Page 56 of Notes About Vodka

I open the door for Laura and when she sits, I lean over her, clasping her into place with the seatbelt. I can’t help but breath in her honey and lavender scent, its like walking on a cloud of my favorite tea back home.

Getting into my car, I turn the key, the engine roaring to life. The drive starts off easy, the familiar hum of the Speed6 beneath us. We cruise through the streets out to a toll road where I can play with the turbo and really drive fast.

Laura’s phone rings as we pull onto the highway. I glance over, seeing her face fall as she answers.

“Hello?” she says, her voice tight. I try to focus on the road, but my concern grows as I overhear fragments of the conversation. I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I’m worried it could be Sam.I need to make sure he’s not saying anything hateful to my girl.

“That was Ronnie, my lawyer,” she explains after hanging up. “They’ve actually scheduled a court date and time for my divorce. Well so they keep saying. Now, they just need some paperwork from me and a few other things.”

As we drive, I catch the strained look on Laura’s face and feel a pang in my chest. This is all weighing on her, heavy. I reach over, my voice steady but gentle. “Hey, everything okay?”

She lets out a breath, shaking her head as she looks out the window. “Sam hasn’t been back in New York since we last dealt with him, but he’s been making my life hell online. He’s posting about his flings, trashing me like it’s some twisted sport. And now, Ronnie’s going to print it all and hand it over to the judge.”

She sighs, clearly frustrated. “The worst part? He’s got a photo of us hanging out atPianissimothe night he was in town. I’m playing the piano, and you’re bringing me water.It’s old now, but he says some pretty awful things in that post.”

I feel a rush of anger, my hands clenching the steering wheel. Sam and his pathetic games—it’s like he’s just trying to find new ways to hurt her. I can feel the frustration bubbling inside me, the need to protect her from this coward who hides behind screens. It makes me want to shield her from all of it, to do whatever it takes to make sure she knows she's safe with me. I can't stand seeing her in pain because of him.

Without even thinking, I press harder on the gas. The Mazda’s turbo kicks in, and we’re flying, the engine growling in sync with my frustration as I shift gears, pushing us back into our seats.

Laura glances over at me, a spark of excitement lighting up her eyes. She lets out a laugh, the sound surprising both of us.

“Faster!” she calls out, a thrill in her voice that’s contagious.

I don’t need convincing. I hit 100, feeling the pull as we surge forward, the lines on the road blurring together. The adrenaline fuels me, and I keep pushing it, the speedometer creeping up—110, 115, 120. The wind roars around us, and for a few wild seconds, it’s like we’ve left everything else behind. All the anger, all the stress—it’s gone, left somewhere on the highway.

Finally, I ease up on the gas, letting the Mazda settle down to a steady 75, the engine humming quietly. I glance at Laura, who’s grinning, her cheeks flushed from the rush.

“That was…exhilarating,” she says, breathless.

I nod, my own pulse still racing. “Yeah. Guess I needed to blow off some frustrations of my own.”

She gives me a knowing look, and we fall into a comfortable silence, the road stretching out in front of us.

A Russian song, one of my favorites from the 1990s,starts to play.

"Lish o tebe mechtaya" by Ruki Vverh.

The soft beat fills the car, calming the air between us. I reach over, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers feel warm, soft, grounding. We drive like that for a while, her hand resting in mine, neither of us saying a word as the music wraps around us.

Music has this unique ability to transcend languages, break down barriers, and this is one of those moments. Laura’s hand sticks out the window, swaying in the wind to the tambourine's rhythm.

I translate the meaning, telling her that just like the song says, I am only dreaming about her.

“He’s telling her that the way the sheets move on the bed remind him of them. That her lips could wipe away all of his tears. He wouldn’t have life any other way as long as she is there,” I say as I sing along.

Laura is a quick study, humming along to the beat, singing the “Ah-ahs” and “La-las.”

I glance at her, and in the dim glow of the dashboard, her face looks calm for the first time all night. I give her hand a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll figure this out together,” I say softly, meaning it. “I’m here for you.”

We drive in silence for a while, and I take us to one of my favorite hideaways on Brighton Beach. The place is serene, a hidden gem where I’ve spent countless hours reflecting on the past. Now, I want to think about the future. As we arrive, I park the Mazda and we step out, taking in the tranquil surroundings.

Laura and I sit by the water, the evening sky a canvas of deepening blues and scattered stars. The cool sand presses beneath our hands, and the scent of saltwater drifts in the breeze, a perfect moment. The waves lap gently at the shore, the sound soothing as we talk about everything and nothing, our conversation flowing easily despite the heaviness of the day.I listen as she vents about the divorce, her frustrations, and her hopes for the future.

When the conversation quiets, I can’t help but pull her closer. Our bodies find a comfortable, intimate closeness as we gaze at the stars above while sitting on the jetties. The cool breeze off the water wraps around us, and without a word, our lips meet, and the kiss deepens, full of longing.

We stay there, wrapped up in each other, the cool night air mixing with the warmth of our embrace.

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