“Lexie,” she said now.
He blinked and came back to her.
“What were you thinking about?” she asked him.
“I am thinking you deserve more than this shit apartment,” he said.
That was definitely not what he was thinking, but she played along. “Stop it,” she said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “A few of my clients would consider this place a palace. At least you have heat in the winter.”
Alexei threatened to go talk to the landlord, who was already scared enough of him, poor thing. And a new plan formed in Eva’s head, one that would keep Lexie from terrorizing the landlord, and solve her laundry problem…
Less than two hours later, she found herself alone in the apartment with two piles of freshly-washed laundry, courtesy of her boyfriend. And despite the fact that she was living in an un-air-conditioned apartment in the middle of a heat wave, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Alexei wasn’t her first boyfriend, and she was acquainted with enough older women to know young love rarely lasted. But she had high hopes the love she shared with Alexei would go the distance.
She had never dated someone who understood her so well, someone who noted all her quirks and was amused as opposed to irritated by them. Someone who found her sexy, even when she was sweating like a pig with her hair in two sloppy braids. Someone who made her feel beautiful even when she was on her period, or having a bad hair day, or wearing something that didn’t match because she was down to her last outfit.
Unlike the other guys she had dated, he was honest to a fault, which made it easy to put all her trust in him. She knew he would never lie to her, never do anything to hurt her, and that he loved her as much as she loved him, if not more so. And she did love him, his largeness, his directness, even his seriousness—sometimes it felt like she had been put on this earth just to make him smile, which he did all the time now, but only with her.
The only problem she could see possibly disrupting their love was his lack of desire for children. To be fair, he had told her this toward the beginning of their relationship, one night when they met outside of the School of Management where he took classes. As they walked back to the parking lot, she’d made a glum joke about her ovaries shutting down because she and the social worker in charge of guiding her fieldwork had removed a twelve-year-old boy who had beat his six-year-old sister to the point of unconsciousness with a baseball bat for daring to scratch up one of his Xbox games from his home just a few hours earlier.
After forcing her to explain and re-explain the ovaries joke due to his lack of English vocabulary regarding women’s fertility organs, he had said. “I must tell you, I do not wish for children.”
“Really?” she said. “But you’d make a great daddy. Why not?”
“I have reasons. “
“You wanna share any of them with me?” she asked, taking his large hand in both of her smaller ones as they walked.
“My parents are dead. Both their dying very hard for me. When my mother die, I am only child, but I miss her very much. I do not want my child to suffer. Also I do not like the children. They are loud and maybe they are not thanking the parents for anything. I do not think I can be good father to somebody who is like this.”
She had stroked his face and said, “A lot of women who get out of an abusive relationship have trouble dating again. They’re all like, ‘What if the same thing happens and he turns out to be an abusive asshole?’ Or they think they maybe don’t like men anymore. Or they’re afraid they won’t be a good girlfriend after what they went through. And we tell them you can’t live your life according to what might happen. You gotta get back out there. Otherwise your ex wins.”
He gave her a sad smile and squeezed one of her hands. “This is very good advice, Eva, but maybe not for me.”
Then before she could put forward another argument for children, he kissed her and changed the subject to the elective courses he was considering taking the following fall.
After that conversation, Eva hadn’t brought the subject of kids up again. She wasn’t particularly pro having children herself, especially after a year in the social work program. She’d only been half-joking about that monstrous boy making her not want to have them. Besides, they were in their twenties and hadn’t even started their respective careers yet. She figured there would be plenty of time to try to change his mind.
Just then, the landline rang, interrupting her thoughts about the future of Alexei’s and her relationship.
“Eva, it’s Mr. Sanders,” Alexei’s landlord said when she picked up the phone. His voice sounded nervous and shaky. “Alexei stopped by this morning, and I was just calling back to let him know I found another repair man and he’ll be stopping by today.”
So even two loads of laundry and unexpected morning sex hadn’t stopped Alexei from harassing his landlord. Poor guy.
“Thanks, we really appreciate it,” she said, trying to make up for her boyfriend. “Do I need to be here?”
“No, he’ll come up with me and we’ll knock on the door. So if you’re not home, I can let him in.”
Eva got off the phone, shaking her head. Alexei was a total teddy bear, but most people couldn’t tell that just by looking at him. So simple requests from him tended to come off way more intimidating than they should have. She’d learned to just accept they were always going to get better service than normal couples, because he had a way of asking for things that made other folks feel like he might do them some kind of bodily harm if his demands weren’t met.
As if to confirm her assessment of Alexei’s influence, a knock sounded on the door. She glanced at the clock. The fix-it guy had arrived at twelve noon on the dot.
But when she opened the door, instead of a plumber and Alexei’s landlord, there stood two men in business suits, one a tall, beefy, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, the other a much younger, skinny guy in glasses.
“Hi,” she said carefully, wondering why two men in suits would be at their door. “Can I help you?”
“Eva St. James?” the younger man asked. He had a slight accent she couldn’t place, but otherwise spoke in a business-like manner.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said. Then asked again. “Can I help you?”
“I am Michael,” he said, “And this is Sergei Rustanov. Alexei Rustanov’s uncle.”
Her eyes widened. Like any good Texas girl, her first thought was if she’d known company was coming by, she would have cleaned up a little. “Oh, I’m sorry. Alexei isn’t here and the apartment is a mess.”