67

“Masha, sorry for asking, but the question kind of asks itself,” I look at how the girl and the cute curly-haired boy are stuffing country-style fries into their cheeks. And they don’t look alike at all. She’s a light blonde with gray eyes, and the boy is very cute and curly, but his hair is several shades darker, he’s more tan and has brown eyes. “You’re not blood-related?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” the girl mumbled in surprise through a full mouth.

“Well, you don’t really look alike. And your names. You’re Masha, he’s Lukas,” I study my family for the next two months with interest.

“Nah. We’re very much related. Same dad and all,” the little one grinned. “Pregnant women just get weird cravings and glitches, especially the ones who drink regularly. So our mom didn’t come up with anything better than naming her newborn son after a character from her favorite TV show they were rerunning for the hundredth time. Honestly, I’m surprised I’m Masha and not Jade. Guess back then Mom’s brain wasn’t completely pickled in alcohol yet. Anyway, I’m my mother’s copy on the outside, and Luka is all our father. And yeah, so it’s not so obvious our mother’s nuts, I call Lukas Luka.”

Damn, the girl’s bluntness is lethal.

But at the same time, the kids in front of us are pretty interesting. If you scrub them clean, behind the dirt I can see very attractive young people, and with character.

Masha has an incredibly perceptive gray-eyed stare. Like she X-rays you straight to the bones, to the essence of a person on some string-theory level. I can already see how in the future men will drop dead from one sultry, deep flutter of her lashes. And her personality will be a real challenge for them, one not every hero can handle.

As for Luka, he’s just an adorable charmer! So inquisitive and lively, truly a child-child. Sincere, curious, and childishly naïve, unlike his sister. She may only be eleven, but she’s mature beyond her years and understands a lot.

“Our bet with Anya is a real adventure, so we need to clarify the general points and set some rules,” Nazar begins. “One of the things worrying me is the question of your parents. You’ll be gone from home for a long time…”

“…and that has never bothered them,” Masha says with a heavy look. “Luka and I don’t come ‘home’ for days and nobody ever cares. Mom’s constantly pickled and she stopped giving a damn about us a long time ago. Like, COMPLETELY doesn’t give a damn. She doesn’t notice us when we’re there, and same when we’re not. So in that matter, you’ll have absolutely no problems.”

“How is that even possible?” I can’t fully believe what I’m hearing. “She’s your mother! I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Anya,” Masha looks at me with bitter mockery. “Don’t be so naïve.” Strange hearing that from a kid barely past ten. “Luka and I only got lucky because Mom’s a quiet drunk. She drinks alone in silence, doesn’t bring anyone home, and doesn’t throw hands. That’s it. A lot of people don’t even have that kind of luck.”

“And your father?” Yartsev asks darkly.

“Oh, Dad burned out from vodka two years ago,” the girl answers casually and keeps devouring fries, washing them down with cola. “He was a really shitty parent too.”

Hearing something like that from little kids is painful.

We think we have problems, while compared to these kids, ours are nothing. We’re adults, and solving problems is kind of our job and responsibility.

But kids?

What problems can they solve?

Without adult resources and support, and yet somehow they still do. It’s hard to even imagine the price some of them pay to manage it, because the world around them is merciless…