39 Who is the father?

Kirill Yartsev:

"Who?!" our father shouted, out of his mind, pounding his fist heavily on the table.

Nazar and I exchanged glances, not understanding the point of the question. Since the morning, we had been in the head’s office, and we were nearly hit by a wave of our parent’s insane rage. He was extremely furious and not choosing his words carefully. Only, we didn’t fully understand the reason for his state.

"Which one of you, idiots?! Who made these kids and doesn’t give a damn?! How is this possible?! How can you have children and not know about it?! Or did you know?!" the man yelled in righteous anger.

We were completely shocked by such a statement and looked at each other meaningfully. Then some photo was thrown into our faces.

"Here, idiots, take a look at your sons."

I picked up the photo and saw two little babies in cradles. They were sleeping peacefully… and were an exact copy of us as children. Particularly noticeable was a small spot above the right eyebrow, just like mine and father’s. It wasn’t big and resembled a mole, but we knew it was our distinctive family trait.

I passed the photo of my nephews to my brother, and he looked at it carefully, then frowned in confusion.

"Dad, well, they look similar, but you know there’s Photoshop and other specialists, they could even draw King Kong’s babies for you," Nazar said skeptically to our parent.

"Really?!" our father snapped sarcastically, pinning us with a piercing look. "Maybe I’d think the same, if there weren’t saliva samples from the kids and a few thin strands attached to the photo! I did a DNA test, and these are OUR children! My grandchildren, damn it!" the man slammed his fist on the poor table again, looking angrily mostly at Nazar.

"Hey, wait! Why me first?!" the twin protested emotionally. "I’m extremely careful with all the girlfriends!"

"And who?! Their mother is from Kremenchug!" our father shouted again. "You’re still hanging out there."

"And with your work, no wonder," I confirmed calmly, leaning back in my chair.

"Hey! What is this?! Don’t pin this on me!" Nazar tried to defend himself. "Kirill goes to Kremenchug pretty often too."

"If Mila had given birth, I would have definitely known and would have certainly noticed it," I smirk. "Throughout our acquaintance with her, she hasn’t gained an ounce of extra weight, let alone been pregnant."

"Then what the hell?!" my brother fusses. "And who’s the mother?"

"Idiots!" our father grumbles discontentedly. "Here, there’s even a photo of her if your memory’s so shot."

Father handed the photo to Nazar, and he, stunned, began looking at it. Wild laughter filled the office. Nazar clutched his stomach and couldn’t calm down.

I suppose that’s how it hits you—the realization that you’re now the father of a family. Not every man’s psyche can handle such news.

"What’s so funny?" father can’t hold it, and Nazar wipes a tear from his eyes.

"Nah, dad. This time it’s not me who screwed up, but your favorite," my brother hands me the photo, and now it’s my turn to freak out again.

In the picture was Vicky. The photo looked like it was from some official documents: serious gaze, not a hint of a smile. There was also a second photo of her walking with a double stroller by the river, and a couple more photos.

"Kirill, is it really YOU?!" our father was just as surprised as I was, staring at me wide-eyed. "I understand anything could be expected from Nazar, but YOU!"

"What the hell?" I whisper quietly, looking at the girl’s face in the photo, as if she could answer me now.

"This is Victoria Alexandrovna Lemeshko," father finishes. "The mother of your children, congratulations!"

I grabbed the children’s photos again and stared at them like a fool at new gates. How could this be? It turns out, after our first night, she got pregnant… but why didn’t she say anything?

"I didn’t know she was pregnant, but I was looking for her," despite my interlocutors, my eyes carefully studied the two boys.

"Then you were doing a shitty job looking," snapped father. "The girl is beautiful and sweet. I saw her at the charity evening with young Koshev. No wonder you got into her underwear. And since that’s the case, you’ll take responsibility. My grandchildren will not grow up somewhere with God knows who!"