9 Rotavirus

One and a Half Years Later

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“Vicky—Vicky—Vicky! It’s a total disaster! Help me, please!” Polina chattered on the phone, using her dramatic voice. “I’ll do anything you want! Just help me, pleeeease…”

“Polya, stop begging,” I laughed at her. “You know it’s tricky for me, today’s my day off, and I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, so…”

“I know! I’ll help! I’ll be your watchful eye and overseer,” my colleague promised passionately, and I laughed. That restless girl.

“Fine,” I gave in, astonished at how weak-willed I was. “You owe me big time!” I tried to sound stern, but it’s impossible to be mad at her, and she knows it perfectly well.

After ending the call, I looked at my little treasures and realized I’d just agreed to a complete headache. Getting myself ready, rounding them up, the commute… everything.

“Well, my handsome little ones, we’ve got an unplanned outing ahead,” I smiled at my boys, and they returned my smile, babbling something incoherent.

Yes, when I hired a man for the night, I never imagined I’d end up with a belly. And when I later found out it wasn’t just one child—but two—I thought I’d go crazy. Thankfully, I had the support of my parents and… Danil.

After the club incident, he called me the next day, and we agreed to meet for a cup of coffee after work.

I liked Danil. He was very handsome, polite, courteous, cheerful, and knew how to joke at the right moment. He admitted he was an athlete, though it was obvious just by looking at him. As we talked more, I found out he held a black belt in karate, third dan. He also coached kids and worked as a personal trainer at the gym. Yet, this wasn’t the most surprising thing I could learn about him.

When Danil realized where I worked, he was visibly surprised and seemed a bit deflated. Later, I learned he was the son of our director, Nikolai Koshev, and his wife, Olga, who had offered me this job. The young man admitted that his relationship with his father wasn’t very warm, as Nikolai wasn’t thrilled about his only son’s athletic career, especially when Danil had little interest in “vials, flasks, and mysterious formulas.”

We met regularly, and Danil’s company was more than pleasant for me. I could tell he wasn’t indifferent to me either, which sent a small thrill through my heart.

One day, as he walked me to my door, we stopped right outside.

“Vicky,” he whispered, standing too close, causing a flicker of panic I couldn’t hide. “I really like you.”

I forgot how to breathe. I had never imagined that such a confession could stir so much excitement and… a kind of fear. I liked Danil too, but somehow, when it came to actual actions, I suddenly felt nervous.

Slowly leaning in, I felt his lips on mine. He didn’t rush, as if asking for permission and studying my reaction.

Nervously swallowing, I tentatively responded to the kiss, scolding myself for comparing this soft, sensual kiss to the forceful passion I had experienced with the man of that ancient profession. Two completely different worlds and sensations! And I wanted to slap myself for not knowing which kiss I liked more.

Sensing my confusion, Danil stopped and, breathing heavily, pressed his forehead to mine.

“I’m probably rushing things, but you’re driving me crazy. I want you in my life,” the brunette said softly, leaving me speechless. “I can see you’re flustered. Let’s do this: I’m going abroad for a week for international competitions, and during that time, you can think about whether you want me in your life. When I return, you’ll give me your answer.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, looking into my eyes.

His radiant smile encouraged me, and I smiled back.

“Okay. So, we’ll meet in a week?”

Entering my apartment, I spent a little time reflecting and decided to respond to Danil’s advances and give a chance to a relationship. He wasn’t proposing marriage, after all—I could try.

Everything would have been fine if the next morning I hadn’t doubled over my white friend. I felt so awful I thought I might die.

Blaming it on the yogurt I had eaten before bed, I went to work. The day was terrible, and I barely dragged myself home. The next morning, the ordeal with my white idol repeated, and this time I didn’t even know what to blame. I hadn’t eaten anything unusual the day before. It was so bad that I finally decided to take unplanned days off. The rotavirus was undeniable.

A few days passed, and the symptoms didn’t subside, when Marina showed up under the pretext of worrying about me.

While we were drinking tea and I started feeling nauseous again, the blonde looked at me in a very particular way.

“You know, if I didn’t know you—and knew how much of a nun you are—I’d swear you’re pregnant,” she said casually, biting into a cookie. I froze.

A horrible sensation ran through me, as if my insides had been squeezed in icy clamps, and a chill ran down my spine. Marina noticed my expression.

“Damn it!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide, instantly serious. “It’s that Danil, isn’t it?!”

Her assumption made me feel even worse—because things could be MUCH worse!

“No,” I replied dryly. “It’s not necessarily exactly how it seems.”

I didn’t even want to say the word “pregnant” out loud, as if keeping silent might make it not real. Right?

“I’m coming over right now, and you’re going to tell me everything!” my friend said, standing up from the table, determined.

Fifteen minutes later, she arrived with a bag containing about ten different pregnancy tests. With trembling hands, I took them and went to the bathroom. And then, with those same shaking hands, I held the positive tests in my hands, completely in shock!

“Well?!” Marina asked impatiently, biting her nail as if it were her in this situation. “Aren’t you going to tell me anything?”

And I told her. She stared at me, eyes wide, simply unable to believe what she was hearing.

“You what did?!” my friend kept shouting, looking at me as if a second head had grown out of mine.