You, Dad, dont come back any more, the little girl says, her voice trembling. Every time you leave, Mum starts crying and she keeps on crying till morning. I drift off to sleep, wake up, fall asleep again, and shes still sobbing. I ask, Mum, why are you crying? Is it because of Dad? She replies that she isnt crying, just blowing her nose because she has a cold. Im old enough to know that a cold never makes someone sound like theyre weeping.
Now Dad sits across from his daughter at a small café table, poking at a cooled coffee with a tiny spoon. The girl hasnt touched her icecream at all, even though it sits in a little glass bowl like a work of art: bright coloured sprinkles, a green leaf and a cherry on top, all drizzled with chocolate. Any sixyearold would be mesmerised, but Olya has already, last Friday, decided its time for a serious talk with her dad.
Dad stays silent for a long moment, then finally asks, What are we going to do, sweetheart? Not see each other at all? How am I supposed to live then? Olya crinkles her cute, potatoshaped nosejust like Mumsand thinks before answering,
No, Dad. I cant live without you either. Heres what well do: call Mum and tell her youll pick me up from nursery every Friday. If you want coffee or icecream, well sit here together. Ill fill you in on everything Mum and I do.
She pauses, then adds, And if you want to see Mum, Ill videocall her each week and send you the pictures. Good?
Dad doesnt stare at his clever daughter; he smiles faintly and nods, Alright, lets try that. Olya sighs with relief and finally turns to her icecream. Yet she isnt finished speaking. The coloured sprinkles on the rim of her nose spark a new seriousness. She licks them, almost like a grownup, almost a woman who has to look after her own maneven if hes already older. Last week Dad turned twentyeight; Olya had drawn a big 28 on a birthday card at nursery.
Her face turns solemn, eyebrows knitting, and she says, I think you should get married. She adds, Youre not that old yet, after all. Dad chuckles at her goodwill, Youd call me not that old, huh?
Olya, enthusiastic, continues, Not that old, not that old! Look, Uncle Steve, whos already visited Mum twice, is practically bald now. See? She runs a hand over her soft curls and smirks, as if shes just revealed a secret. She quickly presses her fingers to her lips, eyes widening in mock horror.
Uncle Steve? Which Uncle Steve keeps showing up? The boss at Mums work? Dad raises his voice, halfshouting across the café. I dont know, Olyamaybe hes just a friend who brings candy and cake and
Dad interlocks his hands on the table, staring at them for a long beat. Olya senses that in this very instant he is about to make a big decision. She knows, as all girls do, that men often need a gentle nudge toward the right choice, especially from someone as precious as she is to him.
Finally, after a long, noisy sigh, Dad snaps his fingers, lifts his head and saysif Olya were a little older she might recognise the tragic tone of Shakespeares Othello speaking to Desdemona. But she knows nothing of Othello or Desdemona; shes just gathering life experience, watching people delight and suffer over little things.
So, darling, its late. Ill take you home and Ill have a word with Mum. Olya doesnt ask what he plans to say, but she knows its important. She goes back to her icecream, then, realizing that whatever Dad has decided outweighs even the tastiest dessert, she hurls her spoon onto the table, slides off the chair, wipes her chocolatesmudged lips with the back of her hand, blows her nose, looks straight at Dad and declares, Im ready. Lets go.
They dont walk home; they practically sprint. Dad leads, holding Olyas hand, and she flutters like a flag on a lance, just as Lord Arthur once did at Waterloo. When they burst into the building, the elevator doors close slowly, whisking a neighbour upward. Dad looks slightly bewildered; Olya, from bottom to top, fixes him with a determined stare and asks, So? What are we waiting for? The seventh floor is all there is. He scoops her up and rushes up the stairs.
When Mum finally throws open the door, Dad launches into a tirade, You cant do this! Whos Steve? I love you, and we have Olya He keeps Olya in his arms, then pulls Mum into the same hug. Olya wraps both of them around her neck, closes her eyes, and watches the adults share a kiss.
