Page 129 of Notes About Vodka

“I think you’re just trying to get me out of this dress,” she teases, her eyes sparkling. Clearly not aware of the mess she just made.

I grin. “Can you blame me?”

The train ride is the perfect blend of relaxation and adventure. We watch as the landscape shifts from lush valleys to ariddeserts, the world changing outside our window. We spend the evening curled up together, sipping our makeshift cocktails and watching the world pass by, her head resting on my shoulder.

Dad takes pictures for mom.

The rhythmic clacking of the train on the tracks, the sun setting over the horizon—it all feels surreal, like a dream I never want to wake up from.

Los Angeles Whirlwind

Los Angeles is a whirlwind. We immerse ourselves in the city’s eclectic mix of glamour and grit, wandering along Hollywood Boulevard, marveling at the stars on the Walk of Fame. My dad is in heaven, looking at his favorite icons on the star walk.

“Papa,” I say, laughing as he poses next to a star for a picture with a name that vaguely sounds like Sergei, “they’re not all Russian, you know.”

He waves me off. “Doesn’t matter. It’s for the memories.”

Our hotel room is another story. We find a pair of hooker shoes under the bed—bright red stilettos with rhinestones. Laura holds them up, her eyes wide with mock seriousness.

“Think I should wear these to dinner?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Only if you want me to have a heart attack,” I reply, and we both burst out laughing. “Just don’t go snooping anywhere else, I don’t know what might you find next.”

It’s these little moments—the surprises, the laughter—that make this trip unforgettable. We end up placing the shoes on top of the wardrobe, a reminder of the quirky surprises that seem to follow us wherever we go.

That evening, we meet up with some of my friends at an authentic Russian restaurant in LA. Katya and Micha, friends who moved here from Sochi and I haven’t seen in years, greet us warmly.

The restaurant feels like a slice of home. The smell of borscht and freshly baked bread fills the air, and my heart swells as I watch Laura interact with my friends, her curiosity about my culture shining through. The decor—heavy wood furniture, Russian folk art, and old family photos—makes me feel like I’ve stepped back into a piece of my past.

“Try this,” I say, offering her a spoonful of borscht.

She takes a bite, her eyes widening. “Oh wow, that’s amazing. I think I could get used to this.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” I say, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

The night is filled with laughter, stories, and a lot of vodka. Dad shares tales from my childhood, embellishing them just enough to make everyone laugh, and Laura listens, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“He was always such a troublemaker,” dad says, nudging me. “But look at him now. Married to this beautiful woman.”

I feel a swell of pride as I glance at Laura, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the restaurant and the vodka. “I got lucky,” I say, my voice soft.

She smiles at me, her hand finding mine under the table. “No, we both did.”

San Diego Serenity

Our final stop is San Diego, where we relax on the pristine beaches and savor the laid-back atmosphere. The sun shines brightly, and the ocean stretches endlessly before us, the waves crashing gently against the shore. We meet up again with Katya and Micha, who have settled in the area, and we walk the coast.

There’s boisterous laughter, stories of home, and shared bottles of vodka that make me feel like I’m back in Russia, even if just for a moment.

We explore Balboa Park, wander through the San DiegoZoo, and spend a night in the vibrant Gaslamp Quarter, each location adding another layer to the tapestry of our adventure.

One day, we take a boat tour around the harbor, the salty breeze ruffling our hair as we watch sea lions basking on the docks.

Laura leans over the railing, her eyes wide with wonder, and I snap a photo of her, capturing the joy on her face. It’s moments like this that make me realize how lucky I am—how lucky I am to share my life with someone who finds wonder in everything.

One evening, as the sun sets over the ocean, we sit on the beach, the waves lapping at our feet. Laura leans against me, her head resting on my shoulder.

“You know,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “this has been the best trip of my life.”

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