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“What are we watching?”
Natasha bent over the couch, resting her arms against the beaten frame. Yelena lay sprawled over it, her limbs bent every which way. “Are those my sweatpants?”
Yelena tore her eyes from the screen, irritation scrawled across her features. “No,” she snapped.
“They definitely are. Look, that’s the spot I spilled my wine the other day-”
“Can you shut up?” Her sister snarled, “I’m trying to watch.” A German Shepard bounded behind his owner on Melina’s TV. His human laughed light-heartedly, rubbing him behind the ears, before tossing a ball. The dog barked with joy, his lithe body moving through the golden, sunlight field. It was picturesque, a little too much so. A world like this could only be fabricated.
Natasha reached for the remote. A well-placed kick landed on her shoulder. “Ow, what the fuck?!” Yelena just huffed, shifting onto her side. She watched the screen almost in mourning, her brows knit. Grieving for the dog she had always been promised but never received. Grieving for the life she thought was guaranteed but had dissolved into a farce. The dog on screen returned the ball, wagging his tail ecstatically when he received praise. Was he acting? Pulling the strings on the man’s marionette of a heart to receive what he desired?
Natasha, the shining symbol of emotional ignorance, reached for the remote again in anger. She was like Melina in that way; emotions flowed around them in currents but they stood unwavering. Like boulders. “This is stupid, Yelena, kids’ shit.” Yelena rolled her body further into the couch, trapping the remote between her body and the vaguely alcohol-scented fabric. A foolproof method.
“Is not stupid! You know I like dog!” She screeched from her hiding spot. Muscle bound arms pulled her from the cushions, displaying her soft underbelly to the world. It was a vulnerable position- one Yelena did not particularly enjoy. Thrashing, shrieking, snarling she clawed at every inch of skin her fingers could find. It was meant to be playful, but fear made its way into every hit she tried to place. A hand swiped the remote from her grasp. The TV clicked off.
“No one gets TV now, hm? Happy?” Their mother towered above them, foreboding.
“Sorry Mom- sorry,” came the chorus.
“Come now. Dinner.” Melina turned swiftly on her heel. Yelena could see Alexei through the window on the barbecue. She wondered which pig had met their demise.
Yelena took her seat at the table facing Natasha. Always facing her sister, her reflection. The dignified Black Widow who ate with her hands when she thought no one was watching. Alexei settled himself at the head, obviously very proud of himself. “Eat!” he ordered jovially, his grey-tinged beard and love handles making him seem like some strange parody of Santa Claus.
“Yelena, try some of your father’s pork. It’s good.” Melina spooned some onto her daughter’s plate. In reality the meat was slightly tough and could do with more seasoning, but she was an expert in biting her tongue. “You need to grow big and strong, like your papa.” Alexei beamed at them, his mouth filled with half-chewed food. Melina’s chest swelled in return. Is this really what she had become?
Yelena shrugged off her mother’s admonitions. “I’m done growing, you should know that.” She slouched over her food, her spine weary from the weight of her emotions.
“Ah, you don’t know that!” Alexei challenged. “You’re still young, there’s still hope! Your sister though?” he clapped Natasha’s shoulder for emphasis, “she is lost cause.” Natasha slapped his hand away, a green bean still hanging from the side of her mouth like a cigarette in a black-and-white film. Her eyes were irritated, yet her body language was languid. Yelena restrained the smirk that twitched around the corners of her lips, maintaining her pout.
Natasha looked up from her meal, noticing her little sister’s signature scowl. “What’s wrong? Still upset about the dog thing?”
Yelena sat back on her haunches, revealing nothing. Natasha smiled mischievously, her canines glistening in the setting sun. “Cats are better anyways.” Yelena could tell that she was joking, that she was just trying to wind her up, that she was just being Natasha. Yet she despised the predatory glint in her green eyes, the one that she always remembered her having, the one that seemed to be paired with teasing remarks that followed Yelena through childhood. The one that may have been hundreds of men’s last glimpse in life before they sank down into who knows what.
She knew what Natasha wanted, yet as many victims had before her she played into her hand. “No they’re not, dogs are.”
Natasha smiled, enjoying reeling Yelena in like a fish on a line. “No, cats are smarter. They can fend for themselves too; less to take care of.”
“Well, a dog will love you no matter what! And they play fetch, can learn tricks, go on walks.”
Natasha shook her head, “They’re just obedient, they’ll do whatever you say.”
“Then maybe I am no more than dog, hm?” Yelena’s mouth was set in a firm line, her hands fisted on the table. Her sister startled, clearly not expecting this.
“Lena, that’s not what I meant-”
“It’s true though.” She shrugged, trying to give the appearance of nonchalance. It didn’t seem to be working. “I do whatever for whoever in the hope of praise. Murder, sex-”
“But that wasn’t you ,” Natasha counters. Her tone is apologetic. “You’re not that.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Yelena shrugged, trying to play at nonchalance. Her eyes moved towards the ceilings, before coming back down to her family. Their worried faces shone in the dimming light, while hers was wrinkled in mirth. “But I still come back for love. Begging for it like dog.” She laughed humorlessly, clapping Melina’s back a little too harshly, “I mean, the woman who created chemical that destroyed my life is sitting right next to me. And I call her my mother!” She swept her arms out, knocking over a bottle of vodka in the process. It burnt as it split over her hands. “How fucking pathetic-”
“Enough Yelena,” a big paw of a hand gripped her wrist. “You’re going to your room.” Alexei tugged his youngest up from her seat.
Melina’s face was painted in shadow. Her features were tight with pain. Natasha’s eyes did not move from her lap. Good. Make them hurt.
Yelena let Alexei pull her to the room she shared with Natasha. She pulled a bit, just enough to make him think this was against her will and that she wasn’t just a little glad she didn’t have to deal with the emotional fallout at the table. He pushed her gently to the twin bed.
“Is this time-out?” She had always hated them when she was young. They took valuable time away from all the important things that came along with being five.
Alexei tilted his head, observing her. “You are grown woman, I cannot make you do anything. But nap might help you feel better.”
So she let him tug the blankets up around her, pretending that it did not comfort her in the slightest. She turned to her side, letting her back face the door. Alexei’s fingers danced across her forehead, toying with the idea of stroking her hair back as he used to. Atoms buzzed in the space between. Finally he decided against it, clicking the bedside lamp off. Floorboards creaked under his weight until there was suddenly silence. Yelena could picture so clearly in her mind the image of her father’s hulking form framed in the doorway, light streaming around his silhouette like the boulder in a creek. Ruminating.
He cleared his throat. “So you still want a dog, eh? Not much change since you were six.”
“That’s what you got from all that?”
A soft chuckle rumbled throughout. “Goodnight, bug.” The second word carried with it a sense of awkwardness. Of an old possession, once loved yet forgotten, found once again.
“Goodnight,” she murmured into her sheets. She stretched her hand up from under the covers, gripping the headboard tightly. The click that came with the door closing was forlorn.
A few days later brought with it Christmas Day. Natalia’s Day. Yelena had had difficulty as a child understanding whether the day had been created for her sister, or vice versa. Now she was still not so sure. Natasha’s usually tightly coiled muscles became loose, her smile softer. She became Yelena’s big sister again, the one that lived in memories.
“You know it's almost like shitty movies on TV. Christmas really does warm your frozen heart,” Yelena teased.
“Oh haha. You think you’re real funny huh?” Yet no malice protruded from her words. They had completely forgotten their fight from days earlier, as siblings often do. Grudges could not survive long in the harsh, unyielding plain of sisterhood. Yelena nodded, smiling. Yes, she did think she was pretty funny. She turned back to the chore assigned by her mother; disposing of the paper carnage from that morning. Her movements were syrupy, lazy.
“Where’s your father?!” Melina bellowed from the kitchen. It was a common phrase in their house, right behind, “Yelena, stop!” Yelena found herself preferring the former.
Natasha called back leisurely, “I don’t know.” It was a comfortable rapport between the two, comforting in its familiarity. Yelena collapsed next to her older sister starfished on the floor. Trying to fake chores had been too tiring. Her limbs were heavy with love and warmth, too much so to support her body. Besides, Nat had received a fluffy pajama top that morning and when Yelena hugged her she just felt like an absurdly oversized teddy bear. She shoved her face into her older sister’s shoulder, liking the way the synthetic fibers tickled her nose.
Stomps echoed through the tired frame of the house. “No, I am serious this time, where is your father? He said he was going to be back an hour ago.”
Natasha blinked a lazy eye open. “Where did he go?”
“To get milk.”
Her eye slipped close again. “Classic.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s an American thing. Dad goes out to get milk- never comes back.” Yelena wasn’t translating the words into Russian, instead enjoying the sound of Natasha’s voice. Morpheus’s arms beckoned her closer.
“Your father would not.”
Natasha snorted a bit. “Get used to being a single mom.”
The front door crashed open. Yelena jolted up, hand fumbling for a weapon. She came up short with Natasha’s hand. The vertebrae of her spine bristled, waiting for the attack.
“No intruder! Only me!” Alexei’s bellows tumbled through the small house. The scar twisting around his thigh served as a perfectly good reminder of the importance of a warning.
Melina’s form remained tense. “What took you so long?” she questioned harshly.
“Well-” Alexei’s voice floated from the foyer, not yet attached to a body. “I wanted to get one last Christmas gift.”
Yelena remained crouched. Could he have really set up a trampoline so quickly? No, she couldn’t dare to dream. Melina would never allow it, claiming it to be much too dangerous. Her mother had a wonderful duality about her, sending her children into war while banning things like trampolines and motorbikes: All the fun shit.
Alexei lumbered into the archway of the living room, his silhouette spilling out onto the scuffed hardwood planks. From his thick, beaten jacket he pulled a wiggling thing. He stood triumphantly, presenting his gift for his world to see. His extended arms bore a small puppy, one who was wagging their tail hesitantly.
“PAPA!” Yelena ran clumsily across the room, fireworks exploding along her senses. “PAPA!” she shrieked, perhaps out of joy, perhaps of shock, perhaps of the feeling of the syllables passing along her lips. “Oh, oh, oh, please can I hold them?! Please?!”
He chuckled, passing the puppy to her. “I got her for you.” Yelena cuddled the little dog, cooing. She let Melina’s angry words wash over her. We didn’t talk about dog! Did you even get milk?! The puppy seemed a little distressed with the argument in full swing, tiny body shaking. “Shh, shh,” Yelena swayed as though cradling a baby. “You will get used to it.”
She walked over to the couch, settling in. She was content to let time lap around her, pulling back like the tide. She stroked the little dog, murmuring nonsense to her as she did so. Minutes passed by. The puppy was starting to go lax in her arms. She let out a little yawn, and Yelena’s chest almost burst with joy. So this is what motherhood feels like. The cushion sank down next to her, tipping Yelena a bit with the weight.
“She is pretty cute,” Natasha admitted softly, reaching her hand over Yelena to pet the puppy. Yelena nodded, echoing with a soft “Yeah, she is.” Fanny wiggled, obviously enjoying the attention. Natasha grinned.
“Maybe you were right about dogs after all,” she murmured. Yelena didn’t answer this time, letting Natasha muse in silence. “So what are you gonna name her?”
Yelena turned, something devilish playing along her features. “You know.”
Natasha recoiled. “No, not that.” Her eyes were pleading, voice plying. “Anything but that. How about Nikita? It means victory, would be good if you plan to take her on missions.” But reason was absent.
“Meet your niece, Fanny,” she deposited her puppy in Natasha’s arms, the first time she had parted with her. Natasha held the dog awkwardly, much as Yelena had imagined her holding Yelena’s more human children. “Here, let me take photo.”
Natasha shook her head as Yelena fished for her cell phone, standing up to take the picture. “This is stupid.” Yet she wasn’t able to hide the little smile that seemed to bloom around her little sister, and when Yelena goaded, “Say cheese, Auntie Nat!” there was something youthful in her expression.
“Aw, look how cute!” Yelena exclaimed. She turned the phone so Natasha could see. Her older sister, the Black Widow, had very few tells. She was annoyingly good at poker, whether the game was played through cards or something more abstract. But now, even in the dimming light, it was clear her ears were tinged bright red. Yelena had first noticed it when watching 1994’s Little Women starring Winona Ryder, and it seemed to make a reappearance anytime embarrassment befell Natasha.
“Delete that,” Natasha demanded. Her soft core could never be exposed to the world.
“No, I think I will keep it actually. Give me my puppy back.” Natasha transferred Fanny to her arms, the dog wagging her tail furiously. Her older sister left with an extremely adolescent whatever in her wake. Yelena was left alone once again.
She could hear the clanking of the saucepan as Alexei stirred their milk-less Mac’n Cheese. She watched them through the doorway, watching Melina place a playful slap on Alexei’s ass. He turned, and Yelena moved away before she could see the aftermath. She carefully walked over to the photographs on the mantle, taking care not to jostle Fanny. In a gilded frame perched upon the shelf stood a relic from their one vacation, a trip to Yellowstone. It had been taken to be sent back to Dreykov, but Yelena’s gap-toothed smile from the place on her Papa’s shoulders had been real. His dopey grin had been real, and so had Melina and Natasha’s linked hands. Love curled around her.
Fanny’s eyes reflected vacantly in the glass, Yelena’s accompanying her. She didn’t plan on giving Fanny some long speech about family, mostly because she didn’t know much herself. Hers wasn’t especially forthcoming with love, not like dogs. But tendrils of her favorite meal cooked by her father drifted through the cluttered house. Her sister banged around doing who-knows-what in the room adjacent. Her mother asked from the kitchen, “What does Frances want for dinner?” It was love in its purest form, and it was enough.