This week, whatever may happen, is nothing more than a peekbehind the curtain. A look into an alternate reality where Idon’t scrape to get by at a shitty job with an even shittier boss.A look into feeling wanted and desired instead of forgottenand discarded.
But at the end of this week, I’ll be on a flight back home.
And I’ll never see Nikolai Zhukova again.
“Keep eating. I’ll be back,” he says, dropping his napkin onthe table and standing up.
I wave him away, trying to push away the disappointmentgnawing at my insides. “Yeah, yeah. I’m used to eating alone,anyway.”
Nikolai’s usually graceful gait falters as he walks away fromthe table. Quickly, he recovers and heads towards the kitchen.
And as the kitchen door swings closed, I realize w
