that I fall for her very easily. She's beautiful and loves Max."

"Are you?"

I pause.

"Yes, I am," she smiles wider.

"Whatever makes you happy," She replied, leaving Russian behind. "Sorry, vnuchka, but we had to discuss grown-up things."

"Why are you talking weird?"

"When do you plan on teaching russian to your daughter?"

"Soon," I reply. "Would you mind taking me home and then to Manhattan?"

"Not at all."

"I'll treat you to lunch."

We chatted about trivial things during the course of the journey. Max filled me in on what they did with my mother; chocolate chip cookies and milk. Later, Mom explained that she realized her grave mistake at midnight when my daughter was still bouncing around the house. Eventually, she fell asleep on the couch watching cartoons. Mom spoiled her excessively, and she loved her for it. She granted her freedoms that I sometimes curtailed. Max perfectly understood the rules when she was with her granny and the rules when she was with me.

We decided to stop by and buy some sandwiches and snacks to munch on during the drive; Max tried to hum along to the radio, while my mother and I chatted. Her silence startled me when I explained what I was going to do.

“It seems like you want to repay her for what she's done for you.

“Not at all. I know how hard she's struggling, working herself to the bone for her father and to live decently. I just want to help. I don't expect anything in return.

“And what if she gets upset?

“It's a possibility, but it won't stop me”, mom bursts into laughter.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my methodical daughter?

“I don't recognize myself either, but it feels so good.

“That's what your father said when we ran away here. I guess that same impulse led him to look for someone else. Someone less structured.

“He's missing out.”

My father only spent a year with us after we moved to this country and then went down another path. We've been my mother, Yelena, and me our whole lives. With all the ups and downs that come with it. Fortunately, Mom removed his last name from us as soon as he left, what a horror to continue carrying the 'Shostakova' name.

“I tell myself that.

“What I don't understand is why you haven't looked for someone else”.

“Nothing that interests me enough”.

“First, you said it was because not just anyone could enter your daughters' lives. We're both adults now; I even have my own daughter, and you're still using the same excuse”.

“Maybe I'm not ready to give away pieces of my heart”.

“Mom, anyone would be fortunate to have a wonderful woman like you by their side”.

“Fifty-one years old, Nat, who's interested in old and bland?”

“Many people, believe me”, she made a disgusted face. It made me laugh.

“Not everyone has a good relationship with Cupid, lovesick girl”.

“Who's lovesick?” my daughter asks.

“Your granny,” I reply. Max claps with joy.

“Does that mean you're going to get married and have kids?”

“Sweetie, at my age, they might be mummified by the time they're born”, we burst into laughter.

My heart beats strongly when I see the familiar building. There are many symbols drawn on the door, including the one Kate has on her wrist. Even though I was distracted talking to my mother, I had been preparing in my mind what to say. I left my mom and my daughter in the car while I took care of this. I approached the reception, and a woman with a sour expression greeted me.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Could I speak to the person in charge? I want... I want to make a donation," she looked at me a bit incredulously, "I brought my checkbook, I just want to make a request."

"So, it's not a donation."

"You could say I want to pay for someone's stay and donate the rest," I explain, "I have my checkbook right here."

She eyes me for a moment, then her hand goes to the phone. She dials a number, waits a few seconds.

"Someone's looking for you, Doctor Fitz," she listens intently, "Alright," she hangs up. Her tone of voice remains the same, subdued, not changing even a bit when talking to her superior, "Follow me, ma'am."

She leads me down a long hallway that opens up to the vast gardens of the place. I see many people in white coats scattered around, people in wheelchairs enjoying the scenery, some playing cards. She guides me to a short man dressed in a navy blue shirt and black pants. He is deeply engrossed in watching someone in the distance.

"Doctor Fitz," She said, the man turns with a huge smile. Immediately, he extends his hand to me.

"Thank you, Susan," the woman doesn't say anything and heads back the way we came, "A true charmer," he smiles awkwardly.

"I'm Natasha Romanoff."

"What can I do for you?" he starts to say, then corrects himself, "Oh, my manners. Please, have a seat," he gestures to the grass. Now I smile more genuinely, take a seat, and a few seconds later, he does too.

"I want to make a donation to the facility. The amount is substantial, enough to cover someone's stay for two and a half years."

"What motivated you to make such a generous gesture?"

"My... friend's father is here. She's a couple of months behind on payments."

"So, you want to pay only for that person's stay?" he inquired, and I shook my head.

"I want to cover the rest of his year, and you can do whatever you like with the rest," I reply, and he smiles.

"We receive very few donations each year, this is wonderful. Thank you very much," his aura radiates warmth. You can tell he loves what he does, "And who is it that you want to support?"

"Mr. Bishop."

"Ah, his daughter has certainly found an angel in you. She's been fighting like hell to have her father here."

"I know, that's why I'm doing this," I glance towards a small lake where a man is waving his arms. The doctor follows my gaze.

"He's yelling at the mermaid that lives there to come out. That motivates him to get up every day, he wants to see her again."

"To see her again?"

"He lived in Scotland for a long time, was a fisherman, and swears he saw a mermaid when he was young. Somehow, he believes she's here."

"She might be," I shrug.

"I've had the same thought," we both smile.

"Could I see Mr. Bishop?" I ask, and he nods his head towards a man sitting under a tree. There's an oxygen tank beside him, and a nurse closely follows his movements.

"Let 's go. He likes seeing new faces," he stands up with enthusiasm. I'm amused by his irony, for him, all faces are new.

"Hey, Derek. I've brought a lovely young lady to meet you," I can see a hint of a smile behind the mask that helps him breathe.

"Hi," my voice cracks when I recognize the eyes that have been driving me crazy. I see Kate all over his face, "I'm Kate's friend, she asked me to come see you," I swallow the lump in my throat, "She talks about you a lot," he nods. The hand that was in his lap reaches for mine, and when he holds it, he grips it tightly. I can't hold back the tears, "You raised an amazing woman," I kneel down in front of him. Our hands don't let go, "You can rest assured, I'll take care of her," I finish because it's getting harder and harder to speak.

I squeeze his hand once more before (practically) running away. I hear the doctor's footsteps following me. We almost collide when I stop abruptly and turn to face him.

"Is everything alright?" Doctor Fitz asks cautiously.

"Kate can't know it was me, please," I take my checkbook and write down the amount I calculated in the car on the way here.

"Life will surely reward your goodwill, Mrs. Romanoff," he smiles at me, but I can't manage a smile right now.

"It's been a pleasure, Doctor Fitz," I extend my hand to bid farewell, "Don't worry, I know the way out," I don't wait for him to reply and quickly make my way out of the place. Some heads turn as they see me leave. I must look like a crazy person. I startle my mother when I enter the car abruptly.

"Dear?" My mom said.

"Let's go, please."

"Are you okay?"

"Mom, why are you crying?"

"Everything's fine, muffin. I just want to leave here," a little puzzled, my mother starts the car and drives us back.

I don't speak during the drive, and my mom understands and avoids asking questions. Max falls asleep as soon as we leave Manhattan. I can't sort out my thoughts; seeing Kate’s dad like that overwhelmed me. The ease with which I told him I would take care of his daughter terrified me. Suddenly, I'm crying again.

"I won't judge you, you know," my mother's familiar hand gently squeezes mine.

"I care so much, more than you know. It's so different from what I went through with Wanda and me," my voice falters, "I can't keep losing people I care about."

"What makes you think you'll lose her?"

"I don't know," I say defeatedly, "My negativity, my baggage, everything inside me tells me I'm destined to lose."

"Dear, we're all just a breath away from death. Some ways are more painful than others. Maybe you wouldn't feel like this if Wanda had died of a heart attack. This is so far beyond our control. Life, love, happiness are just a step away from fear. Don't stay on that side of the line."

"I swear I'm trying, Mom, I swear," she stops the car. She unbuckles her seatbelt and affectionately cups my cheek.

"What you just did tells me how brave you are. I'm so proud of you," I move closer to her and start crying on her chest.

I feel the weight of guilt lifting as my tears flow. For the first time in years, I feel like I deserve some of the happiness and tranquility that Kate offers me. For the first time, I want to be completely free for myself and for her.

I suppress the urge to ask Mom to drop me off at her house. I'm dying to see Kate, to hug her, and yes, to kiss her. I can't wait any longer, I need it. I need to let out what's been building up inside me. I smile through tears. Now I understand Max when she counts down the minutes to see her.

My daughter wakes up a few minutes before we get home; the first thing she says is that she's hungry. I invite my mom to spend the evening with us, but she declines. That woman is busier than the Queen of England. I have some cereal with my daughter; I don't want to eat much. I order a large pizza a few minutes before Kate is expected to arrive.

My foot taps rhythmically on the floor as we watch Matilda. I swear the clock isn't moving at all. I hear Max reciting parts she already knows, and unconsciously, I do the same.

Fortunately, I didn't tell my little one about the visit, as Kate didn't show up. It's five o'clock, five-thirty, six, six-thirty, and nothing.

At this moment, I'm getting my daughter ready for bed; it's past nine in the evening, and we have school tomorrow. After I finish reading to her and making sure she's completely asleep, I go to the kitchen to clean up what we used. Still have time so I prepared our lunches for tomorrow.

I check my phone one more time, still nothing from her. Now in my solitude, I let out my frustration with a couple of audible sighs.

I leave our lunches in the fridge, make sure all the windows are securely closed, and turn off all the lights. I'm about to enter my room when I hear the buzz of my phone on the kitchen island; I go to it. A cryptic "Can you open up?" is displayed on the main screen. I turn on the living room light along with the hallway light, open the door, and it's definitely not the sight I want to see. Her hair is loosely tied in a makeshift ponytail, and her eyes tell me she's cried a lot.

"Why did you do it?"

"What?"

"Why did you do it?" she asks again, "You had no right to unravel me like that."

"What are you talking about?"

"I received a call from the hospital. My father's bill has been paid for nearly a year. You saw the note at my house."

"No..."

"Don't lie to me. Why did you do it?" I can't decipher the emotion in her eyes. They look so dark.

"Because I wanted to."

"I don't want your money."

"I'm not giving it to you, I'm giving it to your father."

"I told you there would never be pity in my actions, I expected the same from you."

"I used the money I received for my wife's death, I swore never to use it. I saw that the hospital has needs, just like any other. I made a donation, and they should have taken that as payment," I lean against the door, "And even if I had wanted to make the payment, you can't tell me how to use my money."

"Not like that, not because you thought I was in need."

"I did it because I care about you, stubborn, because I see you struggling, and I wanted to contribute a little," she lowers her head. I take her face in my hands and bring her closer to me, "I'm ready," I say before our lips meet.

I know it's not the world's best first kiss; she's crying and I'm radiating frustration through every part of my skin. That doesn't stop me from making her feel what I just told her, that I love her. Our lips synchronize, she kisses me delicately, as if I might shatter, her hands grip my hips, and I'm in heaven. I feel her tears on my cheeks and the slight salty taste on her plump lips. I don't want to let her go, so I press our foreheads together for a second. My breathing tries to find its normal rhythm. She doesn't make a move to release me either.

"I love you too," she whispers against my lips.

"It wasn't my intention to upset you," I softly deny.

"You don't know what it means to me, what you did," she swallows hard, "I want the best for him and... it's hard."

"I know, sweetheart. I've given you enough time to save up, to get organized, or just to enjoy a little. You don't have to hold back, that's what I'm giving you; a break," she searches for my lips with a hint of desperation.

She's sitting on the couch, eating a couple of pizza slices, a glass of orange juice by her side. I return from the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand and sit next to her.

"How are you?"

"My face is puffy, and I'm starving."

"I can help with the second part, a shower or a good night's sleep might fix the first one," she smiles at me.

"Did you really kiss me?"

"Yup," I smile back at her, "like three times before we came in the house; twice when we got to the couch, and..." I lean in to give her a small kiss on the lips, "once while you were eating."

"There's so much I want to say to you, I don't even know where to start."

"You can kiss me while you find the words," I suggest with a shrug. I see her leaning in, "but after you finish eating."

Minutes later, she's snuggled against my chest while I rub her back. The tranquility between us is magnificent. We don't say anything; there's no need. I plant a kiss on her hair from time to time. I feel her sigh, and I smile when I remember that she called me her crush. And now we're here, so comfortable with each other.

"Did you see him? My father, I mean."

"Yes, does it bother you?"

"Not at all. What did you think?"

"I can see where you got those beautiful eyes from. We talked for a while."

"Really? What did you talk about?"

"I'm afraid I can't break our confidentiality."

"My father has fallen for that pretty face quite quickly."

"I think we hit it off. I'll definitely visit him again," we fell silent again.

"What does this mean, Nat?"

"It means I don't want to be with anyone else but you."

"It means exactly the same to me," I lie down and pull her with me. I like having her this close.

"I'm so scared, Kat," I swallow, "there's so much inside me. I don't want to drag you into this abyss, but I don't want to be without you."

"I have my baggage too. It won't be easy, but something good can come out of this mess," she seeks my hand to intertwine our fingers.

"This would be a good time for one of your poems," my hand tightens around her waist.

"I could tell you that you must know by now that you occupy my eyes, that I carry your laughter embedded in my arteries, that there's no place in my body where your sorrow doesn't fit, that when you have nowhere to return, you'll think you have all my voids open.

I could tell you that if one day you feel lost within yourself, I'll find the solution to your labyrinth by opening up my chest and standing in front of you, right in that place where

I speak of you so much that it won't be hard for you to recognize yourself and find yourself again. I could tell you that any place is my home if you're the one opening the door." She finishes reciting to me, with her loving voice.

"It's beautiful," I hugged her tighter, "who's it from?"

"From my new best friend," she giggles softly, "Elvira Sastre."

"I'll definitely be reading her work."

"We'll be reading her work."

We fell asleep in the complete calm of truth and the feeling of being reciprocated. I fell asleep holding onto the most real thing I had had in a long time. There, clinging to my reality, I understood my mother; a bit of light is just a step away from fear.