Chapter 61: A Not So Blessed Nativity

December 24, 1987, McKinley, Ohio

When I arrived home, the house was dark, and after turning on the lights, I found a note from Alyssa.

I checked my watch and decided I had about ten minutes before Oksana arrived, so I quickly changed, built a fire in the fireplace, and put water on for tea. Oksana arrived with Rachel just as I left the kitchen.

“Hi! I hope it’s OK that I brought her home!”

“Well,” I said with a goofy smile, “it probably would have been a bad idea to leave her at church!”

“I meant instead of Alyssa bringing her!” Oksana replied, rolling her eyes.

“Of course it’s OK,” I replied. “I take it her car seat is in your car?”

“Yes.”

“Let me have the keys and I’ll put it in my car.”

She handed me the keys, and I went out to transfer the car seat, then returned to the house and took Rachel from Oksana.

“Did she sleep at church?” I asked.

“No. Alyssa and I shared holding her. I think she’s ready for a nap. She had a bottle right before church.”

“OK.”

I took Rachel upstairs and put her in her crib, then turned on the baby monitor. Her schedule was a bit messed up because she’d been awake, but she was staying awake for longer stretches, so I hoped she wouldn’t be too disrupted. That said, she was going to be completely out of sorts after church, visiting my in-laws, visiting my dad, and visiting my family at my grandfather’s house. Fortunately, riding in the car put her to sleep, so I hoped she wouldn’t turn cranky.

“I have two gifts,” Oksana said when I returned to the great room. “One for you and one for Rachel.”

“I take it I’m to open them now?”

“Yes, please!”

It dawned on me that I had not put up a Christmas tree, something I would have to remember for the future. I hadn’t thought about it and nobody had mentioned it. I had bought Rachel presents, but we’d open them with the grandparents. I took the two boxes Oksana proffered, and we sat on the couch so I could open them.

The first gift, for me, was a «ушанка», a Russian fur hat, though she’d found one without the Soviet star that seemed to always adorn them if you bought one in the US.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Your fedora is nice, but I can’t imagine it keeps your head warm in the winter!”

“Not as well as this will. I appreciate it.”

The second gift was a traditional Russian lacquer box for Rachel, decorated with a painting of a kitten. Rachel would be able to use it for jewelry or other keepsakes.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad you like them!”

“I actually need to eat dinner,” I said. “Alyssa said she’d prepare something I could heat.”

“She made soup from scratch,” Oksana said. “I can heat it for you, if you want.”

“Are your parents going to be OK with you staying out on Christmas Eve?”

“I went to Vespers with them, so they’ll be OK with it. They know I’m helping with Rachel. I’ll stay for a while if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

She smiled, then went to the kitchen and came back five minutes later.

“The bread is in the oven getting warm and the soup is on the stove. It wasn’t completely cold, so it won’t be too long. Are you doing anything next Thursday after work?”

“I’m going to a party at my professor’s house. My schedule is pretty bad for the next week, but if you’d like to have dinner on Tuesday, January 5th, we could. I’m sorry it can’t be before then.”

“It’s OK! I know you’re interested. Would you like to kiss me?”

“I would.”

She stepped close, I took her in my arms and we exchanged a soft kiss. She broke it after a minute, put her head on my shoulder and her arms around me, and sighed deeply. I held her and a few minutes later she kissed me again, but this time parted her lips. The French kiss was sweet and soft, but Oksana broke it after about twenty seconds.

“We should stop,” she said, but she kept her arms around me.

It was obvious, as it had been the previous time, that an internal debate was raging in her mind. Or, more accurately, she had physical urges and was struggling with them. I was absolutely positive it would be a bad idea, at this point, to go further, so I lowered my arms. Oksana released me, then went to the kitchen to check on dinner.

“I just needed to stir the soup,” she said. “Can I measure you for the kosovorotka?”

“Of course.”

She went to get her purse and returned with a cloth measuring tape. She measured my arms, my chest, and my waist, writing the numbers in a small notebook she had in her purse.

“Do you need to measure Rachel?” I asked.

“I did that at church tonight. I want to make them matching; is purple embroidery OK?”

“Yes.”

She put away the tape and notebook, then went back to the kitchen.

“Mike?” she called out. “Your dinner is ready.”

I went to the kitchen where Oksana served me soup and bread, then sat down with a glass of lemonade.

“There’s enough for you, if you want,” I said.

“Thanks. I ate before Vespers.”

I said the blessing, then began eating. The soup Alyssa had made was very good, as was the bread. When I finished, Oksana put away the leftovers while I washed the bowl, plate, spoon, and knife. We listened to music for a bit, then I walked Oksana to the door. We hugged and kissed, and I stood on the porch until she had driven away, then went back inside to wait for Rachel to wake for her feeding.

December 25, 1987, Feast of the Nativity, McKinley, Ohio

“Father Nicholas would like to see you during the Psalms,” Elias said when I arrived.

I instantly regretted coming to church, because I wasn’t even going to be allowed to worship in peace.

“Fine,” I replied.

“Serafima will take care of Rachel,” he said.

“OK.”

Serafima came to stand by me and I quietly let her know I had plans for the first Saturday in January and she’d need to change her plans. She agreed, and just over ten minutes later I handed Rachel to her, then walked to the right-hand deacon’s door. I went into the altar, made the usual prostration, and when I stood up, Father Nicolas beckoned me to the vestry.

“Tasha is very concerned about you,” he said.

“She called you yesterday?” I asked.

“Yes. Mike, I have to ask, are you involved in an inappropriate relationship with her?”

I laughed bitterly, “Tasha is angry with me precisely because I refused to have sex with her. I have not so much as kissed Tasha since before I began courting Elizaveta, and other than a couple of hugs, I haven’t even touched her. She’s also upset with me because I pointed out to her that she is to blame for her failed marriage to Nik, and I share blame, though not for the reason you believe.”

“You did have an inappropriate relationship with her.”

“Indeed, but THAT was not the source of Nik’s problem. I can’t say to you what I said to Tasha, so if you want to know, you’ll have to ask her.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because she’ll need to tell you or Father Alexi under the seal of confession. But I will reiterate, Tasha and I are not involved, and I don’t see any chance that we will be involved in the future. She could not then, and cannot now, handle the demands of my medical training. That was the source of our original decision not to marry, and nothing has changed.

“As for Tasha’s ‘concern’, well, she’s barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. Father Roman is perfectly aware of my spiritual state, and I daresay so is Vladyka JOHN. And you are aware, or you wouldn’t have suggested I see Father Roman in the first place. I’m following the prayer and fasting rules he assigned me, and I’ll speak to him in about ten days. As I said, the source of Tasha’s complaint is actually Tasha.”

“What don’t I know?”

“A lot. But it’s not about Tasha and me. As I said, only Tasha can tell you or Father Alexi. Someone advised me, and it’s not important who, to stay away from Saint Michael and go to the Cathedral when I can attend services, and I’m going to do that. Coming here is harming my spiritual health.”

“Mike...”

“Father,” I interrupted, “I couldn’t even walk in here this morning and worship in peace without feeling as if I was in the basement of Lefortovo!”

“Mike...”

I didn’t let him finish speaking.

“You asked Elias to corner me the second I walked into church! And then basically accused me of doing something that is completely and utterly false. I can’t stay. I’ll ask Anna to take Rachel back to my in-laws’ house, but I’m going to go home to have breakfast and relax.”

“Mike, please don’t.”

“Father, you should have thought about that before ruining my morning. I’ll call you when I’m ready to speak.”

I turned and left without another word, went to find Anna and let her know that I was leaving. She was surprised, but Geno took my keys to get Rachel’s car seat from my Mustang. I let Serafima know I was leaving, made sure she had Rachel’s bag, then walked out of the nave and met Geno as he was coming in the doors from the parking lot.

“You are coming to the house, right?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ll see you at noon.”

He handed me my keys, and I walked out to my car. Just under fifteen minutes later, I was home. I went to the kitchen, and given it was the Feast of the Nativity, ending the Fast, I made bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. I’d just finished eating when there was a knock at the front door. I sighed, because Lara was in Pittsburgh and Clarissa was on shift at the hospital, and other than those two, I had zero interest in speaking to anyone.

I got up and went to open the door and was surprised to see Kari.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

I nodded and stepped out of the way to allow her to come in, then shut the door behind her.

“I went to church, expecting to find you. I saw Rachel, but didn’t see you, so I asked Serafima, who was holding Rachel, where you were. She said you seemed upset and had left.”

“Would you like some tea? I was about to make some and clean up the kitchen. Did you have breakfast?”

“Yes.”

We went to the kitchen, and I put on the kettle, then started washing the breakfast dishes and skillets.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.

“It’s a very, very long story that begins with a pretty fourteen-year-old I was afraid to even talk to when I was seventeen and it came to a head on Tuesday evening. In between there was me going to college, marrying, being ordained, getting caught up in two church scandals, Elizaveta dying, a bunch of false accusations and then resigning my position. Add in the girls from church being offended by the fact that I was dating you, and well, you end up with me walking out of church.”

“For good?”

“No. It’s complicated, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t have enough context for me to explain everything in the few hours I have before I need to be at my in-laws for our Christmas celebration.”

“Context?”

“So much of it has to do with Orthodox theology and Orthodox polity, that is, how the church is organized and operated, and I’ll need to explain a lot of things to you where I could use a word or two with someone who was Orthodox. You know, I should have asked, but what about your family?”

“We opened gifts early this morning, and our family meal is at 1:00pm. Dad was OK with me coming to see you. He’d like to meet you.”

“Well,” I grinned, “now it’s getting serious! Meeting the parent!”

“Right! Meeting my dad is more serious than cutting off my clothes and having sex with me?”

“It does escalate things, don’t you think?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. I was half-jesting; I have no objection to meeting your dad and his girlfriend.”

“Fiancée. He popped the question this morning. Half-jesting?”

“I think it does take things to another level. It’s one thing when you’re in High School, and you pretty much have to meet them to go on a date. It’s a different thing when you’re in college or completely out on your own. I don’t need your dad’s permission to take you on a date, and it is, in effect, telling your dad you think it might be real.”

“OK, I can see that. It is real, isn’t it?”

“With the caveat that you have to be able to handle marriage, motherhood, baptism, and my schedule, yes.”

“Can I ask you a totally serious question?”

“Yes. I think for the rest of this morning, I’m going to set aside any goofiness or teasing. Just assume I’ll give a serious answer to any of your questions.”

“Why?”

“I’d say you showing up at church this morning on your own, and then coming here when you realized there was a problem, made things more serious than inviting me to meet your dad.”

“And the other day?”

“I believe you made that clear when you, rightfully, accused me of putting more value on your virginity than you did.”

“Tell me what you were thinking.”

“For some girls, that step, at that stage of our relationship, would imply a commitment. I didn’t take it that way, and I’m almost positive you didn’t mean it that way. We haven’t used the word ‘love’ with each other, and you didn’t say it afterwards, which would have been a sign that I’d made a serious error in judgment.”

“That would be a problem?”

“Not a problem, per se, but it would have put more meaning on what we did. OK to just give a blunt, honest assessment?”

“Yes.”

“In a sense, it was ‘just sex’, though we both felt it was moving to the next stage, if you will. Because we had discussed all the challenges to a relationship, it couldn’t possibly be a commitment. That said, it signified, at least to me, that you were serious about making the effort. What you did today confirmed my thinking. Of course, I could be totally and completely wrong, in which case you’ll have to tell me how and why I’m mistaken.”

“You’re not mistaken,” Kari said. “You were the right guy, and it was the right time, all other considerations aside.”

“I am sorry I messed up the first attempt.”

“It was partly my fault, too,” Kari replied. “I overreacted and should have just told you that when I said ‘go for it’, I actually meant it. I suspect that outcome would have been much better.”

“Perhaps,” I replied. “On the other hand, my faux pas led to you examining what you wanted, led us to have an important conversation, and we achieved the same result, albeit delayed by several days.”

“That’s a good point. I wanted to ask you about what you said about bleeding and pain, because three of my friends said their first time hurt, and one of them said she bled. You said that wasn’t normal.”

“Let me qualify my comment — pain and bleeding due to tearing of the hymen becomes rarer as you move later into your teens. How old was your friend who bled?”

“Sixteen. The other girls were sixteen or seventeen.”

“Pain can come from insufficient lubrication, and that is, in fact, the most likely cause for any girl over fifteen. Remember what I did?”

“Lubricant, right?”

“Yes. And that was even after I made sure you were wet enough with my tongue. I probably didn’t need it, but I felt it was better not to take a chance. As for your sixteen-year-old friend, it’s possible she had a hymen, but it’s also possible that the bleeding was due to abrasions of her vaginal walls due to lack of lubrication. And that is because, generally speaking, teenage boys and girls tend to lack sufficient information about the mechanics of intercourse. Your sex ed was likely perfunctory and the actual experience was likely very different from what was implied.”

“Let’s just say nobody mentioned how good orgasms were! And they didn’t say anything at all about oral sex!”

“Of course not,” I replied. “We live in a very conservative part of the country, and even talking about birth control is taboo. How long was your sex ed module?”

“Two, one-hour classes, and they split the boys and girls. Most of the time was spent talking about periods and stuff.”

“Which, by eighth grade, nearly every girl had been having for a year or two. How old were you?”

“Thirteen. The middle of seventh grade, basically.”

“That was around the time your mom left, right?”

“It was literally the next week. Fortunately, my aunt was cool and explained how to use pads and stuff.”

“Which is the blood relative? Aunt or uncle?”

“My aunt; she’s my dad’s sister. My mom was an only child and her parents live in Connecticut. Where do the abrasions come from? I mean, it’s not like your skin is sandpaper!”

“Do you know what a ‘friction burn’ is?”

“Sure.”

“Think about what it would be like, even with smooth skin, if your vagina was not lubricated.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly. So, a rushed first time, in the back seat of a car, or just plain cluelessness about foreplay by teenagers, can create pain and even blood.”

“I’m going to guess you learned that in medical school.”

“That, plus independent research.”

“I’ll bet!” Kari laughed.

“That, too,” I chuckled, “but I actually meant that my first lover bought a book and read it, which made our first time together WAY better than it would have been if we’d both relied on a few hours of sex ed.”