“Mom, why does Grandma say she’s not my grandma?”
“Because she’s not your grandma, sweetheart.”
“How come she’s Bodie and Kostya’s grandma, but not mine? They’re my brothers, what’s wrong with that?”
“Sonya, you have different fathers. That’s why my mom is a grandma to you and your brothers. But their grandma and grandpa on their dad’s side aren’t yours.”
“Then where are my grandma and grandpa on my dad’s side? It’s not fair that they have two grandmas, and I only have one.”
“Your grandma and grandpa live far away, in the same place as your dad. They’ve never seen you. But they exist. They send you gifts for Christmas and your birthday. That’s just how it is. The world is big. When you grow up, you can visit them if you want.”
“I want to now, not later.”
“Do you remember that you’re a princess?”
“Yeah.”
“Princesses are patient and plan years ahead. For now, you can start writing letters to your grandma. But your spelling isn’t great yet. What if she doesn’t want to write back because she can’t understand what you’ve written?”
“How do you always turn everything into a lesson, Mom?”
“Well, it’s up to you. You don’t have to study—then you won’t need to meet your relatives either. They’re respected, educated people. Why would they want a family member like that?”
“Ugh, don’t pressure me. I get it. Do they even understand our language?”
“A little. But you should work on your English too. Where they live, hardly anyone will understand you if you don’t know English.”
It’s like déjà vu. My mom taught me how to be a princess in almost the same way. Only she didn’t believe in me. She just did what she thought was necessary.
My mother is a sad, perpetually busy woman who’ll carry the weight of her grandchildren until retirement... maybe even until their retirement.
Because she still carries a sense of guilt. Even though it’s me who let her and Dad down, more than once.
The first time was by being born the way I was. I couldn’t stand on my feet or keep my balance.
My parents are tall, athletic, perfectly healthy people. But my legs don’t work so well.
They did everything to make sure I didn’t stand out from other kids. Several surgeries on my tendons, custom-made shoes, summers at seaside sanatoriums. They spared no expense, but I could tell they were a little ashamed of me.
All those gatherings and hiking trips where they’d first leave me with Grandma, and later alone at home with a stocked fridge and strict orders not to go outside. I knew I couldn’t hike in the mountains or raft down rivers, but I felt they were hiding me from their friends for more than just that reason.
And they never had any more children after me.
One day, I came home with a friend. Mom happened to be there.
We started talking over each other, describing this lavish, beautiful wedding we’d seen. We said ours would be just as grand, if not more so. Only Valya wanted to lay carnations at the Eternal Flame, while I wanted roses. We argued a bit and decided to ask Mom for her opinion.
Mom thought for a moment, grew somber, and said that gerberas look nice too, and gladioli are flowers for men, since the Unknown Soldier is a man.
Valya played with dolls at our place for a bit longer, then ran off to do her homework. Mom watched me for a long time as I fidgeted and dawdled, not wanting to study but eager to watch cartoons.
Then, very seriously, she called me into her office.
Her office is full of blueprints and diagrams. You can’t touch anything, or everything will get mixed up, and there could be a disaster in space.
With my usual trepidation, I walked around her desk and sat on the couch under the balcony.
Mom sat across from me, took my hand, and very quietly began to tell me something strange.
“Listen and don’t interrupt. You dream of a wedding and a beautiful dress. But that might not happen.”
“What do you mean, Mom? Everyone gets married. You married Dad.”
“You’re not everyone. You’re an enchanted princess.”
“Oh! Did an evil witch put a spell on me?”
“Yes. She’s very wicked and cast a spell so that boys, and later men, won’t see you. They’ll look right through you. And if they can’t see you, they can’t love you or marry you. Don’t cry. This isn’t a death sentence.”
“I’m not crying. I know that in fairy tales, princesses always have a happy ending.”
“Yes. But not a happy beginning. You can’t be just an ordinary girl anymore. You have to learn to be a princess. Because we don’t know when the spell will break, and you need to live now. Your father and I won’t be around forever. You have to become independent.”
“How?”
“First, take everything you can from your education. If you don’t have great talent, make up for it with persistence. And also—you’re a bit careless right now, and not always polite or friendly. Princesses can’t afford that. So starting today, you’ll be polite to everyone. From the neighbor’s dog that barks nonstop to every person you meet.”
“But you told me not to talk to strangers or go anywhere with them.”
“I did. And I’ll say it again. But that doesn’t mean you can behave rudely.”
“I don’t really get it.”
“That’s okay, not everything at once. From now on, I’ll read you stories before bed about the Horse’s Head and the little princess Seyra. You’ll understand and remember everything.”
“Okay, Mommy. I want the spell to break soon.”
“Your only salvation is to return to this world with your strongest side. And we still need to find that side, then develop it.”
“Did you do that too, Mom? Did you find your strongest side?”
“Yes, I had to.”
“What’s your strongest side?”
“I’d rather not tell you right now. Because you might want to develop the same thing in yourself. But it might not be yours. You have to find it within yourself. For some, it’s intelligence; for others, physical strength, beauty, kindness, even anger or disdain—anything that’s truly yours and in which you surpass others.”
“I’ll look for it.”
“We’ll look for it together. I’ll help you.”
And that’s how it happened. We searched and we found it.
Only much later did I learn that on that day, they suspected my father had cancer.
“I’m not afraid of anything when I’m on Daddy’s shoulders\\ We’re the best of friends on this crosswalk together.”
***
I never became a straight-A student. I still make glaring spelling mistakes and I’m not great with numbers. But I keep writing poems in thick notebooks and albums. My dad gave me my first one. Later, many people gifted me albums for my poetry. I’ve collected about ten of them—a complete anthology of my work.
I love writing poems about love, but when it comes to reading, I prefer mysteries, guessing who the culprit is.
I’m also always neat, my hair carefully styled, always smiling. My modest wardrobe is thoughtfully curated—everything matches, everything’s high quality. I regularly visit the dentist, the doctor, the hairdresser, and the nail salon. Mom said that’s a strength too. And I’ve developed it.
People probably see me as not very bright, but a friendly, pretty blonde who smells of freshness, vanilla, or cinnamon. Because I’ve also discovered my knack for cooking—I can whip up not just a hat or a scandal out of nothing, but a full meal too.
But that came much later.
My greatest strength is caring for others. That’s normal for a princess. It’s not always easy, but that’s how all royal families live.
Only Mom didn’t teach me everything. She wanted me to develop my talents and ask higher powers to give me everything I needed in life in return.
But my classmate Valya convinced me that wasn’t enough.
“Until you create the right conditions, no higher powers are going to help you!”
“Why not? They’re higher powers—they can do anything, and I behave well and ask politely.”
“Oh, I despair with you, my silly little princess. What do you want most of all?”
“To get married, have a beautiful wedding, a lace dress, a groom in a black suit with a bow tie, and kids—healthy and smart, not like me.”
“Good for you. But how’s your groom supposed to find you? At school, or by flying past your window like Karlsson-on-the-Roof?”
“Oh, you’re so right, Valya. I don’t want a Karlsson. And at school, it’s either old teachers or boys who aren’t exactly husband material. They only just stopped teasing me.”
“Where’d you pick up that ‘oh,’ I’d like to know? You’re a born-and-bred Kyivite, not some shepherd girl from the Carpathian Mountains. Never say that again. It makes you sound common. And you’re not common. Look at yourself in the mirror. Are there shepherd girls like you? Maybe porcelain ones in Grandma’s china cabinet. And even they don’t say ‘oh’ every other word. They don’t say anything at all.”
***
Sigh, she’s right. Since then, I’ve tried to hold myself back. But I don’t always succeed. I don’t know where I picked it up. It’s just such a versatile word—fits for joy, surprise, agreement, disagreement, anything. Such a nice word, but not for princesses.
Princesses have a lot of restrictions.
And they’re not easy to follow, especially if you’re a not-so-wealthy princess with a tiny kingdom where everyone depends on you and your ability to rule.
Foreign and domestic policy, budgets, and funding sources. How can you manage without an ‘oh’ here and there?
***
Back then, I was still far from my little kingdom. But that was when I took my first real step toward it. Not just asking the universe to give me something.
“Just think—they never let you go anywhere alone. And even if they did, you can’t dance, or come up with something clever or funny on the spot. You’re beautiful. But you know…”
“I know. Mom said the same thing—they all look right through me and keep running.”
“Exactly! So what do we need?”
“What?”
“For them to stop and take a good look at you. Because once they really see you, it’ll be a whole different story.”
“I know you’re smart and experienced, Valya. You’ve already figured something out, don’t torture me, just tell me.”
“You just have to swear you won’t rat me out. Because neither of us will get a pat on the head for this. Your parents might be horrified.”
“What have you come up with? I’m not doing anything bad.”
“It’s not bad. But it’ll look that way. You’ll be doing something that’ll lead to a wedding and kids. Healthy ones. But to your parents, it’ll seem unacceptable. They think you’re clueless just because you’re not great at algebra. And they don’t let you go anywhere because you’re beautiful, naive, and helpless. Plus, you’re as kind as Mother Teresa.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But at this rate, I’ll never meet anyone.”
“That’s what I’m saying! We need them out of the way, but also to make sure no harm comes to you. I’ve thought it all through.”
And she really had thought it through. When my parents went on vacation, and Grandma had already passed away that year, Valya and I placed an ad in the local paper to rent out a room in our apartment.
Our neighborhood is prestigious. No riffraff (Valya’s no princess, she can use words like that) would come here—they wouldn’t have the money for a room in Kyiv’s historic center. We could also screen out the old, the married, and the infirm.
And within a month, whoever rented the room would surely notice me.
Later, Valya added that once he noticed me, I’d need to charm him if he didn’t figure it out himself. Then, surprise—my parents walk in, the guy’s in his boxers, where’s he going to run from a beautiful princess, a luxurious apartment, and furious parents?
Well, can you believe it? Who else has such a clever friend? At first, she looked right through me too. That’s why she understood what needed to be done.
***
DANYLO
Well, can you believe it? Who else has a father who can humiliate his only son with a single word and declare that he considers him a nobody?
“Dowry” is something given for a bride, not a groom. He might as well have said “bride price.”
And then he wonders why I don’t want to live with my parents or inherit those fortunes, “factories, houses, steamships.”
I can thank them for one thing—they trained me well in childhood. Even Jesuit colleges don’t teach you how to keep a poker face and do your own thing like they did. I’ve got good genes. Otherwise, I’d have grown up a spineless yes-man, a lackey in my father’s business.
Because they never let me take the wheel, and they never will. They’d just plop me in the director’s chair to be the face of the company. Because my face is just right for it—masculine yet refined, no glasses or gimmicks needed, and it inspires trust.
I’d say it’s the face of a true con artist. But who’d ask my opinion?
I always dreamed of a profession tied to risk. But who’d let the only heir, born to them almost in their old age, take any risks?
They got me a “white ticket” to dodge the draft, even arranged a disability pension for me, and during conscription time, they shipped me off to Europe. “Travel, son, study, gain some international experience, you’ll manage our foreign branches.”
Your son, not being a fool, squandered his best years abroad. I left a trail of smoke behind me with wild times, even wilder girls, and buddies eager for a free ride.
One good thing—there, I could train and even take up mountaineering without Mom’s hysterics or Dad freezing my cards. Mountaineering teaches you fast to only keep friends who won’t cut your rope if you slip.
And all my partying went out the window (see, that Jesuit upbringing—even in my thoughts, I curse politely).
That’s when I decided to truly break free.
But just as I was about to join the Foreign Legion and escape their suffocating control for good, they tracked me down, put me on a tight leash, and hurriedly married me off to a poor but virtuous girl from a decent family—Mom picked Galya herself.
I was quite the guy, but my folks clipped my wings just as I was taking off, gave me a proper haircut, dressed me in a suit, and put me to work. Is this even a life?
So now, here we are.
Galya turned out to be a spoiled prude with her precious virtue at thirty, claiming she saved it for unworthy me since high school (unbelievable, right?), and I don’t appreciate it.
And she’s right—I don’t appreciate it one bit.
I don’t value a shrew who can’t support herself and is proud of it. She sold herself for money and social status, yet thinks she bought me too. I warned her, begged her, pleaded with her not to agree to this marriage.
So why’s she offended now? Galya caught me stepping out again, got furious, and had an abortion.
Fatal mistake. Now even my parents won’t protect her. They wanted her for breeding and an heir. And when she finally got pregnant after so many failed attempts, she went and ruined it all herself.
Adios, Galya.
Now I’m a free bird again. And the fact that in your tantrum you smashed up my baby and slashed her tires—well, there’s a repair shop for that, they’ll fix her up.
Only I’m not used to riding in such cramped spaces with just anybody. That’s how Mom raised me. Have I really inherited their snobbery along with their genes? These are normal people here. Probably. I hope. Just the smell from that guy...
Oh, and that blonde in the stylish hat—maybe she’s got her car in the shop too. An otherworldly vision. The kind who’d get pregnant just from hanging your pants nearby. And she’d give birth easily—look at those hips, clearly built for motherhood. My mom’s like that. Graceful, everything in the right place, tall but not too broad.
She carried me without issues and gave birth in an hour. Even breastfed me for a year. Wasn’t afraid of losing her figure.
I’m an ungrateful jerk for not being able to get along with her. When I was little, I practically worshipped her.
Oh, a seat opened up next to the doll in the boater hat.
“Mind if I sit here?”—she’s looking out the window, maybe she doesn’t hear me? Lost in thought. What do such beauties have to think about? Probably her boyfriend, something naughty. Look how she’s blushing. Pure sweetness.
Lucky guy, whoever’s with her. You can tell right away—she’s not a shrew, and she’s not one to stick to a schedule scribbled by some gynecologist when passion strikes.