Chapter 4

Still, there’s nothing like the days before New Year’s. Probably the most special time of the year. No matter what sorrows are weighing on your heart, you look around—at people inspired by the approaching holiday, at store shelves piled high with gifts, at the city glittering with New Year’s tinsel—and your mood lifts at once.

I talked to my friend Masha on the phone, wished her good night, and headed off in my beloved Matiz to start a new life. Strange, really. The same city, the same job, my parents right nearby… Yet all it took was moving out of the apartment where I’d lived since I was little, and it felt as if wings had unfurled from my back and carried me along my own path.

By late evening, traffic had noticeably eased and the jams were gone—it felt good just to drive down the lit avenue and think. I stopped at a traffic light across from the city theater and looked out the side window. There, to one side of the broad front steps, stood a tall New Year’s tree—a showpiece covered in snow-white ornaments—and I suddenly remembered walking here with Zhorik a year ago.

We’d planned to celebrate the holiday together, but on December 31, Crocodile Tears had suffered another crisis, and we hadn’t managed to see each other until January 2.

Huh. It had all happened so recently. Zhorik’s guilty eyes, his halting explanation, and yet another declaration of love.

The thought came to me out of nowhere and, of course, instantly took over my thoughts! As if a red warning light had started flashing like a beacon!

I wanted a New Year’s tree. Big and tall, with blue, lilac, and silver ornaments. I wanted one! And a little star on top, covered in glittering frost! And no memories! None at all!

I even fidgeted in my seat with impatience—look at me, having such a brilliant idea! Now I just had to figure out where to get one right this minute.

Hunger came to the rescue. Then I remembered I needed groceries, so I slowed down and turned toward the twenty-four-hour hypermarket.

I’d never complained about my appetite, and I wanted dinner no less than I wanted New Year’s decorations, so I spent an hour in the store. But at least I bought the tree—in a big box—along with ornaments and a bag of groceries. The last one was surprisingly heavy, even though all I’d bought was coffee, tea, tangerines, sausage, cheese, three boxes of candy (what if someone came over? Why not?), a baguette, a little cake, champagne (to celebrate moving in), and a whole kilo of top-quality dumplings!

I loved cooking and was good at it, but it was already late—and besides, tonight I planned to decorate the tree, drink some bubbly, watch a romantic movie, and yes—dance on the rug in my pajamas, trying to get Zhorik out of my head! Now I had my own apartment for three whole months! And I planned to do whatever I wanted in it!

And that was how I left the store, smiling.

My new home was in an expensive part of the city, in one of three identical twenty-story towers visible from far away. I showed my documents to the security guard and drove into the underground parking garage. I stopped in the driving lane, got out of the car, and pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of my short fur coat. On Snow Maiden’s advice, I’d handwritten my parking-space number on it: 89. By that late hour, the garage was already half full, and I had to circle around to find my spot. But I was very surprised to discover a black SUV—a big, beautiful Toyota—parked in the exact space I needed. I stopped in shock, then looked helplessly around. There wasn’t a single person in sight.

Hey! What kind of joke was this? Seriously, people! And parking here cost money—a lot of money! What a disgrace!

A nasty little thought stirred in my mind: kick the SUV’s tire with my boot and set off the alarm of the parking-space thief. But another, more sensible thought reminded me that I was a respectable grown woman, after all! When I was a kid, the boys in the courtyard and I had pelted a director’s car with snowballs, hidden around the corner of the building, and waited for the owner to get tired of running back and forth to shut off the siren. At least we taught him not to park on the playground. But now I was all grown up and living in a luxury building, so I only snorted, exhaled, and left my baby in the guest parking spot, firmly resolved to deal with the Toyota’s owner first thing tomorrow. That was no way to behave!

I unloaded the box with the tree from the trunk, balanced it on top of my suitcase, took the grocery bag in my other hand, and rolled all my belongings to the elevator—still happy, despite the little inconvenience.

As the elevator carried me closer to the apartment, I smiled more and more at my reflection in the mirror. If I could have, I would’ve given myself a thumbs-up, but instead I thought proudly that there was something special about spontaneous decisions—something that took your breath away.

The elevator stopped silently at the right floor, and I stepped out. I set the bags down by the wall, took out my keys, and paused for a second in front of the door. Bracing myself, I unlocked it, went inside, and immediately noticed three things: music playing somewhere behind the wall, a dog barking faintly (was the soundproofing between the neighbors really that bad?), and the light on in the entryway.

Hmm. Unexpected. Maybe Snow Maiden had left it on for me?

I hauled the suitcase over the threshold, followed by the long box and the bag. I closed the door, unbuttoned my short fur coat, took off my boots, and looked around. The built-in coat closet was ajar, too—something I hadn’t noticed yesterday—and the thought that someone had made sure I’d be comfortable made me feel all warm inside. Aw, how sweet!

I thanked the agency in my head and, still smiling, walked over to the living room and threw open the ornate double doors. I called out a greeting to my new home:

“Hi, darling, here I am! Your Fairy! Didn’t expect me?”

Music was playing in the room, but over it I suddenly heard a painful groan—as if someone had caught a finger in a door. Right after the groan came frantic rustling and suspicious little cries of “ow.”

“Who’s there?!” I backed toward the wall, letting out a frightened yelp myself as I slapped my hands along it, searching for the light switch. “Hey!”

When the chandelier came on in a blaze of LEDs, I gasped, my jaw dropping. Right in front of me on the floor was a half-dressed couple in a position I could only describe as “intimacy from below.”

More precisely, a big, unshaven man was fully dressed and hunched in an armchair, while the girl at his feet was wearing a skirt and tights, with her bra pulled down to her waist. As I stared at them, she was trying to decide whether to zip or unzip his fly. Meanwhile, the man was swearing furiously, shielding himself from the light with one elbow and trying to stand up. He finally managed it and fastened the fly himself—but caught the girl’s hair in the zipper at the same time. She let out a howl… and, startled, so did I.

No need to ask me twice. My nerves are shot!

“A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!”

“A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!”