Page 40 of Notes About Vodka

I finally get the note I’ve been waiting to appear. I had mentioned something about trying authentic Russian food at the beach and her eyes lit up.

Later that night, tucked into the right front pocket of my jacket, was a guest check with the words, “Okay, yes. Let’s go out.”

I found your weakness Zaitseva.

“You sure you’re ready for Russian food?” I ask, smirking as I lean against the doorframe ofPianissimoafter the shift before our date.

She rolls her eyes but grins back at me. “Yeah, okay. As long as you promise no weird stuff. Remember, this isn’t a date.”

“Oh, trust me. You’re going to love it. And weird? That’s a subjective term. And a date… well, you believe what you want to, Laura babe.”

The next morning, Laura meets me at the subway station close to her apartment.

We take the long ride through the city, watching the skyline pass by until we eventually end up at Tatiana’s, this little spot in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.

Russian Town, as many like to call it, is right on the ocean.

As soon as we walk into Tatiana’s, it feels like home. The smell of fresh bread, pickled herring, and smoked meats hits me in the best way, stirring up memories of family dinners and holidays back in Sochi.

We sit by the window, the Atlantic stretching out in the distance, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing softly against the shore mixing with the salty breeze. The sun’s alreadystarting to dip below the horizon, casting a golden light over the water and filling the room with warmth.

“Are you ready for the real Russian experience?” I ask, grinning as I pick up the menu.

Laura smirks, “I was born ready.”

I order us a flight of infused shots—horseradish vodka, pepper, honey, and cranberry. And a little zacuskca, or charcuterie platter.

“We’re doing this right,” I tell her.

She laughs, and I can tell she’s a little nervous. I love that about her—the mix of confidence and vulnerability, the way she steps into the unknown even when she’s unsure.

The shots come out, along with a spread of other Russian dishes—borscht, pelmeni, blinis stuffed with mushrooms, caviar, and sour cream.

Laura takes a small sip of her shot and coughs, her eyes widening as the pepper vodka hits.

“Wow. That’s… That’s intense,” she manages between gasps.

I chuckle, downing mine without a flinch. “It’s an acquired taste. Try another.”

She watches me, amused, but there’s something deeper in her eyes. Like she’s seeing a part of me she didn’t know existed.

As we dig into the food, we start talking about everything—her friends, Skipper and Rhea, and how they all met. She laughs about Skipper’s eccentric personality and how Rhea is always the voice of reason. I love the way she talks about her friends, the warmth in her voice, the way her eyes light up.

In return, I tell her about my buddies back in Russia, how we were all terrible kids.

“We used to sneak behind the condo after school, smoke cigarettes, and steal vodka from my dad’s stash. He alwaysknew, but he never said anything. Just gave me that disappointed look, like he was waiting for me to grow out of it.”

She laughs, but I can see the curiosity in her eyes. “Do you talk to them much?”

I shrug, trying to play it off, but there’s a pang of guilt in my chest. “Not as much as I should. My parents are still there and currently an 6- hour time difference via phone. I think I’m a pretty bad son, honestly. My mom always asks when I’m going to visit, but life here… It’s complicated.”

Laura frowns a little, resting her chin on her hand. “Why don’t you talk to them more?”

“I don’t know. Time zones, maybe, school, work, just excuses, you know?” I run a hand through my hair, feeling that familiar sting of guilt. “I miss them, though.”

She looks at me, her gaze softening. “Maybe you should call them right now. They probably miss you just as much. And if its only 6 hours? Could they be waking up? Or are they still asleep?”

I nod, her words sinking in. She’s right. I know she is. And somehow, hearing it from her makes it hit harder. I want her to know all of me, the good and the bad, and maybe reconnecting with my parents is a part of that.

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