Splashing water on my face, I try not to think about anything. The airport is obscenely crowded, and there is a surplus of people wobbling and weaving...as if they’ve never walked in their life. I make it through security and go straight to the pickup spot, happy that I don’t have any checked bags. The weather is hot and humid even at six at night. I spot my mom standing next to her beat up purple Ford Escort in black jeans and an ancient Pink Floyd t-shirt. Beside her is a brown man in dark. ”“What you talking about?” she asks, on the edge of denial and not understanding fully.“Yeah, his wife gave it to him enough,” Curtis continues as if not ever hearing the question. “I don’t know, maybe his wife could understand his condition if he was only fucking women. But the guy had to have both. That just sent his wife over the edge.”“I am embarrassed to...” Yulia starts to try and explain, figuring that maybe she can actually open up to someone. In Russia she dares not reveal any of what. More

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