I'm Keeping the Kitten

Nikolai

“Mama, pochemu ty eto delaeshʹ dlya menya!?” I stormed into the guest bedroom like a mini-maelstrom, tears streaming from my eyes, overcome with anger, the likes of which I was unfamiliar with, and a deep feeling of betrayal. “Vy lgali mne! Vy skazali mne, chto vy podderzhivali menya!”

Mama looked up from her book, a deep frown settling on her face. She sighed and closed the text, rubbing the bridge of her nose and running her fingers through her dark hair. “Nikolaĭ , detka, ty dolzhen ponyatʹ eto dlya vashego zhe blaga.”

I stared at her blankly, disbelieving. Gallagher hadn’t spoken to me since the conversation with my mom and our father, and now here one of the only people I thought supported my decisions was saying this was for my own good.

“No v Rossii—”

“No my ne v Rossii, i zdesʹ lyudi budut suditʹ o vas. Tak zhe, kak tvoĭ otets , i ya ne vizhu tebya bolʹno , kak eto. I vy budete bolʹno. Lyudi budut hlopatʹ dveryami v vashi litsa i pozvonitʹ vam nechetnye ili nyeestestvenno.”

“No mama—”

“Nikolaĭ , pozhaluĭsta. Moi ruki svyazany zdesʹ, yesli vy vozvrashchaetesʹ domoĭ. Prosto zaĭdite na terapiyu.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, knowing my arguments would mean and change nothing. Not wanting to be around her any longer, I left the room and went to my own, shutting the door behind me and curling up on my bed. Timcanpy and Pooka nuzzled into my stomach, Timcanpy moving up to run his rough tongue along my cheek, pawing at me gently.

“Chto my budem delatʹ teperʹ?” I whispered and the kitten stopped to stare at me, his ears fluttering. For several moments we gazed into each other’s eyes before he mewed forcefully and swiped his claws across my nose, opening thin cuts along the bridge that bled only somewhat.

I closed my eyes and wished myself miles away from here, somewhere no one’s harsh judgments could touch us and Gallagher and I could be together.

The Next Day . . .

The building where my new therapist’s office was, was small but impressive looking, grand but muted. As it turned out, my brother and I had different therapists, his was a younger man, mine a woman in her mid-thirties.

Dr. Nolan was still young and pretty, her sea-green eyes wide and cheerful, long blond hair arranged into neat waves that suited her well. She seemed nice enough, and hugged me when we first met, immediately asking me if there was anything besides Nikolai I preferred to be called. When I said Nika, she automatically agreed and began using it.

She sat across from me on a leather couch much like the one I was seated on, legs crossed at the ankles, leaning forward slightly.

“So you’re from . . . Russia?” She guessed, looking down at the little clipboard in her hands. I nodded and smiled slightly.

“Did the accent give me away?”

“Just a little. Plus your name is Nikolai Kirov, a very Slavic name.” I giggled slightly at her and nodded, lapsing back into silence. “Your father told me he sent you into therapy because he . . . caught you and your brother having sex?”

A light flush bloomed on my cheeks and I swallowed laboriously. “My half-brother Gallagher and I are in love . . .we were nearing the actual act but were . . . interrupt by our father.”

“Ah, so you’re half-brothers. Did you and Gallagher grow up together?”

“No. I never knew he existed until my mama . . . kicked me out, and I went to live with my father. So I never really had . . . ‘brotherly’ feelings for him. My best friends are like my siblings, Lettie, Johann, Mahi, Tyki . . . but not Gallagher. I liked him from the day we met. Even though he hated me at first.”

She nodded, not looking at all disgusted or judgmental. “Tell me the story of your relationship.”

Taking a breath, I launched into our personal love story, alternately smiling from joy or bringing myself to the verge of tears. I loved him so much, what was so wrong about that? Why couldn’t he see that all love is a wonderful blessing?

“May I be blunt with you, Nika?” Dr. Nolan asked after considering for a few minutes. I nodded, somewhat nervous about her response. “I don’t see anything wrong with what you two are doing. You’re half-brothers and you can’t produce biological children from your union. You sound very much in love and both consenting. You’re both, technically, consenting adults now and really, if you’re happy together, no one should be able to judge you. Love is an amazing thing. If you were a woman, though, I would caution you not to reproduce because of possible genetic mutations, but since you’re both boys . . . I know our society doesn’t agree and generally take a strong stand against incest, but I support you, and I think that’s really what you need.”

I couldn’t help smiling and giving my therapist a huge hug. “Thank you,” I murmured, squeezing her and grinning. She laughed and nodded, saying not to thank her, it was the honest truth.

“Now that that’s out of the way . . . do you want to talk about something different?”

“What about my father?”

“I can tell him that we’ve spoken and I think you’re going to be a hard nut to crack but we’re taking baby steps toward recovery, if you like. I can’t tell him what you said because of doctor-patient-confidentiality, and since you’re an adult, but that I can.”

“Would you?”

“Of course!”

I could only hope Gallagher’s therapist was as accepting.