Page 115 of Notes About Vodka

Back in NYC, life picks up again, and the routine Val and I settled into starts shifting as things change around us.

It’s as if the beginning of the summer didn’t even happen as we move into the hot, humid August weather. A year from when our story started and Val still complains about being overheated when we walk around Central Park.

Lately, I’ve been trying to talk him into getting us a puppy. He’s being difficult, but I know he will give in. After all, I’m his world and he is mine, too.

Rhea and Sebastian are also on the move, which feels likeanother wave of change crashing in. They’re back from Indonesia and heading towards New Orleans next—Sebastian’s got a photography gig there, and Rhea’s looking to expand her newfound love of teaching the arts.

“You two should come visit us there,” Rhea says as we all share one last dinner together at our favorite ramen spot. Her eyes are bright with excitement, and she clings to Sebastian’s arm as she talks about their plans.

“Seriously,” Sebastian adds, nodding. “The art scene there is incredible. You’d love it, Laura. And Val, they’ve got great food—Cajun, Creole, everything. We’ll show you all the best spots.”

Val raises an eyebrow, looking intrigued. “Cajun, huh? I might have to take you up on that.”

“We’d love to visit,” I say, smiling at them both. It’s bittersweet seeing them head off again—they’ve been all over, but every time they come back, it’s like no time has passed at all. Still, I can’t help but admire their adventurous spirits, and it makes me realize how much our group is starting to grow in different directions.

Chapter Thirty-Three

LAURA

“Addictions come in many forms: alcohol, drugs, money, people… and then there’s you. You’re my favorite kind—sweet enough to make me jealous of every second we aren’t together, intoxicating enough to leave me craving more.”

Val and I find new rhythms in life as the seasons change.

He starts teaching me Russian, and I can see the pride in his eyes when I manage to string together a full sentence without his help. That smile makes every bit of struggling through those tricky words worth it.

He even surprises me by organizing regular calls with his parents, and soon enough, they’re a part of our lives in small but meaningful ways. His mom asks about me often, wanting to know all the little details—what I’m studying, what foods I like, if Val’s taking care of me properly. His dad talks about their garden and gives Val advice on how to fix up our tiny balcony, which somehow turns into an excuse for Val to make another batch of blini for them to watch over the call.

We talk about the future more openly now—about the next steps, about fixing Val’s residency. We met with NYU’s International Student Affairs and made a huge step toward getting his status adjusted.

My grandparents even agreed to help sponsor Val and pay for half of his new student visa.

I can’t describe the relief I felt—it’s like a weight has lifted, like the first clear breath after being underwater. I know Val must have felt the same because when his new F1 visa arrived in the mail, he took the next two nights off and fucked me senselessly all over our apartment while we lived off of kotleti and plov.

Now we think about what it would mean to have his parents come visit.

The idea of having them here, in our home, feels like the kind of dream I didn’t dare let myself have. But now it feels like we are making forward progress—towards something real that we are building together.

Fall breezes in with more change.

We are in more classes, I’ve started co-teach the late night chemistry labs, Val is now the bar manager at City Tavern and we barely have a moment to catch our breath before life takes off at full speed again.

Before I know it, I’m 25.

Skipper flies back to NYC to celebrate, and the apartment is filled with friends and laughter. The living room is buzzing with energy, decorated with streamers and balloons. Music plays softly in the background, and the air is thick with the delicious aroma of Val's homemade hors d'oeuvres.

Rhea and Sebastian, who are pretty much married now, are back from a job in England and on their way back to New Orleans. Rhea never thought she would be a traveling teacher, but she loves it. They are such an adorable couple, sitting closetogether on the couch, exchanging whispers and smiles. I feel a warmth in my heart seeing them so happy.

It’s Christmas!

And this year, Val and I are hosting in our cozy apartment that I’ve covered in every dollar tree decoration I could find. Brimming with the rich aromas of roasted turkey, buttery stuffing, and sweet potatoes, and every counter is covered with ingredients, bowls, and more utensils than I thought we owned. I’m proud of the festive feeling.

Val is in his element, bustling around with that focused look he gets when he’s in the zone. He’s got his apron on, and I swear it does things to my heart. He’s managing to look like a mix between a chef and a lumberjack now that he’s grown out a red beard. Contrasting against his dark brown hair, I tease that it’s a bit of Polish ancestry he gets from his mother.

He’s telling me how Russia celebrates Christmas on January 7thbut they give out presents on New Year’s Eve.

“December 25this just another work day for us,” he explains.

“Really, why didn’t you tell me last year?” I ask.

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