"And how was your first day, little kotenok?"

"It was good. I made two friends." Kira sat in her purple pajamas, swinging her small legs back and forth in the old dining room chair. The polished brown table groaned from the dishes her papa placed on top. Fluffy loaves of bread with fresh strawberry perseveres. Sizzling roasted sausage soaked in gravy with potatoes and vegetables. He finished placing the pickled cabbage and tvorog. She didn't understand why he made so much, he was the only one who liked that smelly cottage cheese stuff so much.

"Oh? You made two already? See, I told you there was nothing to worry about kotenok." The chandelier above was motionless, the lights inside bouncing on the striped green walls in a broken rainbow. Shelves surrounded the edge of the room with pretty china that her papa hardly ever used. If the shelves were opened, she knew to be expecting company, and to be on her best behavior. Papa says he uses it to impress his superiors for military stuff. She didn't know the details. Whenever she asked, he would stroke her hair, saying Not to worry kotenok, my little kitten. It's just silly adult stuff.

He always said that. Just silly adult stuff. "Yeah, you were right papa." She continued to swing her legs, eagers to start eating. Papa was a good cook, her mouth salivated just at the thought of tasting that sweet sausage.

"Sit still kotenok, we'll eat very soon." She ceased with her legs, still clearly jittery and ready to dig in. The creases of his tan forehead showed his concern. He clearly hadn't brushed up, his unruly salt and pepper hair kept tickling his face. Kira chuckled at papa's frustration with pushing it back. He'll most likely get a haircut soon.

Crinkles formed around his stormy gray eyes as he gazed at her, smirking. "You are very excited, no?"

"I'm hungry."

"Yes, I see." He finished adjusting the plates and silverware. "What would you like to drink?"

"Is there anymore ryazhenka?"

"No, kotenok. I'll need to get some more. You finished the last bit of it, remember?" Kira pouted. She loved the taste of the sweet milk. "We have some kompot if you'd like that?"

"Okay." Papa circled around the table, stroking the thick hair on her head before walking through the archway into the kitchen. He was a big fan of stripes, much to Kira's dismay. The white and gray with intertwining diamonds demonstrated his high sense of glamour and taste. His feet clicked on the white tile floor, stopping in front of their tall refrigerator. Out of it, he pulled a glass pitcher filled with a bright red juice. Kompot wasn't fermented milk, but the sweetness of the berries would be enough to satiate her eager taste buds.

Papa approached the table with his usual charm. Those dimples could cause any woman to swoon over him. They always did. He poured Kira's glass. "You only get one glass tonight. After that, you drink water."

"Papa..." She crossed her arms in frustration.

"No 'papa' me. It's no good for children to have too much sugar. You have too much energy as is."

"Humph."

He laughed, circling back to his seat next to hers. Just as he was about to sit down, the telephone rang.

"Ugh. Always with the phone calls. Can never catch a break." Papa shook his head, flashing a wink at his daughter. "Don't worry my kitten, I'll be back in one minute. Go ahead, start counting." He stood up, racing through the archway around the corner for the phone.

Kira pouted. How many numbers is a minute? She took a sip of her drink. I'll just count until he gets back.

"Hello? Yes?"

One, two, three... "Why, what do you want?"

His usually soothing tone was replaced with a much gruffer, huskier one. It must be military things. Just silly adult stuff.

Four... uh, five? Six, seven... "She's with me. What of it?"

It's eight, right? Uh, nine, ten, eleven, twelve... "She's happy here. There's no need to."

What comes after that? One-three? Kira slumped in her seat, twiddling her fingers on the ebony table. Counting is hard.

Papa's voice was getting louder. "No, you listen to me. She is my daughter; she stays with me. I don't care what General Petrov says." He paused. "Insubordination? Oh please." He started throwing out slurs and cursing in Russian, failing to keep his tone down.

Kira began to squirm, her stomach grumbling ferociously. At this rate, her stomach would start eating itself.

What number was I on? Papa told her to count, but she lost her place. "She's fine here. I'm not sending her away. I am taking care of her. There's no need to send her to that place."

Send me where? Was Kira leaving? She didn't want to leave. "Papa?"

He paused, speaking in a hushed tone. She finally heard the click of the phone, her father reappearing with his usual smile. There were no crinkles around his eyes though.

"I'm so sorry kotenok. How long was I? I bet it was under a minute."

She looked down in shame. "I lost count. I'm sorry papa."

He stopped. Instead of taking his place at the table, he came to her side and knelt down. "It's okay kotenok."

"Counting is hard."

"I know, I know. We can work on it together, yes?" He held her chin gently. "Don't look so sad my kotenok. Counting takes practice, and one day you'll be excellent at it."

"Am I going somewhere?"

"Huh?"

"On the telephone. Am I going somewhere? Do I have to leave?" Papa sighed, stroking her head in comfort. His green sweater was fading, the red polka dots now appearing more pinkish. "I don't want to leave papa. Please."

"You're not leaving my little kotenok. Not ever." He firmly clasped her shoulders, desperate to hold onto her. "You will stay here, with me. For however long you like."

"Forever?"

He smiled. The crinkles were back. Warmth radiated from those stormy eyes. Complete silence enveloped them, nothing but the distant ticking of a clock. The whirs of the refrigerator hummed far away. It was just the two of them in this big, empty house. But it wasn't lonely. It was home.

Papa rubbed her back softly. "If you wish, then forever it shall be." Kira swiftly leaned forward, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. His hair tickled her face, but she didn't care. "My little kotenok, sweet little kitten."

The growling of her stomach startled both of them. He laughed heartily. "You are starving, eh?"

"The food's probably cold by now."

"Bah! We can reheat in oven. Then it will be fresh."

"It's not fresh if it's reheating."

"That's where you're wrong." He poked her nose. "Come, you can help me." Papa picked her up to hold her in the crook of his left arm. He grabbed the sausage with his right, singing old hymns and bellowing from the pit of his stomach. It was just the two of them in the corner the kitchen, Kira wanting to fiddle with the stove and Papa frantically pulling her away. Just the two of them.

Forever and ever.

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