Work Text:
December 1987
It feels like lifetimes have passed in two short months—days spent in hotel rooms, on stages, on camera, in airports, in one consulate—and now Florence is home. Everything has changed.
Florence is no stranger to change. She has had practice, completely reorienting her life with a moment’s notice. That skill comes in handy now.
It would almost feel nostalgic if it weren’t so stressful. The children are upset and disoriented by their sudden, unexpected move, but their parents do their best to keep them happy. There are so many shopping trips, for clothes, for toys, for foods that might help ease their homesickness. Florence helps Svetlana investigate school options. She helps Anatoly get all his paperwork in order (again), and helps him look for a job. She does what she can, to make her home in England comfortable for her new guests.
She and Svetlana don’t get a lot of privacy. When they do, it’s usually while driving around—sometimes only to and from the shops, but sometimes, like now, just driving. There is day-old snow on the ground, but the streets are dry and the inside of the car is warm. Svetlana’s hand is tangled in hers over the center console as Florence rolls slowly through the neighborhoods on the outskirts of Birmingham.
“I would like to stay in the area of the city,” Florence says. “I have a good team here. Jaya is a fantastic second.”
Svetlana sits at an angle, staring out the window at the houses they pass. Florence can’t see her expression. “I understand,” she says. “I don’t want to be too isolated anyway. Somewhere with a bus would be good. I’m not sure I will ever be able to drive on the other side of the road.”
Florence chuckles and squeezes Svetlana’s hand. She’d felt the same way when she moved to America. “That’s alright. I’ll be your personal chauffeur,” she says. “I’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”
Svetlana looks back at her, a smile on her face that hasn’t yet failed to make Florence’s heart stutter in her chest. “I’m sure the new world chess champion has better things to do with her time than drive me around,” she says.
“That’s where you would be wrong,” Florence says.
She knows this is hard—must be unthinkably hard for Svetlana, but the strength and resilience she shows as she takes care of her family here, in a foreign land, makes Florence admire her all the more. And even more astounding, amidst all the chaos and uncertainty, is how easily she’s slotted herself into Florence’s life. After years of guarded writing but never seeing each other face-to-face, never able to touch, never able to think about what the day-to-day of the other’s life might look like, or what it would feel like to be a part of it…
Anatoly was a rush, but even as she ran away with him years ago, she had worried about what might happen, what the end would look like. And Florence worried here, now, too—it always happens so fast, what if they were to find that they don’t get along as well as they thought they would?—but those fears were allayed quickly.
In only a few short weeks, Svetlana learns how she likes her coffee, and when she likes to wake up and go to bed, and what TV programs she likes to watch. She makes herself at home in Florence’s kitchen and her bed. Florence learns what Svetlana prefers to eat for breakfast, and the kinds of stories she tells her children while putting them to bed, and how it feels to wake up next to her every morning, in her arms. It’s a different kind of rush. And none of it worries her—she can’t see the end now, and she hopes she never will. There is still plenty to worry about, but not this. Not what she and Svetlana share now. That, Florence has unshakable confidence in.
The rest of it, however, has been very, very messy. Florence’s flat is far too small for five people. She’s still coming to grips with Anatoly suddenly sleeping on her couch after his earlier painful exit from her life, and she worries about the children, and every news outlet in the world wants to interview Florence when all she wants is be left alone. She’s barely seen her team, since her win. She just hasn’t had the time.
There is only so much of this Florence can control. One thing at a time—she’s reached out to a realtor, but nothing can compare to driving around and taking a look at different neighborhoods yourself. Besides, she wants to show Svetlana the city she’s told her about in her letters.
“You don’t celebrate Christmas until after New Years, right?” Florence asks.
“The 7th,” Svetlana says. “But we can do it earlier.”
“No, I don’t want to change anything else for the children,” Florence says. Let them have this one thing stay constant, at least. “I can spend the 25th with my father, and we can celebrate on the 7th. That gives us more time to shop for them, anyway. Do they like to decorate?”
“Andrei loves it,” Svetlana says. “Katya has to be convinced. She gets very focused on what she’s doing and doesn’t like to be interrupted.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Florence muses.
Svetlana snorts humorlessly. “Yes, she is very like her father,” she says.
Florence laughs. “I’m sure we can find some way to entice her,” she says.
She turns out of the neighborhood she’s in and they drive down the road to another, idly remarking to each other about anything they see. The next neighborhood they come to is a little farther out, with more trees and bigger pieces of land, but Florence does spot a covered bus stop near the main road.
“These are nice,” Svetlana says, watching the houses slowly pass by. “They look like they have more privacy.”
Florence rolls to a stop in front of the first For Sale sign she sees, so they can get a better look at it. It’s a sturdy-looking two-story brick house. There are vines growing up one side, some overgrown bushes along the edge of the property, and a few raised garden beds that are currently dusted with snow, but it looks like there’s only grass in them now, if anything. There’s still the inside and the backyard to see, but…
“What do you think?” Florence asks.
“I like it from the outside,” Svetlana says, leaning forward in her seat to get a better view.
“Do you think it could be home?” Florence asks. She doesn’t even realize she’s asking a different sort of question until the words are out of her mouth. For days, they’ve been driving around Birmingham looking at houses, and in the back of Florence’s mind, she worries. Svetlana left her entire life, friends and extended family behind—Florence wants so desperately for things to be good for her here. As good as they possibly can be, after everything. She deserves it.
Svetlana’s gaze flicks to her, and she seems to catch on pretty quickly. “I am already home. I’m with you,” she says, leaning back in her seat.
Florence snorts. “Please. That’s far too romantic to be the truth,” she says.
“Can’t it be both?” Svetlana asks, keeping her gaze steady and intense on Florence, and Florence can’t look away. “I think Anatoly infected me with his discontent. For years, Moscow has not felt like home to me.” She squeezes Florence’s hand in hers, and brings it up to her lips to place a soft kiss on her knuckle. “I never would have been happy anywhere without you.”
Florence wishes they weren’t having this conversation in the car. She wants to reach over and hold Svetlana and never let her go. God, she loves her so much it makes her want to cry sometimes—how did this happen? How could she ever have deserved this, to have someone come into her life who fits so perfectly? Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“I love you,” Florence says, because nothing else seems adequate. “You’re too good to me.”
“We are good to each other,” Svetlana says. She leans over, and Florence meets her over the center console. She kisses Florence softly, like they have all the time in the world—funny, considering how little time they have had.
When Svetlana pulls away, she rests her forehead against Florence’s and closes her eyes, smiling softly. “We should look at the house,” she says.
“Alright,” Florence agrees.
She waits for Svetlana to withdraw, not wanting to waste even a moment—but once she’s back fully in her seat, Florence writes down the address of the house and the phone number on the sign, and they keep driving.