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Yelena makes it a point to spend her family’s birthdays with them.
They’d never ask her to, of course. In fact, two of them actively admonish her for making not even a big deal out of it but any kind of deal at all. (“Aging is natural biological process — is nothing I need to celebrate,” her mother had argued in that obnoxiously logical way of hers. “We are not buying a bouncy castle for my birthday, Yelena — it’s winter, and we’re not six. We’re not stealing a fucking bouncy castle either. Jesus Christ,” Natasha had lamely protested.)
They’d never ask her to, of course. Not with words. None of them had ever been great at that whole communication thing. But it was important to Yelena. And judging by the way her mother handled the (frankly pretty subparly wrapped) presents Yelena gave her more delicately than she would a bomb and Natasha’s mouth curving into a smile when they had a backbend contest in said bouncy castle (they’d rented it for 50% off via some light blackmail — a compromise between paying full price and outright theft), Yelena knows it’s important to them, too.
To Yelena, birthdays are sacred — a celebration of lives that too many people have tried to take. Of lives that weren’t their own for so long.
It’s easy with her sister and mother. Natasha’s birthday kicks off the holiday season at the beginning of December, her mother’s capping it off in mid-January. Throw in some deliciously commercialized American Christmas shenanigans and traditional Russian Novy God traditions in between, and it’s a month and a half of non-stop party, usually spent lounging around Melina’s farm.
Her father’s, though — smack-dab in the middle of May — takes a little more planning. Spring is often a hectic time for Yelena, and this year is no exception. She’s called and texted home, but she hasn’t actually seen her parents for several months now, with long back-to-back missions in Cairo and Athens keeping her busy. Thankfully, the last one ended at the end of April: plenty of time to make it back to St. Petersburg.
Unlike her mother and sister, her father is not one to shy away from a festivity. He always goes all-out for her birthdays. Taking her to the Ohio State Fair for her fourth and letting her eat so much cotton candy she puked, much to her mother’s disapproval. Letting her stick temporary tattoos all over her body for her sixth, much to her mother’s disapproval. Buying a cotton candy machine and tattoo gun for her 28th and letting her eat so much cotton candy she puked while giving her a tattoo, much to her mother’s…well, you get the gist.
The point is, birthdays are her father’s jam, and in order to give him the epic one he deserves takes a lot more planning. One involving weeks of preparation, hours of research, and some pleading with her mother to help her pull it off.
And that’s how, on the morning of May 19th, she finds herself dropping through the chimney. Why the chimney? Well, there are three reasons. 1) She’s always wanted to pull a Santa Claus. Duh. 2) She’s always had a flair for the dramatic. Obviously. 3) The chimney is right in front of the recliner her father often drinks his morning coffee in. Jackpot.
“Surprise!” she exclaims as she drops down, pointedly not landing in the disgusting poser position some people in the family seem to be so fond of.
“Lenochka, is that you?!” her father asks, mouth breaking into a wide grin as he looks up.
“No, it is burglar,” Yelena replies, wiping the remnants of soot from her palms onto her pant leg. “Here to steal all the vodka.”
“See, this is why it is important to set the alarms — avoid no-good intruders like this,” her mother says, slinging a dishtowel over her shoulder as she comes in from the kitchen to join them. She gives Yelena a wink before looking over at her husband. “What do you think? Shall we call the authorities or deal with her ourselves?”
“Bah, I can handle her.” Alexei waves her off, setting his mug on the table before crossing the room and wrapping Yelena in a tight hug. “Come here, you. Managed to sneak away after all, huh?”
Yelena smirks as she hugs back, thrilled to see the seed she’d planted weeks prior come to perfect fruition. She’d concocted a story about how she was on a long mission she couldn’t get away from and given an Oscar-worthy performance on the phone about how bummed she was to miss his birthday. It was satisfying to confirm she’d pulled it off.
“No, that was all elaborate pre-meditated facade. Was planning on coming whole time,” she admits.
“Robber and liar, huh?” Her father pulls back, fixing her with a mock-stern look. “Thought we raised you better than this.”
“Nope!” She grins proudly. “It was for good cause, though. Promise.”
Her father chuckles, patting her arm. “Well, in that case.”
“This was only first of many, many surprises,” Yelena says, peering out the window. The sun is getting higher and higher in the sky, thankfully making for a beautiful spring day. “Should really get started if we’re going to get through them all.”
“There’s more?”
Yelena scoffs. “Of course there’s more! I know gift of favorite daughter is enough, but—”
“Ey,” he says, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Is not contest.”
“Correct.” Yelena nods seriously. “Is not really competition when I am clear winner.”
“Yelena, enough of that,” Melina warns from across the room. “She’s not even here to defend herself.”
“Exactly,” Yelena replies, voice cheeky. “She didn’t make it home…”
She hears her mother sigh. Yelena knows without looking at her that she’s crossing her arms, done entertaining her antics.
“Natasha is busy, but this doesn’t mean she doesn’t care,” her father says, tone calm and even. He had a lot more patience for antics. “We love—"
“—us both the same,” Yelena concedes with an eye roll. She’d never admit it, but deep down, that reassurance — stemming from a playful comment or not — still means something. The fact she was loved, first of all, and the fact she could be on the same level as her sister, her biggest hero, in any way. “Yes, yes — I know. It was just joke,” she promises. “But part about there being more was not, so come on, yeah?”
“Have fun. Be careful. I don’t want to see any vomiting or additional ink tonight,” Melina says, eyebrow raised.
“Swear, Mama. We only do that for my birthday,” Yelena says, grabbing her father’s hand, tugging him out the door and toward the woods before Melina can reply and/or swat her with the dishrag. It’s not dissimilar to her childhood spent dragging him to the playground to watch her go down the slide or the pool to see how long she could hold her breath — things he did dutifully and with such enthusiasm it made her feel like the most important person in the world.
She wants to give him that same feeling today.
They start with a brunch spread of Russian favorites she’d set up by a bonfire before dawn: syrinki with honey and jam, blini with caviar, draniki. The main course even consists of reindeer she’d spent the previous day hunting and preparing because, even though she finds it decidedly unpleasant, she knows it’s one of her father’s favorites.
Properly fueled, they move on to activities: swimming in the lake, racing each other up and down the length of it and seeing who can make the biggest cannonball. (She's at a distinct disadvantage with that one considering their respective sizes, but she decides to give him the win. It is his birthday, after all.)
After swimming, she breaks out the fishing poles (a brand-new one for him) and opens a cooler hiding his favorite brand of vodka: an expensive one from Suzdal — somewhere he and Melina had traveled to once for their anniversary. She tosses a few cubes into the water.
“Ice fishing in springtime, you see?” she asks, earning her a laugh as they knock their shot glasses together.
When the sun starts to sink lower into the sky, they pack up their things and start the long walk back to the house, where she’s stashed a cake and a few trick candles for after dinner. She knows she’ll be greeted with the smell of shchi as they walk through the door.
“So…did you have good day? Did it live up to massive hype?” Yelena can’t help but ask as they make their way through the woods, sneaking a glance over at him to gauge his reaction.
“It was best day. Better than hype,” he says, lightly elbowing her in reassurance. Her shoulders relax — she can tell he means it. “Thank you, Lenochka.”
“And you were surprised?” she checks.
“Very.” He nods emphatically.
Too emphatically.
It stops her right in her tracks.
He walks a couple more paces before realizing she’s not following, turning to face her with a furrowed brow. “Lenochka? You okay?”
“You’re lying,” she accuses, narrowing her eyes.
“What? No,” he says, just a little too desperately, a little too quickly. It all but confirms her suspicions.
“Yes, yes — you’re lying,” she doubles down. “I’m trained on this. I can tell. You knew, didn’t you?”
He scratches at his beard. Busted. “Well…”
Yelena’s jaw drops, incredulous. “What part did you know about? That I was going to be home or the vodka or the reindeer or the fishing or…” She trails off because he’s not stopping her and oh god, it’s worse than she thought, isn’t it? “All of it?!” she cries, and he grimaces: the expression of guilt.
“But…but…” she flounders, racking her brain for how she could have possibly failed so spectacularly despite all her careful planning and preparation. She goes through a million different scenarios, finding only one common denominator. “Mama told you, didn’t she?”
He scoffs. “You think I could get your mother to give up a secret?”
He has a point. That woman wasn’t called Iron Maiden for nothing — she knew how to keep confidential information under wraps. And she had fully cooperated in the project, turning the alarms off so she could sneak onto the property early in the morning, reminding her of the vodka brand, telling her the best places on the land to find reindeer. “Then how?”
“You’re not the only one trained to spot liar. Could tell from your voice on the phone you were scheming — same mischievous little tell as when you were tiny,” he says with an amused smile. “Same fiery excitement creeping through no matter how hard you tried to sound disappointed.”
“But the vodka—“
“Heard you ask your mother if you had right brand on phone one night.”
“I whispered! Just to be safe!”
“Super soldier. Enhanced hearing.”
Damn. She’d forgotten about that highly inconvenient detail. “Which is how you heard the—”
“Gun when you shot reindeer.”
“But the new fishing pole—”
“Was billed to me. Were still signed into my account, remember?” he gently elaborates after she spends a few moments blinking in confusion. “From when you bought that pair of sunglasses from same place? You didn’t want to tell your mother you—”
“Forgot my password and lost my credit card again,” she finishes, it all coming back to her. “But she found out anyway.” She scowls, the never-ending responsibility lecture flooding her memory.
“She always does.” Her father nods sympathetically.
“Can’t believe I made you pay for your own present.” She frowns, deflating as she sits against a nearby tree. The common denominator wasn’t her mother after all — it was her.
“Aw, don’t be sad, Lenochka,” he says, dropping down next to her. “It was still very special day. I am very lucky, very happy man”
“But I wanted to surprise you,” she pouts.
“Sorry, Yelena Belova, but Red Guardian is all-knowing,” he says, puffing up his chest and putting on his exaggerated action figure voice — trying to make her laugh, no doubt.
“No, Mama is all-knowing,” she says, attempting to joke back — to not sulk and ruin any more of the day. But despite her best efforts, it comes out flat. She just wanted it to be perfect.
“This is true,” he relents, back to his normal voice. He leans his head against the trunk and looks out at the woods.
“And clearly Red Guardian does not know everything or he would know I have not gone by that name in couple months,” she mumbles, picking at the grass.
“Changed name from Yelena? What do you go by now? Big Bird? Green Bean? Mac, short for Mac and Cheese? Fulfilling childhood dream?” he teases, knocking his knee against hers.
She can’t help but roll her eyes at that, but she can’t help but smile a little, too. “Am talking about last name, Papa.”
“Oh?” He looks over at her curiously. “Belova is no more, huh? What did you change it to?”
“Yours, obviously,” she says, it slipping out so casually, so naturally, she doesn’t think to stop herself.
It hadn’t been some big epiphany, some life-altering decision. One day in Egypt, she just decided to try it out, to see how it would feel, and it felt…right. She didn’t think about all the implications of it then, and she certainly hadn’t thought about all the implications of it now, telling him like this.
But then he’s silent for a beat too long — her father, a man who never stops talking, at a loss for words — and that’s when she knows she’s fucked up. Big time.
Just because she sees him as a father doesn’t mean he sees her as a daughter — not officially, anyway. Not like this.
“Shostakova,” he says, voice quieter than she’s ever heard it.
“Y-yeah,” she stutters. Her stomach drops, and she’s not sure she can keep her promise to her mother not to throw up. “Sorry. I guess…I guess I should have asked first. Discussed it with you.”
“Yelena.”
“Don’t worry — is not legally changed on any document or anything. Is just something I started to say. But I’ll stop. Hate to admit it, but Mama is right — am too impulsive. I just got excited,” she rambles, getting more worked up with every word.
“Yelena.”
She shakes her head, beginning to push herself off the ground. “But should not have assumed you would be okay with it, and—”
“Yelena Shostakova,” he says. And maybe it’s his hand gently grasping her wrist, or maybe it’s his assertive tone, but probably it’s the way hearing him say those two words back-to-back makes her feel lightheaded in a way that’s overwhelming but not at all bad, but she sits back down.
“Yeah?” she asks. Tears burn at her eyes, and she turns her face away, unable to make herself look at him.
And of course, he sees this, and of course, he makes her anyway, lifting her chin to meet his gaze.
“There is no one I would be prouder to share name with,” he says, voice firm.
“But was not mine to take,” she argues.
“How can you take something that is rightfully yours, huh?” he asks, thumbing away the few tears that have managed to escape. “You are my family, Lenochka — is as much yours as it is mine.” She chokes out another sob at that, and he seemingly gives up on his cheek-wiping objective, wrapping her in his arms instead.
They sit like that for a while, engulfed in the soothing sounds of birds chirping, the wind rustling through the trees. She thinks maybe she can hear him crying a little, too.
“Would have told you you could have it long time ago if I had known,” Alexei says, voice uncharacteristically soft. “I didn’t…I never thought you’d want it. That connection to me, after everything…”
Yelena raises her head off his shoulder to look at him, wiping at her eyes as she sniffles. “Well, I do. More than anything.”
“Should have asked,” he says with a small smile, lightly ruffling her hair. “Will not make mistake again. So: am asking now.” He clears his throat. “Second name? Alexeyevna? You want this, too?”
“Yes,” Yelena confirms quickly. “YAS,” she corrects herself. “Those are new initials.”
“They are, aren’t they?” He chuckles.
“Yelena Alexeyevna Shostakova,” she says, trying it out before looking to him for approval. “It really rolls off the tongue, huh? Nice ring to it?”
“Is music to my ears,” he agrees. “New favorite song.”
“Better than ‘American Pie’?”
“Yes. I mean: yaaaas,” he says in the most cringe-worthy tone imaginable.
“Okay, no.” She covers her face, both out of mortification and to hide the amused smile threatening to creep up. She does not want to encourage this. “Please don’t say this ever again.”
“Why not?”
“Is so embarrassing.”
“Bah, embarrassing you is my right as your father.”
“No,” she argues, pressing her hands harder to her face. She’s definitely smiling at that. He was her Papa no matter what names they went by, but it was nice, sharing one. A loud, proud sign to the world that they were family.
“Then it’s my right as person whose birthday it is.”
She uncovers her face at that. “Is your birthday,” she says softly. “And here you are giving me gift.”
“Trust me, Lenochka — is gift to me, too. Greatest gift I could ever ask for.”
“Guess I surprised you after all, huh?” she teases.
“You always surprise me, Lenochka,” she says seriously, kissing her forehead. “Surprise and amaze me.”
She leans her head against his shoulder, watching the sunset.
“My birthday coming up in a few weeks,” she says after a few moments. “Think you can get me early birthday present?”
“Will see what I can do.”
“Don’t tell Mama about second name just yet? She will use it when I’m in trouble and is already scary enough when she yells at me without it.”
He laughs, pulling her close to him. “Secret safe with me, Yelena Alexeyevna Shostavoka,” he promises. “Always safe with me.”
And as the last rays of the sun dip below the horizon, she knows she is — this year and every year after.