A Way To Stay
RECOMMENDED TRACK: The Weeknd – Die For You
The world kept turning. I could hardly believe it had been so…easy is not the right word. I never wanted to do that again.
But some part of me had expected the kind of drama in a movie. Tears and anger and maybe even being shoved out the door. In retrospect, that was silly. That wasn’t the way Emma did things, was not who she was. She wanted always to understand things, and once she understood them, she could not hate them.
But still, I had thought she would tell me to go, and that I would, and that would be it.
Instead I stayed, and now I had a…girlfriend. It felt strange, like a small miracle and a responsibility at the same time. But one I wanted to do right instead of wanting to get away from. I walked on cloud nine for at least a day. Maybe also clouds ten and eleven. I did not count.
On the first night of Thanksgiving break—Emma had decided to stay on-campus, supposedly to pick up shifts but really to stay with me, another miracle—I strode down Third Street to pick her up at work. I was a block away when I saw Calloway leave the shop and I slowed my pace. He did not look happy as he let the door swing shut behind him, but then, he always looked unhappy, so it told me nothing.
I trusted Emma completely. But I began to jog down the street, watching Calloway disappear into his car. That empathy, the urge she had to understand people, it would lead her to allow Calloway closer.
Maybe I should not fight that.
I had thought something similar that night at the party, but it was so piercing after how floaty I had felt since making up that I stopped in place.
In theory, Calloway had so much more to give Emma. He came with wealth beyond even my family’s, plus legacy and stability. He read her books, spoke her brainy language. And when I returned to Moscow, he would still be here.
He did not come with a time limit.
But even as those objectively sensible thoughts marched through my head like a firing squad, the entire rest of my being rejected them. I did not want to let him slide into this place I was clumsily carving out for myself. I did not want anyone else in that place. I wanted to live in it, to tuck myself into her warmth and never leave.
I wanted to stay.
It felt like a bolt of discovery and also like the most obvious, boneheaded thing to have not considered fully. I had spent three years here realizing just how much I hated Moscow, even before I met Emma. The city is fine, but there is little for me there. I have Dasha, a government becoming even more aggressively authoritarian, and an equally authoritarian father holding my sister over my head to ensure my return as agreed. To ensure I followed in his footsteps, become a soulless man of business like him.
Fuck that. I wanted to stay.
But I could not imagine how.
I slipped into the store and watched Emma turn and greet me, her face lighting up with that affection that I was becoming so addicted to. I asked her about Calloway as we took the familiar walk to Nana’s. She told me he’d bought another record at her recommendation. She looked a little uncertain, like she maybe thought I would be mad at her for talking to him. I told her I trusted her judgment, and she looked happy with that.
When we arrived at the restaurant, she greeted Nana with a kiss on each cheek like she was the old lady’s own granddaughter and I was smiling so wide, I thought my cheeks might break.
That bolt from earlier had settled into a warm glow inside. Yes, I wanted to stay. I wanted this. I had to find a way. I may hate my father but I am his son, and he has never backed away from a challenge. Surely I could find a way to deal with him.
But my father would come second. Before that came Emma.
I thought about Calloway, and Dina, all those fears we had barely muscled through. My first experience with that kind of jealousy and uncertainty left me with the desire to make sure Emma never had to feel anything like it again. I needed to give her something solid to stand on. Something that would build a little bubble around the two of us and keep the Calloways and the Dinas of the world at arm’s distance, along with whoever else might try to interfere. At least on this side of the Atlantic.
The question was how. Over the next few days, I tried to approach the problem like my father approaches a major business prospect. Strategically. The goal was to communicate commitment. It had to be visible. Something that no one could mistake as some extended hookup, even if they wanted to.
It took a while for me to find the right move. I first considered some grand display on campus. I even considered how much it would cost, in dollars and in academic probation, to get the old battered Steinway onto the quad.
But no—we had returned to that basement several times, and the way she looked at me when I played for her? That was mine. I would not share it. Besides, Emma would not like a big public performance. She might accept it, but it would be the same way she accepted my worst jokes. With a sort of fond exasperation. I wanted this to be something that would make her smile without reservation.
I kept thinking. She caught me at it one night at the library. She had been talking about a paper. I usually surprise even myself with my interest in her studies, which are…actually very cool, studying how stories transform. But that time I got sidetracked, and by the time I tuned back in, she was saying, “…And I’m going to move to Bolivia and join a biker gang.”
“Huh?” I did a double take. She giggled, and I remembered I’d said something similar once. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
“I could tell,” she said, but she did not look upset. She just flicked her fingers at my forehead. “What are you up to in there?”
I gave her my best, flashiest grin. “World domination, konechno.”
“Konechno,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Of course.” But she let it slide as I grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips.
When the right idea finally came to me, it was almost midnight on a Thursday. Even so, I jumped out of bed and barreled down the stairs. I curved around the hall to Jacob’s room and banged on his door.
“Just a second,” I heard him say through the door, a long-suffering sigh threaded through his voice. I bounced on the balls of my feet as his footsteps trudged across the floor and opened the door. The light at his desk was still on, he’d been studying as I knew he would, our overworked straight-A president. He looked me up and down—I hadn’t bothered putting on anything over the boxers I had planned to sleep in—and lifted both eyes to the ceiling as if to say well, what did I expect?. “What is it, Misha?” “The winter alumni reception,” I said with a smile that flashed my teeth. “Is it too late to RSVP?”
Bonus Content:
Emma Learns Russian
Author’s Note
B-Side Track: Paramore – The Only Exception
Oh-ho, Misha is starting to show that strategic brain he’s been hiding behind that party mask.
FUN FACT:
In the bonus content you may notice that Travis joined Misha and Emma for dinner at Emma’s apartment one night. Well, it actually wasn’t for one night. He occasionally shows up when they have a stay-in movie night. By coincidence, it tends to be the nights they’re watching a rom-com. 🤔
What do you think Misha has up his sleeve exactly? <3