Page 123 of Notes About Vodka

She squeezes my leg gently. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

We drive on, and it feels like an eternity until we finally reach the airport. I scan the crowd of arrivals, my eyes searching for the face I remember from my childhood—older now, but still familiar in my mind.

And then, there he is.

He looks different—grayer, maybe a little more worn by time. But he’s still my dad. His eyes meet mine across the terminal, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The noise, the people—all of it becomes background to the sudden rush of emotion that hits me like a wave.

“Papa,” I whisper, my voice lost in the swell of it all.

He smiles, and it’s the same smile I remember from when I was a kid. His eyes glisten, and before I even realize it, I’mmoving toward him, closing the distance between us. We collide in a hug, and the tears come—hot and fast, years of distance and longing pouring out of me.

“Valik,” he says, his voice cracking. He calls me by the nickname he used when I was small, and it’s like I’m a child again, held by my father. I close my eyes, gripping him tighter, not wanting to let go.

Speaking in Russian, I tell him, my throat tight, “It’s been too long, Papa.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands on my shoulders, eyes searching my face like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

“You’ve grown so much,” he says, his voice thick with emotion and his Russian accent. He turns to Laura, smiling through his tears. “Laura.”

Laura steps forward, her own eyes glassy, and nods. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Sasha,” she stumbles through the Russian words, but it doesn’t matter. My dad pulls her into a hug too, murmuring something in Russian that makes her smile.

“What did he say?” she asks, glancing at me with a soft laugh.

“He said you’re even more beautiful in person,” I translate, my voice still shaky. She blushes, and my dad nods, giving her a warm smile.

The long drive back to Panama City Beach is full of conversation. The road stretches out ahead of us, winding through the countryside, with the sun beginning to dip low on the horizon. My dad's voice fills the car, telling stories about Russia—stories of his life, the people, and the places that were once home. I steal glances at Laura, catching her wide-eyed fascination, and it makes me smile. I feel a mix of emotions—relief, joy, a little bit of the bittersweet knowing how much time we lost—but mostly, I feel grateful.

Grateful that we're here together, that we're getting this chance. The trees blur by, and the golden light washes over us, adding a warmth to everything. It’s like, for the first time in years, things are finally starting to fall into place.

“Tell him about the train ride through Karelia,” Laura says, leaning forward, her excitement evident.

I smile, nodding. “Papa, tell her about Karelia, the white nights.”

He launches into the story, his voice animated, describing the endless summer days where the sun barely sets, and I watch Laura’s face light up as she listens. It feels good—having them here together, sharing pieces of my past with the woman I love.

Laura leans closer, asking more questions, and I translate as my dad continues, his voice full of warmth and nostalgia. We talk about the village where he grew up, the winters that seemed to last forever, and the long summer days when the sun never fully disappeared. The more he speaks, the more the years of distance seem to fade away, replaced by a sense of connection that I’ve missed for so long.

By the time we get back, the sun is dipping low, and Skipper has already started cooking a crab boil for everyone. The smell of garlic and spices fills the air as we approach the condo, laughter and chatter drifting out from the deck. The sight of my dad stepping into this chaos, meeting all of our friends, feels surreal.

He doesn’t speak English, but somehow, everyone gets by—gestures, smiles, laughter filling the gaps where words fail.

Rhea, who’s starting to show now, gives my dad a huge grin, patting her growing belly. She says something, her voice full of warmth, and I do my best to translate, though my attempt is clumsy.

“She says you’re going to be a grandfather, kind of, sinceyou’re part of this family now,” I say, laughing at how awkward my translation is.

My dad smiles at her, nodding like he understands every word, and Laura just shakes her head at me, laughing softly. “You’re terrible at this,” she teases, nudging me.

“Hey, I’m doing my best,” I protest, grinning.

The laughter, the warmth—it all feels like a piece of a dream I thought I’d lost. The reality of my father here, surrounded by these people who have become my family, fills me with a sense of fulfillment I hadn’t realized I was missing. It's a chaotic mix of cultures and languages, but somehow, it works. There's a shared understanding, a feeling that words aren't always needed to make someone feel welcome.

At one point, I pull out my phone, and we call my mom. She’s on video, watching the chaos from thousands of miles away, her eyes full of longing. The sadness that she isn’t here is palpable, but she smiles anyway, waving at everyone, her voice filling the space with warmth. We promise her that we’ll set up the video call for the wedding, and she’ll get to see everything, even if it’s through a screen.

“I wish you were here, Mama,” I say, my voice cracking just a bit.

She nods, her eyes glistening. “I know, Valik. But I’m with you in spirit. I’ll be watching, and I’m so proud of you.”

Laura leans into the frame, her smile warm. “We’ll make sure you don’t miss a thing,” she promises.

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