Bang, bang, bang!

I awoke with a start to the loud noise echoing from downstairs. Rotating my head to the side, I read my alarm clock:

1:34pm

Sniffling a bit, I sat up and hurriedly laid back down again once the world started to spin. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I closed my eyes and counted to twenty.

Again, three loud knocks from downstairs.

"Coming!" I tried to yell out, but all that left my throat was a hoarse croak. I coughed a little, attempting to clear my throat.

"Com-- coming!" I managed to rip out. I sat up achingly slow, methodical to a "t," and eked over to my slippers resting in front of the heater.

Dragging a blanket from the bed around my shoulders and stepping down the stairs, I made my way to the entryway. Peeping through the hole in the door brought my heart to a solid thumping. Andrei was standing on my doorstep, holding, what looked like, a steaming disposable cup of something liquid.

I hurried to open the door and was met with a blinding smile and crinkled, deep brown eyes.

"Hello, Sam." He held out the cup, "I bring your hot chocolate."

I resurfaced a hand from inside my blanket and clutched the proffered gift.

"Thank you, I needed that this morning," I tried to say, but it came out more like,

"Dank oo, Aye nee-dud dat dis moan-ink."

Andrei's eyebrows pressed downwards.

"You okay, Sam?"

I gently waved the cup in a general sign of dismissal,

"I just woke up, so I'm just feeling a little under the weather right now." Again, the stuffiness in my nose clogged my ability to communicate clearly.

He rested a hand on his leathered hip--leathered?!--and one of his eyebrows rose.

"I think you are not good."

"Not... good? Oh! You mean sick, right? Or unwell?"

His concerned scowl broke into a puppy dog grin,

"Yes! Unwell! You are unwell. Water make you unwell, yes?"

"I mean, I guess maybe it did. I--" a bout of coughing broke off my next sentence, and Andrei startled forward. His hands reached for my shoulders, hesitated for a considerable amount of time, then settled gently along my upper arms.

"I will help. My, uh, uh, uh, problem. No, not problem--"

"Fault?"

"Fault! Yes! You are good with words, Sam."

"My mom was an elementary school teacher. She started me on reading early; I started reading chapter books by second--that's beside the point. Andrei, it's not your fault that I got sick. It was my own, remember?"

He looked at me skeptically.

"No, I'm serious. I was the one who went too far in the water. I was the one who didn't pay attention to the waves, okay?"

"Okay." I nodded, satisfied with his answer, but he continued, "But I need to help you. You need to feel good."

I paused, unsure. What could it hurt? I mean, Sally knew this kid, and practically sang his praises to the heavens, so it shouldn't be too bad if I let him in, right? I didn't really get any red flags from him yesterday, too, so that didn't seem to be a problem, either...

"I mean if it'll help you feel better--"

"Yes! Can I go in?"

"Uh, sure? I guess? Welcome to my humble abode?"

I opened the door wider, and he stepped inside, boots treading lightly over the "Did You Call First?" doormat.

I followed him into the living room, where I stopped slightly to the side as he stood and scanned his eyes over practically everything in the room.

"Can I use your kitchen?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, use whatever you want."

"Okay, you sit here," he patted the back of the worn English leather loveseat and waited for me to sit against the armrest before pulling and tucking the blanket around me, "I will make you gogol-mogol."

He swung through the dining room/office and disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. After a good while, I finished my hot chocolate and got bored of listening to the rustle of cutlery and various kitchen utensils and released one of my hands to grab one of the books off the coffee table pile.

I was just getting to an important plot point when Andrei came back carrying a mug of something steaming. I rested the book pages down on my stomach and took the warm grumpy cat mug from his--odd that I just noticed it--strongly veined hands.

I looked down into the mug and noted the egg nog-like liquid that sloshed and swirled around the cylinder.

"Try it, it will help."

"What is it?"

"American Christmas drink, but Russia."

American Chrismas-- eggnog?

Shrugging, I took a sip of the milky beverage. Sweet and smooth, honey and cream, the warm concoction slipped down my throat and eased the roughness of my pharynx.

"This is delicious, Andrei, thank you." His puppy dog grin slipped back into place as he watched me sip some more Russian eggnog.

"Always, Sam."

My heart skipped a beat. Damn this boy and his smooth ways.

"What is this called, again?"

"Gogol-mogol, you drink when you are sick." He added as an afterthought, "and also as dessert. My uncle has rum in his. Many stories with my uncle. Many, many stories."

I laughed,

"What is your favorite story about your uncle?"

He thought about it for a good minute or two,

"Well, when I was a boy..."

Andrei got very involved in the telling of his story. His arms waved all over the place when he was describing his family members, emphasizing their height, size, posture, way of walking. His facial expressions were to die for, he could transform from his bearded alcoholic uncle to his matriarchal aunt in a heartbeat. His voice rumbled in a deep bass one second then trembled in a high screeching falsetto the next.

I snorted the--goagull-moagull?--Russian eggnog through my nose once, I was laughing so hard, and Andrei had to pause in his story to race to the kitchen and grab a few paper towels. He came back grinning at me and I couldn't help but tap him sharply in the shoulder with my hand.

Once he'd finished his story, and we'd grinned at each other long enough, he looked pointedly at the book still resting on my stomach, somehow unscathed by the gogol-mogol incident.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh," I looked down and set aside my mug, "Nothing special, just a fantasy book I picked up from the library."

"What is the story?"

"It's basically a retelling of the Beauty and the Beast story."

"What is... Beauty and Beast? Explain, please."

Taking a wild gander, I swung my legs away from the other seat of the couch and onto the coffee table. Patting the seat beside me, I stated,

"Come here and I'll tell you."

Andrei's smile twinkled at me in the late afternoon sun, and he stepped around the side of the dark brown loveseat and sat with about a foot of space between us.

As I explained the basic--Disney, not the original--story of the classic tale, Andrei nodded, asking questions about the story, asking for the meaning of words, rephrasing what I said to make sure he understood what I was trying to teach him, and just doing what any well-practiced listener would do.

Once I'd finished, he mentioned that it sounded similar to a Russian adaptation he'd read called the "Little Red Flower." As he explained the story he knew, I was entranced by the novelty of the story. I'd loved reading folktales and such as a child, and different cultural retellings of the fairy tales I grew up with were my bread and butter. The trickery of the protagonist's sisters was a refreshing addition, and made the reuniting of the protagonist with her one true love even sweeter.

"But how is your story different?" He asked, once he'd finished retelling his childhood fairy tale. I walked him through the gist of the storyline so far, him rephrasing and asking questions again.

This boy really knows how to get a girl to like him.

Once I got to the part where I'd stopped, I paused.

"What?"

"That's only as far as I've read, I don't know anymore."

He frowned and rested his chin on his hand.

"We can read together, is that okay?"