The cheerful mask quickly changed to pressed lips. Stas cleared his throat and straightened up in the driver's seat, as if trying to pull himself together and shake off his mood, not knowing what else to do. The words couldn't be taken back, and the unpleasant residue was already settling inside like a thin layer.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I thought if you looked at things from the outside, it might be easier. Maybe I approach what's happening differently because I don't know anything else. I was born this way. The thirst, of course, isn't the same for me as being a werewolf is for you, as father explained, but it's normal and mundane. Maybe one day your relationship with being a werewolf will feel the same."
"I don't know, we'll see. Right now, everything happening terrifies me to pieces. And this is only the beginning of the changes. Tomorrow could be worse—or maybe easier. You can't tell by Kostya; it doesn't seem like he's having any difficulties, and Denis either, if you watch from the outside. But I know that the real struggle is inside. Look at father collapsing today—it's all because of me."
"Don't blame yourself. It happens to everyone. If people never argued, it would be boring."
"You really think so? What's fun about arguing?"
"What did you two fight about this time?"
"Don't say it like Kostya and I are always fighting."
Stas's words touched me because what happened inside our home never leaked outside. Even though we argued with father, it wouldn't be fair to say we were constantly at odds. I loved Kostya, and though living together under one roof was hard because of our different views, I wanted to believe it was just a short phase—that it would end soon and be replaced by peace. Where I craved freedom, father saw possible danger. Barely perceptible, it seemed, but in hindsight, recalling events leading up to Halloween, I realized Kostya knew slightly more about Kserton, and there was indeed reason to worry. Yet being trapped again within four walls when the outside world marked the most anticipated and important year of high school terrified me, because I wouldn't get a second chance to live through this cycle. After all, you can never step into the same river twice. Even a vampire can't—the emotions would already be different. The new would become predictable old, dull, and there would be no pause on the upward loop of time. Perhaps Olga had reached this stage and decided to risk everything. Who knows?
"If I'm wrong, I'll be glad. In any case, now you know what can happen to a wolf when emotions run especially high, and you'll take it into account in the future. If I were you, I'd listen to father in everything. He knows what he's dealing with from experience, and you might not even guess the true reasons spinning in his head. Nobody wishes you harm more than father."
"And you're really eighteen?"
Stanislav gave me a quick, surprised glance, not understanding the sudden question about my age, and slowed down before entering a wide parking lot, densely packed with cars in several rows.
"Yeah, I told you. Same for Diana."
"Then stop acting like you're three hundred years old and giving unsolicited advice."
"Booh-booh-booh," Stas mimicked, and at that moment I really wanted to wipe the all-knowing smile off my classmate's face. But before I could speak again, I looked at the scenery outside the window. I had to blink to make sure I wasn't imagining things. The car stopped on the first row of the parking lot, in front of a tiny building with a single window. On both sides of the building, rows of bright funeral wreaths of every color and size stretched along the street, and in front of them were samples of stone grave markers.
"Are we at a cemetery?" I asked in horror, not understanding how we had ended up there. If this was the beginning of one of Smirnov's ridiculous pranks, I had no desire to participate, especially since my grandmother had recently passed away. My mother sometimes called me in the evenings during the week, even when I was in the hospital, to talk about her day. There weren't many calls, but they existed. Shortly before arriving in Xertoni, for example, Maria had told me she collected grandmother's ashes, and soon there would be a sealed compartment in Rostov with her urn. I realized that process wasn't as quick as I had assumed. The long wait for the plaque and oval photograph took several months. So grandmother's ashes would rest for a few more months in the apartment, on the surface of the oak dresser, next to her favorite crystal glasses, used only on special occasions.
"Yes, in Ksertoni," Stas said methodically, checking if he hadn't forgotten anything in the car while gradually putting his smartphone and keys into his pockets. "I told you we needed to visit mother."
"I thought you meant Olga."
Stas gave a weak smile, unlike anything he'd ever done, and I could hardly tell which thought made him sadder.
"Of course not. I said I'm not looking for her. Olga made her choice, and out of respect for everything she's done for the family, I won't remind her of myself unnecessarily. No matter how hard it is."
"I don't understand."
Stanislav sighed wearily and rested his head on the wheel, as if sending prayers to anyone who could hear, searching for strength.
"We came to my biological mother's, Asya. Today is her birthday."