Reunited After 25 Years 12: Darya's Lesbian Encounter

"I want to go to the international grocery," Anton told Andrea after they'd left Annie's house.

"Haven't we done enough shopping for one day?" asked Andrea.

"I want to make a special dinner for you tonight," said Anton. "I want to make stroganoff. For that you cannot find ingredients in a regular grocery."

"Why, isn't it mostly just beef, mushrooms, sour cream, and peas?" asked Andrea.

"Oh, no. There is much more to it than that." Anton laughed. "You Americans do not know how to make stroganoff."

"Little Tyson sure is cute, isn't he?" asked Andrea.

"Very smart as well. Much like his mother at that age," Alexei said.

Moments later they were in the kitchen at the motel and Anton was laying out various spices and other ingredients.

"Do you need any help?" asked Andrea.

"Oh, no. I will do all the work. You watch and I will teach you." He chuckled. "After Nadya died, I had to learn how to cook myself."

Denny and Darya came in about half an hour later.

"Will you stay for dinner?" Anton asked them. "There is plenty for everyone."

"Of course we'll stay." Denny sat on the sofa, and Darya sat in his lap. Instantly Andrea had a flashback of herself and Anton sitting together on the beach all those years ago and had to swallow a lump in her throat.

"Papa, Polina is coming here soon," Darya announced.

Anton frowned. "Polina? Why is she coming here?"

"Just to visit me. I told her about the beach, and she said she has to see for herself."

"Who's Polina?" asked Andrea.

"She is my very best friend in the world," Darya told her. "She and I both tried out for the Olympics in 1988. She made it. I did not. She told me, that is all right, you will make it in 1992. But I am here now. I don't know if I will ever go back or not."

"Olympics?" Andrea was surprised.

"Gymnastics," Alexei said proudly. "Dasha is very good, better than Polina, I think, but for some reason they choose Polina and not her."

After dinner Darya entertained the others with handstands, cartwheels, and other stunts.

"You're going to break your neck!" Andrea gasped.

Anton laughed. "It is all right."

"But shouldn't she at least have a mat, or something?"

"She will be fine," Anton insisted.

After awhile Denny and Darya left and Anton and Andrea were alone again.

"What did she mean when she said that she doesn't know if she's going home or not?" Andrea asked.

"Dasha qualifies for a student visa," Anton said. "She can enroll in college here and has permission to stay as long as she is a full-time student."

"So she gets to stay and you have to go back?"

"That is correct."

"It's not fair." Andrea's eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, hoping that Anton wouldn't see them, but he did.

"Dearest, precious Andrea," he said, reaching for her and taking her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder. "It will only be for a little while this time, and then I will come back for good. I promise."

At the end of each day, Andrea was acutely aware that it was one more day closer to the day that Anton would have to return home. She cherished every day that she had to spend with him, feeling that it was a wasted day if she didn't spend at least a few minutes chatting with him on the telephone if she couldn't see him in person.

She also noticed that Denny had fallen very hard for Darya. He'd dated girls before, of course, but he'd never become seriously involved with any of them. To Andrea he seemed completely infatuated with Darya; she was the only thing he ever talked about, and he walked around with glazed eyes and a goofy grin on his face most of the time. It reminded Andrea somewhat of the way she'd felt about Anton for the first few weeks after she'd met him.

One afternoon Andrea came home to find Denny and Darya sitting in the living room with a young woman about their age whom she'd never seen before.

"Mom, this is Polina," Denny said.

"Hello." Andrea smiled at Polina, and the young woman smiled back.

"She doesn't speak English," Denny explained.

"None at all?" Andrea frowned.

"I must translate." Darya laughed.

Andrea didn't want to be rude, but she wasn't exactly sure how to interact with someone who spoke no English at all.

"I hear you're quite a talented gymnast," she ventured.

Darya repeated the sentence in Russian to Polina, who laughed and said something in return.

"She said the Olympics were her crowning achievement, and now she will move onto something else," Darya told Andrea.

After a few such awkward interactions, Denny drove Darya and Polina back to Anton's.

"That must be awkward for you, having to have Darya translate for you all the time," Andrea remarked to her son when he returned.

"They don't talk to me all that much. Mostly they just talk to each other in Russian," Denny replied.

Andrea had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "That must make you feel pretty left out," she said. Denny shrugged.

That Friday night, Andrea left to go to Anton's, as usual.

"Aren't you meeting Darya as well?" she asked Denny.

"Nah, she's got some stomach bug or something," Denny said.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Andrea said. "Tell her I hope she feels better soon."

Anton greeted her with the usual smile, looking chipper as always.

"I'm sorry to hear Darya isn't feeling well," Andrea told him.

He looked taken aback for just a moment but recovered quickly. "Dasha? It is nothing serious. She will be fine," he said dismissively.

They went to dinner and then to see a movie called 'Regarding Henry' that made Andrea cry. It seemed to put them both in a romantic mood, as afterwards they returned to the motel and had one of their most tender yet passionate lovemaking sessions ever.

Late that night, Andrea awakened abruptly to find herself unbearably thirsty. On her way to the kitchen, she thought she heard a muffled giggle as she passed Darya's bedroom. She noticed that the door was open a tiny crack and couldn't resist peeping inside. By candlelight she could just barely make out two forms, Darya and Polina, both of them completely naked, kissing one another's lips passionately while their hands explored one another's bodies.

Andrea suddenly felt sick to her stomach. The only thing she wanted to do was to return to her own house as quickly as possible. Snatching up her clothing, she dressed as quickly and quietly as she could, left the motel, and drove home. Upon reaching the house, her first instinct was to check on Denny and make sure that he was all right. She opened his bedroom door and saw him lying peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware that anything was amiss. To Andrea he suddenly seemed much younger, and her eyes filled with tears. Somehow she managed to hold back the sobs until she'd reached her own bedroom and could close the door.

How on earth would she tell him? He so obviously adored Darya, and he was also so trusting. If she told him, he'd be absolutely devastated. She realized that she simply couldn't bring herself to do that. But what else could she do? He had to find out eventually, somehow. He couldn't just let things continue on as they were, having no idea that Darya wasn't as she seemed to be at all.

And what about Anton? She'd left without saying good-bye to him. Would he be angry? What would she say to him the next time they spoke? Did he know the true nature of Darya and Polina's relationship?

The next day Anton showed up on Andrea's front porch right after Denny had eaten breakfast and left for the day.

"I had to come to see if you were all right." His voice was full of concern, and that touched her. "You left in the middle of the night. I was afraid you were sick or some other emergency."

"I saw Darya and Polina together." As soon as she had said the words, Andrea felt as if a tremendous weight had just been lifted from her shoulders.

"Yes," Anton said calmly.

"So you know?" Andrea asked incredulously.

Anton didn't say anything but simply continued to stare calmly at her.

"Denny deserves to know," Andrea said hotly. "Can't you see how crazy he is about her? When he finds out, it'll break his heart."

"He will not find out," Anton said.

"But he has a right to know," Andrea repeated.

"No, he doesn't."

"But I can't just keep something like that from my own son!"

"Dasha is my daughter, and I will not have her hurt either," Anton said coldly. "That is why Denny cannot find out. If you tell him, I will deny it."

Andrea couldn't believe her ears.