Page 42 of Notes About Vodka

My dad understands and tries to hold his excitement. We decide to call when they are waking up. I can’t believe I will be talking face to face to my parents, and soon.

As I hang up, warmth spreads through me—a deep, undeniable appreciation for Laura. She didn’t just encourage me to make the call; she insisted, knowing how much it mattered, even though we were technically on a date.She can pretend all she wants, this was a date. With many more to come.

It wasn’t about convenience or obligation—it was about her selflessness, her innate ability to put others before herself. The way she gently nudged me toward something I had been avoiding spoke volumes about her heart. She saw past the hesitation, past the excuses, and reminded me, without pressure orjudgment, that some things shouldn’t wait. In that moment, I knew—she wasn’t just special.

She is irreplaceable.

Later, Laura and I walk along the boardwalk at Brighton Beach, holding hands as the sun sets over the ocean. The trains rumble overhead, and the market stalls below are packed with vendors selling everything from fresh fruits and vegetables to clothes and electronics. It reminds me so much of home—of the market in Rostov-on-Don that I used to go to with my mom as a kid when we would visit her sister, of the one back home, in Sochi...

“I love this place,” I tell Laura, squeezing her hand. “It reminds me of the markets back home. The one in Sochi was massive, you could find everything there. Meat, cheese, eggs, fruit...even clothes. My mom and I used to go every Saturday.”

She listens, her thumb brushing against my knuckles. “Sounds like a good memory.”

“Yeah,” I say softly, “it was. My dad says it's being converted into an area for the Olympics now, so all of that area is gone.”

Laura squeezes my hand. I pull her closer to me.

As we walk, we meander from the past and talk about the future.

She tells me about her plans for medical school, how she tried a clinic with surgery during a student volunteer moment two weeks ago and it wasn’t her fit.

Now she thinks she wants to work with kids, maybe specialize in pediatric psychology and behavior.

I tell her about my dream of traveling the U.S., eating my way through the country—sampling every type of food, from North to South, East to West.

“I’d love to see America that way,” I say. “Not just thecities, but the small towns too. The places people don’t think to visit. Maybe get an RV, a little dog, and just go.”

She smiles up at me, her eyes full of warmth. “Maybe you won’t have to do it alone. We could totally do a scavenger hunt on a USA map of the best places to eat!”

I look down at her, my heart swelling with something I can’t quite name. “That’s not a bad idea,” I murmur, pulling her closer as we walk into the fading light, the sound of the ocean in the background. I press a kiss into her hair as she curls her body into mine, giving me the best hug I’ve ever imagined.

This is comfort, this is life. Laura, I’m addicted to you.

Very later that night, I convince Laura to come back to my apartment.

I’m about to talk to my parents face to face for the first time in nine years and I really want her here to be part of this moment. She shows me how to set up a Skype account on my laptop. It’s now 1 a.m. here, and she’s sitting cross-legged on my couch while I awkwardly fumble through the process.

“See? It’s easy,” she says, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she sets up my profile. “Let’s call your parents back. I want to hear that funny dial tone again.”

It takes a few tries, but eventually, we get my mom and dad on the phone. I slowly guide them through what they need to do to connect to Skype on their computer.

When their faces pop up on the computer screen, my heart skips. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them like this—alive, talking, their smiles so big they could light up the entire room. The sight of them makes my chest swell with emotion. I can see the wrinkles around my mom’s eyes, the tired but happy expressionon my dad’s face. It feels like I’m back home, just for a moment, and the sense of comfort washes over me.

My mom bursts into tears almost immediately, her face crumpling with emotion, while my dad's eyes well up, his composure slipping as he smiles through the tears as well.

They keep calling me by my old nickname, Val-chick, their voices thick with emotion.

Laura, sitting on my leg, watches with a smile as I introduce her. My mom’s English isn’t the best, but she tries, and Laura is patient, laughing along with us as we stumble through the conversation. Laura’s warmth makes everything feel right; the connection between all of us feels genuine, almost like she’s already part of the family.

I’m crying, and I rub my face into the pullover Laura's wearing. She wanted to get more comfortable earlier and I couldn’t help provide her the attire. She looks good in my clothes. It feels oddly intimate, like she’s wrapped in my world now.

I’m speaking Russian! With my parents, face to face.Laura is in my arms.

No one could ever know how huge this is. It’s like a piece of my heart I thought I’d lost is finally back.

I’m done, I’m marrying this woman.There’s no way I can let her go now—not after everything she’s done for me, not after the way she’s made me feel tonight.

Laura, I know that I’m falling in love with you.

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