38

After walking a few streets, my head clears up a bit, and I start noticing the world again. The day is actually nice. Light sunshine, no suffocating heat after yesterday’s rain. Maybe fresh air with the kid will even do me good.

“Hi, Anya!” Mom hugs me at the door. Behind her, I see Kirill wave… and flip me off.

You little shit.

Of course, I’ll never tell Mom that we actually communicate pretty openly and freely. Around me, the kid doesn’t feel like a child, more like an equal conversational partner. Mom’s babying him for nothing, he’s growing into a thoughtful and interesting guy.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Kir,” I take off my shoes and head inside. “Where’s your Sergey?”

“Oh, he got called in today, some kind of emergency,” she throws her hands up.

“Got it…”

Sergey is her husband, Kirill’s father. A good man, works in emergency services, but completely a stranger to me since I lived separately all this time.

After… my first “relationship” wrecked my ballet career completely, I got offered a contract in a dance show abroad. That’s where I realized stripping pays way better than just dancing in a show. I only came back home last year.

“Such a beautiful day! I think you two could go for a walk together…” Mom looks at me carefully, and I already know she’s about to start tearing me apart again. “Anya, for God’s sake! What are you wearing?!”

“Clothes. Branded, by the way. Expensive,” I note, but she’s not impressed at all.

I’m wearing an open top that looks like a bikini and mini shorts. I don’t see why I should be ashamed of my perfect body. Let those with flab and cellulite be ashamed, what do I care?

“Anya…” she sighs heavily. “You’re not going to a club, you’re going out with a child! The way you look just screams that you’re…”

“That I’m what?” I glare at her.

“You look like a loose woman! Or some kind of stripper!” Mom snaps indignantly, while Kirill bursts out laughing behind her. She thinks I still dance in entertainment shows, but the kid knows my real job. I’m brutally honest with him.

Actually, he figured it out himself online and shoved photos in my face, so I had to confess. Technology, damn it.

Honestly, these conversations aren’t rare. I’m used to living on my own terms without control, but Mom hates my lifestyle. Says I should think about the future, get a family, kids, a dog, all that mandatory bullshit. She even tried to shove me into volunteering at a hospital, washing homeless people and drunks out of pure goodwill.

“Mom, did you forget I’m twenty-seven and perfectly capable of deciding what to wear and where to go?” I ask dryly.

“I didn’t forget!” she snaps. “I see perfectly well your time is running out and you’ve made zero progress! Don’t get on my nerves, just change!” she finally loses it, and my head starts throbbing again. She disappears into the bedroom and comes back five minutes later with clothes. “Here. Perfect option! It’ll look great on you. And wash that war paint off, please!”

At this point, my head is splitting again, so it’s cheaper for me to just do what she wants so she shuts up.

After washing up, I actually feel a bit better. I put on the light floral dress she gave me, her sneakers, and tie my hair into a ponytail.

There we go. Little innocent girl. Though… there’s something about this look. Could try it for a change.

Grabbing the kid and getting another round of instructions from Mom, we finally leave the house.

“So, kiddo, where are we going?” I grin at Kirill.

“Well, I’m a kid! Let’s go to the park!”