Her Control

“Sashenka?” a pleasant female voice called. “You’re awake already?” Sanya opened her eyes and groaned miserably. Her parents should have learned by now that asking that kind of question at nine on a Saturday morning was completely pointless. But today, she actually was awake. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. There was a knock at the door, and her mom’s head poked through the crack. “Sasha, your dad and I are going to the Strizhkovs’. Don’t wait up. Breakfast’s on the table.” Sanya didn’t even have time to respond. While she was still thinking of a polite answer, the front door slammed behind them, leaving her alone. “So I guess I’m not allowed to make my own breakfast?” she muttered, swinging her legs off the bed. She was an only child, and her parents loved her like crazy. That kind of love was sometimes scary. Other times, it was just annoying as hell. They didn’t control her every move—not at all. They just tried too hard to help sometimes, even when help wasn’t needed. Like right now, for example. Did Sanya really need breakfast if she wasn’t planning to get up before ten? Rhetorical question. She sat at the table and poked at the omelet with all the enthusiasm of someone forced into doing something they didn’t want. If she had made it herself, she would’ve eaten it happily. It wasn’t that her mom cooked badly—it just felt, at that moment, like the poor omelet was being shoved down her throat on purpose. Sanya checked the latest news and her messages. Her best friend Alena had sent links to salad recipes she wanted to make for New Year’s. Or rather, recipes they were supposed to make together for the holiday table. They were planning to celebrate just the two of them, like strong, independent women. Alena, though, really was independent. She’d been living on her own for years and didn’t complain. Though Sanya wondered—maybe she’d left home a little too early. At first, the girls lived next door to each other and went to the same school. They clicked right away and stayed close all the way through graduation. They went through a lot together. Alena let Sanya copy her physics homework, a subject Sanya hated with a passion. Sanya invited Alena over for sleepovers whenever she saw how badly her friend didn’t want to go home. Alena once told Sanya that she didn’t like boys. Sanya admitted that she liked them a little too much. After school their paths slowly drifted apart. Not that they stopped talking. They just saw each other a lot less, and both of them found new friends. Alena got the chance to move out when she was accepted to a university in Saint Petersburg and offered a dorm room. Sanya stayed in Moscow and enrolled in a management program. Her friend tried to convince her to come along, saying it was the perfect chance to finally feel independent from her parents. But Sanya never quite worked up the courage. Alena didn’t push. She was enjoying her freedom, and she no longer had to worry about where she would spend the night. Later she told Sanya she had inherited an apartment in Chertanovo. After graduating, she planned to move back to Moscow and live there. Sanya had always known her friend would never return to the old apartment, but once Alena had an actual plan, it suddenly felt real. Soon enough they both graduated and found jobs. Alena became a data analyst at a large company, while Sanya got a modest position at an advertising agency. But her people skills and talent for organization helped her move up quickly, and before long she was promoted to office manager. At work, people valued her ability to plan ahead and handle the little problems that always came with big projects. And Sanya’s natural charisma made her the heart of the office. But at home she turned back into the obedient good girl. Sometimes it was nice to forget about being the one in charge and let her parents run things for a while. Besides, unlike her, Alena hadn’t had it easy growing up. She didn’t have understanding parents. So even after her friend returned to Moscow, they still rarely saw each other. For a long time Alena invited her to come stay with her for a while, but Sanya always found a million reasons why it wouldn’t work. Even for herself.  

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Her parents came back in the evening and immediately started sharing news from old friends that Sanya didn’t care about at all—people she hadn’t even seen in person. “Have you started packing yet?” her mom asked, drying the dishes with a towel. “They’re predicting a cold snap. Take plenty of sweaters.” “Where to?” Sanya asked, caught off guard. “Where do you think?” Mom put her hands on her hips. “We’re leaving for Rostov tomorrow. Grab some wool socks too—they’ve probably turned the place into a freezer again.” She kept tidying up. Sanya frowned. “Rostov?” “Oh, you’re so forgetful! Aunt Lucy lives there. Remember her? My third cousin’s sister.” “I can’t remember meeting Aunt Lucy. And I was planning to spend New Year’s with Alena.” “Well, you can still go to her after the trip,” her mom said gently. “But I wanted to celebrate with her,” Sanya pouted. “Oh, Sashenka,” her mother gave her a pleading look. “You’ll celebrate New Year’s together plenty of times. We’re not getting any younger, and who knows when we’ll see everyone again?” “Mooom…” Sanya dragged out. “Stop it.” “And what’s wrong with what I’m saying? Look,” her mom continued. “The whole family will be there—besides Aunt Lucy, we have plenty of other relatives. I haven’t seen some of them in twenty years, and your dad hasn’t even met a few.” “Thank God,” her dad said, still calmly sitting by the window with his phone. He was back to playing his favorite farm game. “Okay, Slava, no comments,” her mom said. “Better help me out.” He realized she wasn’t talking about dishes and looked seriously at his daughter. “Sasha, we need to go. You’ll meet everyone, show yourself. There will be lots of people your age. You’ll have fun.” “You’re taking me just to show me off, right?” she protested. “Why not? Are you any worse than Larisa’s Masha? She’s sitting there in her accounting office among a bunch of old biddies, and next to them, she’s obviously the beauty.” Sanya snorted. Great, now they were comparing her to someone else too. “Sashenka,” her mom started again. “We’ll be gone just a week. When else will you spend so much time with your family? Soon enough you’ll be married and waving goodbye to your parents.” Sanya rolled her eyes. Where did they even get the idea she was planning to get married? Lately, she hadn’t met anyone even remotely suitable for a serious relationship. Maybe, like Alena, she should just forget about dreams of real love. “Fine,” Sanya sighed, “but on one condition.” She paused dramatically, and her parents froze, staring at her. “After New Year’s, I’ll do only what I want. And no setting me up with anyone.” “Of course, Sashenka,” her mom beamed. “Go on, pack. And don’t forget my gift bag. Open it right there.” Sanya peeked at the bag. She hoped it was closed tight enough so the expensive lingerie brand on the package wouldn’t be visible. Alena had written that she didn’t mind—she’d celebrate perfectly fine with her beloved cat, Iriska. It didn’t make Sanya feel much better. She left for the trip with a twinge of guilt toward her friend. She’d have to explain herself when she got back.  

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Thanks to the unexpected snowfall, they arrived much later than planned. Sanya didn’t mind—fewer hours pretending to be the perfect good girl. As soon as they stepped in, Aunt Lucy pounced on the guests, mistaking her for her mom and calling her dad by the wrong name. “Well, this is going to be fun,” Sanya sighed. For New Year’s, a crowd of relatives had descended on the barely-hanging-on house. Sanya barely had time to greet everyone, not even trying to remember names. Velour dresses, the persistent scent of Silver Lily perfume, crow’s feet on ties, flushed faces, the Blue Light holiday show on TV, and constant chatter. Good thing they were in a house—there was no way such a mob would fit into an apartment. “Oh, and here’s my Romochka—such a good boy,” an elderly female voice piped up. “Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke…” “…and doesn’t swear,” Sanya added silently. “…doesn’t bring girls home. The best,” the woman continued. “Where do they make these golden boys?” Sanya thought. “So proper that not a single girl gets invited over. Must be some kind of nerd.” The old lady, still praising her grandson, kept glancing around. The listeners nodded and occasionally cast looks at the young man being described. Sanya followed their gaze and spotted him leaning against the wall. She expected some awkward loser, but he was actually quite cute. About her age, just her type: tall and slim, with striking features. It was obvious he wasn’t overly impressed by the crowd, but he politely pretended to enjoy the party. Sanya walked over to him. “Hi, Roma,” she said with a small smirk. “Hi, Sasha,” he replied calmly, a subtle smile playing on his lips. She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “How do you know my name?” “You’re kind of a guest of honor here,” Roma explained, adding with irony. “A true Muscovite. A real event, I’d say.” Sanya burst out laughing. “And how do you know my name?” Roma asked. “I heard your grandma raving about you. According to her, you’re such a good boy. And I like to expose good boys. Drinks?” Sanya gestured toward the table, raising one eyebrow. “Only if it’s away from them,” Roma nodded and went to pour the drinks. “Grab something to eat too!” Sanya piled a big plate with a few open-faced sandwiches with red fish, some olives, and fresh veggies. She didn’t know what Roma drank, so she grabbed a couple of pickles just in case. They met at the doorway of the room, and he led her through the worn-out corridors. Eventually, they ended up in a small room with a sofa, an old wall unit, and a vintage TV. “I have no idea how many people lived in this house when it was built,” Roma said, plopping down on the sofa with a bottle of brandy and some glasses, “but now it feels like half the rooms haven’t been touched in years.” He poured the drinks. “Do you come here often?” Sanya asked. “Thank God, no,” the guy exhaled, handing her a glass. “Only for some anniversaries or birthdays. The moment there’s an excuse, everyone descends—there’s plenty of space anyway.” They clinked glasses and took a sip. “What happens next?” Sanya asked, meeting Roma’s confused look. “I mean, what do people usually do at these kinds of parties? What should I expect?” He got up and moved toward the window, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Nothing much,” he shrugged, lighting one and taking a drag. “After an hour, people talk about life. Then they’ll start singing Russian folk songs. The guys might throw a few punches. By the end, everyone’s tired and dozes off at the table one by one.” “So, the good boy,” Sanya said, crossing one leg over the other. “Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t bring girls home… Looks like grandma’s seriously mistaken about the first two.” She stood and walked slowly toward Roma, who didn’t take his eyes off her. “And the last one?” she asked playfully, snatching the cigarette from him and tossing it out the window. “You’ll find out,” he replied just as mischievously, pulling her toward him by the hands. “We’re not related, right?” Sanya asked, leaning closer, eyes locked on his. “Who the fuck knows,” he shrugged. “Alright…” she whispered and kissed him first. She wasn’t much into kissing smokers, so she pulled back fairly quickly. “Let’s grab another drink,” she suggested, dragging him to the sofa. So they drank, sneaking kisses between sips, until the bottle was empty. Luckily, when Roma found her, it had already been opened. During one of their kisses, Sanya’s hand slipped down to his crotch, and he tensed. “Sasha… uh… I came to a grandma’s party. No condoms with me.” She laughed. “Men… always need someone to make decisions for you. Wait here, I’ll be quick.”  

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In the morning, people started leaving. The feast had been a success: plenty of life stories, the promised Russian folk songs, and even a fight—but Sanya had skipped all that, taming her far-from-innocent boy. “Rooomaaaa…” came a voice from the hallway. “Grandson, time to go home.” Roma lazily exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked at Sanya lying next to him. She smiled slyly. “Time for the good boy to go to bed.” He smirked and started pulling on his pants. “Grandma won’t sniff out any suspicious smells from her obedient grandson?” “Grandma’s lungs are full of the scents of naughty uncles. Besides, she trusts her own judgment so much she’d sooner doubt her nose than admit she’s wrong.” Roma threw on a T-shirt and paused in the doorway, admiring the half-naked Sanya. “See you around, Muscovite,” he winked. They met a couple more times when the naïve grandma came to visit Aunt Lucy. Both times, it ended with sex in the shabby bedroom. Even if Roma had been a good boy once, that title no longer applied. Thanks to the prolonged snowfall, Sanya had to stay a few more days in that forgotten little corner of the world.