From Chernobyl with Love by Katya Cengel

Author:Katya Cengel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BIO026000 Biography & Autobiography / Personal Memoirs, HIS032000 History / Europe / Russia & The Former Soviet Union
Publisher: Potomac Books

19

Children of Tomorrow

After meeting at Chernobyl we had to keep it epic. Our first date was on New Year’s Eve—at the start of the new millennium. I thought I had celebrated the new millennium the year before, but in Ukraine it was celebrated at the start of 2000 and at the start of 2001. I hadn’t much liked my first new millennium celebration with a silent date, so I was pretty excited to have a “do over” with a date that talked, even if it was in a foreign language.

Anya arranged everything. During our brief encounter on the bus, Dima and I had discovered we shared a friend, Anya. The paper had two Anya’s, the annoying one and the arts writer who knew Dima. Focused, intense, and opinionated, Anya seldom made an appearance in the office. It was a week after the bus trip before I could corner her and ask if Dima had a girlfriend. He didn’t. His last girlfriend had been needy, possessive, and lazy. Anya hadn’t liked her.

Anya was not one to keep her opinions to herself. She was strong-willed, abrasive, and judgmental. There were a lot of people she didn’t like and who didn’t like her. I was not one of them. We didn’t know each other that well, but I had a reputation for being independent, adventuresome, and athletic, all traits she admired and shared. She decided I would make a good girlfriend for Dima and was delighted to play matchmaker. She was holding a New Year’s Eve party at her apartment. Her invitation to Dima included my phone number and a suggestion that he call. He called the following day.

He spoke in a sweet and patient tone, the same tone I had heard him use on the phone with his mother the day we met. People think of Russian as a harsh language, but it can also be gentle. When Dima spoke to me, he used diminutives and endearments that lent his words an added affection. Unfortunately it didn’t help me understand them any better. Worried he would not want to date a woman who couldn’t speak Russian fluently, I pretended to understand more than I did. I tried not to think about how we would make a relationship work long term when I couldn’t express much more than basic pleasantries. There would be time to figure that out later. At present all I needed to know was where and when we would meet on the day of Anya’s party so we could go together.

The metro stop he chose for our rendezvous was not one I usually used. It was near downtown and my apartment but none the less unfamiliar. I arrived a few minutes early and waited outside as Dima had instructed. I was dressed in knee-high black boots, plaid red tights, and a black skirt. On top I wore a wool sweater and my infamous silver jacket. It was a warm ensemble that I was convinced was also sexy. The comments I

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