Still Here (7 page)

Becky was twenty-six years old, a Williams graduate now enrolled in the NYU Tisch film school. She lived in a sprawling decrepit house in Bushwick, which she shared with her best friend, Martha, and a team of Polish construction workers who had come to renovate the house six months ago and stayed. The house was bought with Bob's money. It was bought at a bargain price, because it was part of a group of houses meant for low-income people, and Becky, with her annual income of $12,000, easily qualified. Vica was close to having a heart attack when Regina told her about this. Even Vadik was outraged. Bob was the only one who didn't see anything wrong with the arrangement. “She's an artist trying to survive,” he said.

Regina had expected Becky to be spoiled and obnoxious, but she was surprised to find that she wasn't that at all. If anything, she was too nice. “The innocence of privilege,” Vadik had said. He had asked Becky out once, but she answered with a very firm no. Becky was really welcoming with Regina though. She kept hugging her and saying how pleased she was to finally see her dad so happy. She was squarely built, like Bob, but she had softer, warmer features, and her hugs were forceful and affectionate at the same time. She was very impressed with Regina's work and even more impressed with the roster of artist residencies Regina had attended. She was ecstatic when she saw
Infinite Jest
on Regina's shelf. “It's my favorite too!” She was awestruck by Regina's
samizdat
books. “Those are incredibly important artifacts!”

When they first met, Becky showered her with questions. Regina made an effort to answer them all, but lately she couldn't help but notice that when she talked, Becky's enthusiasm for her seemed to be waning. “Regina is nice but a bit standoffish,” she overheard her saying to Bob recently.

“Why would she think that?” Regina asked Vadik, and Vadik, so proud of his expertise, rushed to explain. “So she asked you all these questions and you gave her detailed, honest answers?”

Regina confirmed.

“Did you ask her questions in return?”

“No! What would I ask a perfect stranger? And I was too busy answering.”

“There you go. You were supposed to skip the answers—Americans don't really care about them—and ask her questions in return.”

“Wouldn't that be rude?” Regina asked.

“No!” Vadik said. “Quite the opposite! Giving long answers is rude and arrogant.”

The next time Regina saw Becky she used some of Vadik's strategy and found that it worked better. There wasn't any real warmth between Becky and her but rather a solid goodwill. She could live with that.

The clock read 10:00 
A.M
. It was time to get up. Or not. What difference would it make if she slept just a little bit more? Regina turned onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow.

She dreamed that she and Bob had a baby. The baby was tiny, the size of a medium carrot. It appeared to be healthy though. “Do you think it's all right?” she asked Bob. He laughed. “Of course it's all right, it's our baby, Regina!” “But why is it so tiny? Are babies supposed to be this tiny? Did your daughter used to be this tiny?” Bob laughed again. “Heck if I remember, Regina.” Then she tried to pick the tiny baby up, but it kept slipping right out of her fingers and falling onto the floor.

Regina woke up in shock. This was not the first time that she'd had a dream about some sort of weird or disfigured baby. Every time it happened, her heart was beating so hard that it took her ten minutes or so to calm down.

Regina showered and walked out of the bathroom. There was a whole day in front of her. The problem was that she had no idea how to fill it.

In Russia, her days had belonged to her job. She would tackle the most challenging projects. In fact, the more difficult the translation was, the more she loved it. But she had abandoned her work when her mother got sick. Taking care of her seemed to have eaten up all of Regina's time, energy, and spirit. She would let the assignments pile up and then look at them and cry, because it was futile to hope to ever complete them, and the whole idea of work seemed pointless in the face of her mother's impending death. Her favorite editor, Inga, who used to be the closest to a friend that Regina had in Russia after Vadik, Sergey, and Vica moved away, was very understanding. She kept offering to help, but Regina was too drained and depressed to sustain a relationship that required even a minimum amount of energy. Then after her mother died, Inga kept asking if Regina was going back to work, and Regina kept being evasive and vague until she finally called Inga and said that she was getting married and moving to the U.S., and that, no, she wouldn't be returning. Even on the phone she could hear how shocked and offended Inga was.

When she married Bob, there was a chance that her editors would have let her work remotely, but she was so eager to be done with her Russian life that she broke all ties with them.

Regina started missing her job about three months after the move. She would have these violently real dreams about working on a manuscript, about missing a deadline. She would wake up and experience relief at first, because she hadn't actually missed a deadline, but then feel disappointment.

She wrote to Inga and said that she wouldn't mind an assignment.

“Don't be a pig, Regina. There are people who actually need money,” Inga replied. The meanness of her reply told Regina just how hurt Inga still was.

Bob tried to interest her in politics, but all his efforts failed. Regina subscribed to Tolstoy's point of view that particular candidates or even political parties didn't matter, that historical process was shaped by the collective will of all people and not one single politician could possibly change anything.

“Okay,” Bob said, “we'll let a nineteenth-century Russian writer guide you in matters of contemporary U.S. politics.” He then suggested that she “take up” something else. But the expression “take up” disgusted her. “Taking up” meant doing something fanciful rather than serious. There were wives in Bob's circle of friends who had given up their jobs after marriage and now “taken up” photography or art or writing. Some of them were deeply engaged in motherhood, so they didn't have the time to “take up” things; what they did instead was “dabble.” Regina had been a professional woman all her life—the thought of “dabbling” made her stomach turn. She would rather spend her time reading books than “dabbling” in anything.

But what frightened Regina was that she had stopped reading. In Russia, she used to read voraciously, both in English and Russian, but here she hadn't yet finished a single book. Their entire den was crammed with unread books.

Today will be different. I'll definitely read a book today, Regina thought. I'll make coffee and start reading.

There were no traces of Bob in the kitchen. He didn't like having breakfast at home. He usually bought some seriously enhanced smoothie on the way to his office and drank it there while listening to his assistant's report.

Regina put the kettle on, sat down on the edge of the windowsill, and reached for her iPhone to check her messages while the water boiled. A confirmation for her ticket to Moscow made her squirm. The two-year anniversary of her mother's death was approaching, and Aunt Masha—not her actual aunt, but her mother's best friend—insisted that Regina come and visit the grave. Regina had missed the one-year anniversary because she had been sick. This time she didn't have any excuse. She had gone ahead and bought the ticket for early November.

The next e-mail was from Aunt Masha. She was overjoyed that Regina was coming to Moscow! They would go to the cemetery together and then have a meal in Olga's honor. She insisted that Regina stay with her during her visit. “It's unthinkable,” she wrote, “for you to stay at a hotel in Moscow, like a tourist in your own city!” Regina groaned. It was hard enough to go to visit the grave, but to stay with Aunt Masha would be unbearable. Ever since Regina's mother had died, Aunt Masha wouldn't leave her alone. Even though Regina lived in America now, and was married to a kind, wonderful, and very rich man, Aunt Masha felt that her duty was to watch over Regina and take care of her. She would write her very detailed letters and ask embarrassingly personal questions about Regina's new life. She would ask if Regina had found work, if she was happy with her new life in general, if she was happy with Bob, if she was in love with him. Did Bob have any children? Was he a good father? Did he want more children? Was he sad that Regina couldn't have children? Would he consider adoption? Aunt Masha wasn't subtle, no. She worked as a math teacher at an orphanage, and sometimes she would even go so far as to send Regina pictures of younger orphanage kids. Mostly babies, an occasional toddler. All had pleading expressions in their eyes, or was Regina just imagining that? She had to be firm and told Aunt Masha that adoption was out of the question, that the subject of children was painful and uncomfortable to her, and if Aunt Masha wanted to keep in touch with Regina she had to stop badgering her. The pictures and the questions did stop after that. Yet something told Regina that they hadn't stopped for good. Aunt Masha often brought kids from the orphanage home. They would stay with her for days and sometimes even weeks. Regina could only hope that Aunt Masha's apartment wouldn't be teeming with adorable little orphans by the time she arrived.

The next e-mail was from a former classmate Alexey Kuzmin, who claimed that he was Abramovich's business partner. He said that he lived in New Jersey now and wanted to get together. Kuzmin had been the sleaziest, most obnoxious guy in their entire grade. They had never been friendly; in fact, Regina didn't think they had ever talked while they were in school. It was clear that he had heard that she was married to Bob and was now trying to get to him through her. Regina switched off her Gmail and turned to Facebook. Facebook was easy: a perfect stranger named Anita Lapshin who wanted Regina to like the page “Anita Lapshin.” Regina hesitated but didn't “like” the page. She did “like” Vica's photo of a smiling Eric though, just so Vica wouldn't get mad. Vadik identified Regina's social media personality as “the lurker,” because she rarely posted anything herself and almost never commented or liked. There was something unsavory in that description, as if she was spying on people, but she had to admit that Vadik was right. She thought of the drama unraveling in her friends' social media as something like a TV series she could watch without participating. The idea of commenting and liking was foreign to her as well. Or perhaps she simply didn't have the skill of responding to something that wasn't addressed to her personally but released into the wild for everybody's attention. Now, Vica was “the affirmer”: she “liked” everything and posted all these uplifting photos of their family trips, of Eric smeared with ice cream or pasta sauce, and especially of colorful breakfasts. Sergey was—she forgot what it was called. Sergey never posted anything himself, but he would often butt in on his friends' discussions with an especially lengthy intellectual comment and then comment on his own comment, sometimes days later. Vadik himself thrived on social media, because it allowed him to try all those different personalities. He was witty on Twitter, charming on Facebook, philosophical on his Tumblr. When Regina shared Vadik's social media ideas with Bob, Bob just shook his head. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Social media is meant for communication, it's not supposed to be creative, definitely not supposed to be soul shaping.” Bob and Becky were model social media citizens. Their posts were not too frequent and not too long; they liked generously and commented sparingly; they radiated personal warmth and promoted their work in moderation.

There was a Facebook message from Vadik. He wanted her to help him interpret Sejun's sudden idea to look for a job in New York so that she and Vadik could live together. Regina was so tired of interpreting Vadik's love life! “But you're so levelheaded,” he would say. Which meant what? Cerebral, coldhearted, incapable of love herself?

When Vica dumped Vadik for Sergey and Sergey dumped Regina for Vica, some people were hoping that Regina would take up with Vadik. The problem was that they weren't attracted to each other. Well, Vadik definitely wasn't. Everyone said he was still pining for Vica. It would have been disastrous for Regina. To be with another man who preferred Vica to her? No, thank you! So, yes, a romantic relationship between her and Vadik was out of the question, especially now that she had Bob, but Regina couldn't help but hate it when Vadik came to her with his love puzzles.

Her relationship with Sergey and Vica was more complicated. After her breakup with Sergey back in Russia, Regina had never expected to become friends with him and Vica. She found herself forced into this friendship because she was friends with Vadik, and Vica and Sergey and Vadik kind of came as a package. And here, in New York, she didn't really know anyone and couldn't afford to refuse friends. She was especially starved for female company. Becky was there and Becky was smart and nice, but she belonged to a different generation and she was Bob's family—you couldn't be completely open with your husband's daughter. So Regina did try to become better friends with Vica, but each of her attempts was met with spiky resistance on Vica's part. And every time the four of them met, Vica kept darting sneaky inquisitive stares at Regina, clearly worried that she still loved Sergey. Sergey seemed to wonder the same thing. She didn't love him! More than that, she now doubted that she ever had. But the worst thing about Vica and Sergey was that they constantly tried to push yet another of their stupid app ideas on Bob. They tried to exploit him, and she felt exploited as well. Regina cringed every time Vica made allusions to her frivolous lifestyle while complaining about her job, and her awful commute from Staten Island, and all those chores she had to do, and the fact that she basically had two children—Erik and Sergey. Was Vica trying to guilt her into helping them? That would be so unfair. Still, Regina couldn't help but feel guilty because of the simple fact that Vica and Sergey had to struggle financially and she didn't. Sergey kept asking her if it was possible to change Bob's mind about Virtual Grave. No, she told him, it was not possible. And even if it was, Regina wouldn't have lifted a finger to try. She hated the idea of Virtual Grave. Death was an ugly, stupid, terrifying joke. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, you could do to make it more meaningful, or more beautiful, or easier to stomach. The only way to deal with it was to ignore it for as long as you could.