Masha sat on the end of the ink rink, lacing up a pair of battered white skates. They had been given to her by her mother, and she wouldn't have dared gone to Aniva without them. Although she was complete rubbish at skating herself, she would indulge herself in the pleasure of pretending that she skated beautifully. There was something about the frightful ice that was not only powerful but eluding by beauty.
She still disliked the school for all it was -- a token of proof that she was 'special' and in 'need of help,' but she liked the idea of having friends. Masha helped herself up onto the ice, and as she did so, she couldn't help but realize her own reflection on the crystal floors.
"You have your father's nose," Nadezhda commented sweetly as she folded the laundry. A sad longing smile crept onto her face, a smile that Masha had never seen before this moment in her life.
"Мама, расска--"
"No, in English! Practice, practice, darling."
Masha made a face. First it was Russian, then English. Her mother made small comments now and then again about her speaking French someday. Before she spoke Russian, she spoke the words of the people in the northern tribes, but to this day, all the words escaped her. Besides, she had been but a small child. Masha enjoyed language acquisition, but she didn't seem to see the point as Nadezhda always did, and so the enjoyment was sucked out of the activity.
"Tell me about father," she announced in plain English.
Nadezhda continued to smile with a melancholy about her; she had expected the question before it was made. "Your father...was a dreamer, a wild dreamer in fact. On Valentine's day, I remember he sent so many flowers that I couldn't tell what color the floors were. My roommate and I, Alexandra, we hid them away, under beds, in dressers, threw them out the window. I didn't understand why, but Alexandra had a plan. There was no card, so we needed to know who sent the flowers. She invited your father over. He seemed upset, and an hour after he left, more flowers arrived."
Nadezhda laughed, her smile growing bigger. "Silly man. We knew it was him then." She shook her head, still smiling. "Go get the rest of the shirts from the lines outside."
Masha smiled, her heart longing to ask more questions, but she dared not to. Asking for Nadezhda to tell her anything was a risk. She feared upsetting her mother. The last time she asked Nadezhda to tell her about the night that they ran away, her mother spent four days and nights alone in her room, crying. Masha didn't want to risk Nadezhda's laughter over such a silly question, but she wished that her mother would say more.
Home 
