Vlad
There’s nothing worse than moving—unless it’s moving into a rented apartment. With a screaming infant in tow. With a mountain of work problems, incompetent assistants who rented some godforsaken dump instead of a decent place. And just when you think your sanity is hanging by a thread, the bathroom turns into Niagara Falls, and no one at the local utility service picks up the phone. In a panic, I resorted to calling a “Handyman for an Hour” service. Except, instead of a handyman, a girl who looks barely eighteen shows up at my door. Honestly, I wasn’t thrilled about inviting some random guy into my home for repairs, but having a scrawny teenager attempt to save my bathroom? That’s beyond absurd! Under different circumstances, I’d have given a proper dressing-down to everyone within arm’s reach.
But…
But I’ve been a single dad for three days now, with a baby who wails, spits up formula, and hasn’t let me sleep a wink. So, the lecture can wait. Right now, I just need this biblical flood to stop! I can’t imagine what this schoolgirl plans to do about it, but I’m out of options. A little longer, and my downstairs neighbors will be dealing with rain. From their ceiling. Maybe even their windows.
“Almost done!” the girl calls out from the bathroom after just a few minutes.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter skeptically, squeezing past her in the narrow hallway to check for myself. My sock instantly soaks through from the water already pooling on the floor. Hissing “Damn it!” through clenched teeth, I freeze for a moment, standing right in front of her.
She’s tiny, skinny, with a cute face and… wait, are her eyes different colors? One blue, one brown. Interesting.
Even more interesting is that the faucet in the bathroom is behaving like a faucet again, not a mini fountain. It’s shut off, no leaks. Unbelievable!
“How did you… fix it so fast?” I ask, so surprised I even switch to a formal tone.
“It’s my job,” she says with a satisfied smile, dimples popping on her cheeks. Just like little Vlad’s. Speaking of whom, for the first time in three days, he’s quiet, watching her curiously with wide eyes.
“But I need fifteen minutes for the sealant to set. In the meantime, I’ll help you clean up the water in the hallway.”
She finds the mop in the closet without hesitation, rolls up the sleeves of her light sweater, and quickly dries the floor. She works with such ease and speed that I’m momentarily stunned, thinking of all the women I know from “my circle,” including little Vlad’s mom. How many of them would dive into cleaning up a flood like this, no gloves, no hand cream? Probably none.
The moment this “not-quite-a-handyman-but-here-for-an-hour” disappears from sight, Vlad bursts into tears again.
“Hey, why does he cry all the time? When did he last sleep?” she asks, popping up out of nowhere.
“Sleep? Uh… it’s been a while,” I mumble, sounding like a failing student in front of a strict teacher.
“One second! Let me wash my hands!” She vanishes into the bathroom, reappearing a moment later. “May I?” she asks, gesturing toward Vlad, whose face is red from crying, matching the formula-stained onesie he’s wearing.
I silently hand him over. And, miracle of miracles, the apartment falls silent! It’s almost unsettling.
“Where’s your changing table?” she asks.
“Changing… what?” I stammer.
“Got it. Where do you usually change him?”
“In the bedroom…”
Snapping out of my daze, I lead her to the room. How she doesn’t buckle under his weight is beyond me. And she’s even managing to chatter to him sweetly as we go.
“Do you mind if I change him? You can prepare his formula in the meantime,” she says. It’s phrased like a request, but her tone leaves no room for argument. I shuffle to the kitchen, feeling oddly spellbound. I can hear her cooing something sweet to him, and he’s quiet, only letting out an occasional sad sniffle.
When I return with the prepared formula, Vlad is already in a fresh onesie and pants, and a neatly rolled-up dirty diaper sits on the table.
“Found it!” she beams with satisfaction.
“Found what?” I ask, confused.
“Can you grab some scissors? You’ve got baby nail clippers, right?”
“Scissors? Uh, I think so. I’m not sure…” What’s wrong with me? I was furious as hell just minutes ago, and now I’m running errands for some random girl! But… in five minutes, she saved me and my neighbors from a flood, and Vlad is calm around her. He even got changed without screaming. When I change him, it’s like a fire alarm going off.
I can’t find the clippers.
Vlad’s mom, Alina, dropped him off with me three days ago along with a huge bag of stuff. She said, “Sorry, Vlad, but I’m not ready. I can’t do this anymore!” and vanished into thin air. In the bag, I found clothes, diapers, formula (thankfully with instructions), some drops, and creams. But clippers? Maybe in the first-aid kit with the cartoon of an unnaturally cheerful baby on it? Whatever, let her figure it out. I bring her the whole kit.
When I return with it, my strange “guest for an hour” takes it and hands Vlad back to me. He’s staring at her like he’s glued to her! Odd. You’d think he misses his mom, but this girl doesn’t resemble Alina in the slightest. In fact, she’s the complete opposite. Alina is a tall, curvy brunette with bold makeup and equally bold clothes. This girl is petite, slender, blonde, and seems to be wearing no makeup at all. Natural and cute. Not my type, though… Wait, what am I even thinking about?
“A nail!” she announces cheerfully.
“What?” I ask, still lost.
“His little nail wasn’t trimmed. It broke and was hurting him when we put on his socks. We’ll clip it now, clean it with antiseptic, and that’s it. Feed him, change him on time, and he’ll sleep like a baby!” She laughs at her own pun and, a second later, proudly shows me her “trophy”—a tiny, translucent nail in her hand. “Here!” she says, taking my hand to pass it to me. Her touch sends a strange shiver through me. Goosebumps spread from my hand across my entire body.
“And he’ll sleep? Really sleep?” I stammer, unable to believe it’s even possible.
“Of course! Babies sleep a lot! As long as nothing’s bothering them and they’re not hungry! I promise!” she explains in a tone that makes me feel like an idiot for not knowing the basics. Though, to be fair, I am an idiot if my son has been in pain for three days and I didn’t even think to look for the cause.
“I still need to check on the faucet. You feed him and put him down to sleep!” Like a gentle breeze, she slips out of the room. Exhausted, I sink onto the couch and give Vlad his bottle.
I wake up with a stiff back. Of course, I fell asleep sitting on the couch with Vlad in my arms. For the first time in three days, he’s sleeping so peacefully and deeply. Carefully, as if handling a live bomb, I lay him in his crib. He mumbles something in his sleep but doesn’t wake up.
I let out a sigh of relief.
Okay, this girl is a downright magician! Speaking of which, where is she? I should at least thank her! But in the apartment, the only trace of her is a faint whiff of perfume with orange notes and the fixed faucet. On the hallway table, there’s a note: “Didn’t want to wake you. Invoice for services sent to your email, please pay by tomorrow. Sasha”...
No phone number, nothing. No worries, though—I’ve got the agency’s contact!
I dial.
“Hello! I need… Sasha.” That’s all I know about her!
“Sasha Dmitrenko? I’ll get him now.”
“Dmitrenko? Wait, so he’s… a guy?” Now I’m the one babbling nonsense, just like that girl did. “No, I need the girl, the blonde…”
“We don’t employ women! You’ve got the wrong place!” The voice on the other end is firm, and the call ends abruptly…
Well, that’s a bust. But in our family, we don’t give up so easily!