But I don’t know if I have the capacity to let that go.
I sigh. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t know what you should have done. I wouldn’t have known what to do, either.”
“Can we talk?” Tamara begs. “I just want to know that you’re okay.”
I take a moment and glance back at Alik and Gennadi. They don’t look happy with this little run-in, but they don’t interrupt either.
“Okay,” I concede. “I was just gonna go get something to eat. Why don’t you join me?”
A relieved smile spreads across Tamara’s face. “That sounds good.”
* * *
We find our way to a Parisian-style café and sit at a table in the middle of the restaurant that faces the windows overlooking the street. Alik and Gennadi seat themselves at the table opposite us.
Only once Tamara and I have ordered, does she glance towards the stroller that I’ve propped pulled up next to me. Phoenix is gazing around happily.
“He looks like Artem,” she observes.
“Yes.”
“But he’s got your eyes.”
I smile. “That’s the only thing he’s got from me,” I say. “But otherwise, he’s the spitting image of his father.”
“Were you pregnant? When you came to me that day?”
I nod, unable to speak.
Tamara closes her eyes for a moment like she’s holding back tears. “You didn’t tell me,” she says finally. Her voice is strained, hoarse.
“I was processing everything at the time,” I say. “I was alone and scared and I came to you because you were the only family I had left.”
I don’t mean to make her feel guilty—though she certainly deserves it—but I can see by the flush on her cheeks that that’s exactly how I’ve made her feel.
And my hard heart unclenches just a little more.
She’s Tam-Tam. She’s family. The only family I have left.
I’ve learned the hard way in the last few months how important it is to keep my loved ones close.
“Tamara,” I say, reaching out and putting my hand on hers, “it’s okay. I’m not angry about it anymore.”
“You’re not?”
“Well… I’m trying not to be,” I admit. “It hurt like hell to know you outed me to Budimir. But I guess I can appreciate the situation you were in. You were just trying to survive.”
“I hated myself for doing it all the same,” Tamara says to me.
And honestly, I believe her.
That’s enough—for now. Enough to figure out what happens next with our friendship.
“You changed your hair,” I point out, trying to turn the conversation in a lighter direction.
She smiles, but there’s a sigh in her tone when she speaks. “I was trying to re-invent myself after what happened. I got a new apartment. Even got myself a new job.”
“And did that help?” I ask. She’s not as bubbly as I remember. Not as carefree.