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It was a foggy morning, and Marya Dmitrievna was cooking. Quietly.
Normally, Marya was not the one for big romantic gestures, but there was no time to cook a proper Russian breakfast during the week and she knew of a certain someone’s weakness for blinis, so here she was on a Saturday morning at the kitchen island of their small apartment, carefully slicing kielbasa and strawberries and trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb the beautiful woman in her bed, smiling at the mere thought.
Helene Kuragin.
Helene, who had sauntered up to her in a bar, used a terrible pickup line and walked out with Marya on her arm 45 minutes later. Helene, who three months in casually announced that they were moving in together and found a tiny apartment in Moscow.
Now they lived quietly and comfortably, by themselves for the majority of the time. Occasionally, Sonya came over to enjoy the company of her godmothers, or Anatole if he wanted money or simply a good time. Pierre, more than anyone, dropped in for a cup of tea, Natasha smiling on his arm as they happily planned their future together.
They’d fallen into a routine. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. Maybe a Katherine Hepburn movie tucked in somewhere on a Friday night if there was time, Tall glasses of wine. Sheets rumpled in the morning, as both women slipped into their usual frantic 6 AM cycle of black coffee and preparations. Friends. Vodka. This morning, however, was going to be different.
Marya winced as the sausage sizzled in the pan. In reality, she didn’t really have anything to worry about. Helene slept like a sedated log, to be woken only by the screaming of taxis on pavement or the occasional extra-angry pigeon. On several occasions, she’d slept through alarm clocks for hours at a time, turned off only by Marya who couldn’t stand the repetitive beeping.
She closed her eyes, thinking back far into her memories of breakfast as a child, her mother’s protective hands over her own small ones as Marya tentatively learned to cook in the enormous cast-iron pan. At the time, her mother had cooed encouragement, telling her what a lucky man would be her husband, with those perfectly cooked blinis.
Lucky, indeed.
Now, Marya concentrated hard as she fried a couple of eggs, making sure the yolks stayed runny. She almost put out the bottle of vodka on the small kitchen table but decided against it at the last minute. There would be other times for that.
Just as Marya turned back to take two steaming plates, she felt a slender pair of arms wrap softly around her waist. It could only be one person, of course. She sighed.
“Elena, darling, would you mind going back to sleep for a few minutes?” Helene laughed.
“Yes.”
“C’mon, love, I’m trying to be a good girlfriend here.” Marya did her best to be firm, but then she felt herself being pressed a little into the kitchen counter. Setting down the plates a safe distance away, she twisted in Helene’s arms and hopped up onto the counter, seeing her girlfriend’s face for the first time. Even though her face was laced with sleep, Helene looked impossibly beautiful, blinking a bit at Marya as her eyes adjusted to the daylight streaming in through their small kitchen window. She seemed to realize that she was standing between Marya’s legs, she smiled and pushed a bit closer, tugging Marya closer and closing the gap between them with a kiss.
Marya half expected breakfast to be abandoned in favor of other things, but Helene pulled back unexpectedly and nodded towards the plates, still steaming.
“Eggs aren’t as good when they get cold.”
Marya rolled her eyes.
“What woke you up, anyway?”
“The sun. And the smell.” Helene wrinkled her nose, grinning. “Next time you wake up extra early on a Saturday to make me a surprise breakfast, you should try not to make it smell as good.” She smiled now, a little softer. “I love you.”
Marya snorted.
“That’s gay.”
Helene ignored her and instead picked up the plates, putting an extra sway in her hips as she walked into the next room. Marya couldn’t do anything but follow her. Meanwhile, her girlfriend had already picked up one of the blinis and taken a bite, ignoring the burn in her mouth. She closed her eyes, blissed out. When they opened again, Marya didn’t even need to ask if she’d done well. Helene’s face said it all, and she padded around the table to pull Marya into her arms, lips still warm from the hot food.
Marya sighed a little. Heaven.