Perfect Night

“Grandad, where are my car keys?”

Silence.

“Grandad?”

I applied my “seductive” perfume and rushed downstairs. With each step, the aromatic, icy, citrus notes rose to meet me. He wasn’t in the kitchen. He wasn’t in the living room. In fact, I couldn’t find him anywhere in the house. It was dinner time, so I went to check the backyard. For some reason neither my mom nor I understood, he ate only outside regardless of the weather, regardless of the season. I brushed it off on him being Soviet savvy. He sat hunched over the table, spine curved like a question mark, having his own private huddle with food.

“Grandad.”

He dropped his fork and jumped in his chair.

“My god. Don’t sneak up on an old man like that.”

He put his hand on his chest. I smirked. Old people are so dramatic.

“Have you seen my keys?”

“What keys? From the house?”

“No. Car keys.” I gestured vaguely at the steering wheel, imitating the sounds of the car.

“Have you checked on the kitchen table?”

“Yes.”

“Have you checked your jeans pockets?”

I didn’t.

“I did, but you’re right, maybe I should look again.”

After going through several jeans’ pockets, I eventually found the keys to my Ford Focus in my bleached-out jeans. Those certainly needed a wash. In my twenty years of life, I still couldn’t understand this superpower of my relatives. How could they know where things were without even being there? I went back down to check on Grandad and found him on the porch smoking his big cigar — the one he was forbidden to touch. He looked thinner every day. The sweater hung loose on his frame.

“Did you find them, bud?”

“Yeah, I did. They were on the kitchen counter.”

“Really?” He scratched the back of his head. “Never saw them there. I guess the age is catching up.”

“I guess so.”

“Where are you going, sport?”

“Just outside the city. To the club with friends.”

“The club? I didn’t know you liked clubbing.”

I hated it.

“Yeah, at times, it’s nice.”

“Well, have a good night. Will you be back late?”

“I might.”

We sat there for another five minutes, not talking. He was finishing his cigar, and I just sat there weighing the pros and cons of going out. Going there just to get drunk, maybe get into a fight, come back who knows when — it didn’t sound like a good weekend to me. I’d already promised my friends I’d come, but I still couldn’t lift myself out of this chair.

Grandad coughed.

“You okay?” I asked.

He waved me off. “Fine, fine.”

But he clearly wasn’t, as I saw the hand pressing against his ribs in attempts to catch a bit more breath. I wanted to ask whether he took his medications today, but I knew my request would be ignored.

“Aren’t you going to be late?”

“Maybe me being late is actually a good thing.”

“Why?”

It was the first time in a while that we’d actually had a conversation. Usually, it ended with “How are you, kiddo?” “Good, and you?” “Good, still alive.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t feel like going.”

He leaned back in his chair, stubbing out a cigar in the ashtray, his hands shook slightly. “I loved going out. Back when I was your age, I used to do this all the time.”

“Really? I would’ve never guessed.”

He laughed and coughed again. Harder this time, I watched his hand clench into the armrests. “Kiddo, I used to party harder than anyone you know, probably. At that time, we didn’t have much else to do.”

I hummed back.

“In fact, I remember a time when I was twenty-three, or twenty-four — don’t really remember — and I also didn’t want to go to some party.” He paused, “Ended up being one of my favorite nights. Maybe you’ll have a great one today, too.”

“I never do. I always end up bored, feeling out of place and just…wrong.”

“I thought you liked it, no?”

I pretended not to hear him.

“It’s just useless. And stupid.”

He waved me off. “You just never had a good night. Or a good company.”

“I don’t think there could be a good night.”

“There could.”

He leaned back in the chair, eyes slightly distant.

“Around fifty years ago, my friend Yura came to my house right after my shift. I used to be a bus driver for some time — don’t know if mother told you. And then–”

“Granddad, sorry, I must go. You’re right, it’s about time. Tell me about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh, okay. Go, pal.”

Every time I left home, I felt this guilt of leaving an old man alone for the whole day. It ate me alive, every single time. And when I drove back, in the back of my mind, there was this little whisper: What if he’s gone already? What if I didn’t spend enough time with him? Right now, that thought was the only thing in my mind. 20:30. I was supposed to be approaching the club already. Alright, screw it, running twenty minutes late won’t do much. I turned the key and put the car in reverse. Grandad used to pick me up from school. Every time he was the one to come and get me, we’d sneak off to McDonald’s just to skip Grandma’s food. He’d order me fries and a Happy Meal toy, get himself coffee, and we’d sit there together like we were breaking a law. The age caught up to him. But the eyes that lit up a minute ago when he talked about that night fifty years ago belonged to the same person. What if tonight was the last time I’d see him alive? I stopped. Turned the car off. I sent a text to my friends: I’ll be late. A minute later, I was standing in front of him again.

“You know, Grandad, I don’t really want to go. I sat there in the car, and I just… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, grandson. You can always stay in.”

“Can you tell me a bit more about that night?” I paused. “Maybe it’ll change the way I look at things.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“It’s late, pal. You should go,” he paused, “Your friends are waiting.”

“They can wait.”

He shook his head. “It’s just an old man getting nostalgic, nothing special.”

“Sounded special to me.”

He placed a hand against his chin, looking somewhere on the horizon.

“Bud, you’re right — it was different times, and different people. Maybe right now, it’s harder to find a good company.”

“Maybe I’m wrong. Tell me”

He hesitated.

“Please, Grandad. I really want to hear it.” I stood up. “Should I get us some tea? Your favourite with chamomile.”

His eyes softened. Still doubtful, but softer.

“I wouldn’t mind a cup.”

“Let’s go inside to the living room. The mosquitoes are going to be everywhere soon.”

He smiled faintly, “Okay, okay, sport.”

I placed the cups of tea on the table and sat down across from him.

“So, you said it was the night after your shift?”

He took a long, loud sip. Set the cup down carefully.

“Yeah, that’s right. Your old man didn’t have an education, but I did have a driver’s license. In Odessa, it was hard to find a job, but I knew a guy who knew another guy, and it somehow worked.”

“Was it also in the summer?”

“Yeah. It was.”

He stared into his tea.

“What made that night so special for you?”

He looked up. “Good food, good people, good music.”

“Is that it?”

That couldn’t have been it. I knew it. He knew it.

“Yeah, I just…tried a lot of different things that night. It made it special.”

“Tell me more. Right now, I’m absolutely repulsed by the idea of the clubs. So, maybe you can tell me something different.”

He studied me. He was considering it now.

“You really want to?”

“Yes.”

He sighed, and the cough followed. Wet and hard.

I leaned forward. “Grandad–”

He waved me off, catching his breath.

“Alright. Alright.” He paused, gathering himself. His voice was rougher now. “It was around fifty years ago. I haven’t met your grandmother yet either. I just came back from the shift, and all I wanted was just some good sleep.”

The bell continued to ring; whoever was out there had no patience. I heard arguing behind the door.

“Young man, do you live here? I have never seen you in my life.”

“Miss, don’t worry about it.”

“If you don’t tell me where you live and show me your identification, I will call the police.”

“Would you?”

Muffled talking, mixed with the relentless ringing. I opened the door to find my friend Yura arguing with my neighbor Zina.

“VANYAAAAA!” His scream made both of us jump.

“I knew it. I knew this hooligan came to you, Ivan. I will tell everything to Ira. You can’t bring people from outside here. She will kick you out.”

“Miss, maybe you could go for a walk or something. Let old friends rest up.” He threw a hand on my shoulder and let half his body into my apartment already.

She gasped. “Who do you think you are? That’s it. I’m calling the police.”

Yura rushed to her, his tone suddenly apologetic.

“Miss, maybe I should give you my mother’s number instead? No need to involve pigs.”

“Alright, that would do.”

“Okay, the thing is, though–” He paused. “She’s dead.” He slammed the door in her face and dropped to the floor, dying from laughter. From the hallway, we heard: “HOOLIGANS! IRA WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS!” Her footsteps stomped away.

“Was that actually necessary?”

He lifted himself up, giving me a half hug. His breath was sour like something had turned. A smell of old spit with booze, “Of course, it was, Vanya.”

Yura kicked off his shoes and invited himself into the room like it was his apartment, not mine. I followed him. He dropped onto the couch, spreading his arms across it.

“So how much time do you need?”

“Time for what? I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“Oh, come on.” He waved me off, “You know why I’m here.”

“No, I actually don’t. I just had an eleven-hour shift, and the only thing I know is that I want to sleep.” He pressed his lips together and blew a loud, wet raspberry, “What sleep? It’s Friday night in Odessa. Not going out tonight is pure disrespect. To me. To the city. To the culture.”

I burst out laughing, “What are you talking about?”

“No, no, don’t laugh. I’m risking my safety here, provoking cops, and you tell me you need some sleep?” He leaned forward, “Bullshit.”

“Brother, I have work tomorrow. I can’t sleep in.”

“Nobody says you have to.” He pulled the bag he’d brought with him. “You’re sick. And I’m here to bring you medications.”

“That won’t work with my boss.”

“It will.”

He grabbed a scarf from my closet and pulled it over his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes visible. Then he picked up the phone, cleared his throat, and practiced the cough. “Hey…it’s me.” A deep, convincing cough. “Yeah, man, I don’t know. Woke up and…eh-hehm…just…cough…feel like trash. Been up since four, didn’t get any sleep, just have been coughing non-stop…cough.”

I smirked, “Okay, genius. What about the doctor’s note?”

“Brother, remember that medical student I’ve been seeing for a couple of weeks? She’s joining us today. We’ll ask her.”

“She’s not even a doctor.”

“Not yet.” A grin appeared beneath the scarf.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitching. Yura saw it.

“Come on, man. It’s our city. It’s our night.”

I looked away, shaking my head, but the smile hung there. I thought about the shift tomorrow­–the same routes, the same stops. I truly hadn’t seen Yura in a long time. I couldn’t even remember the last time we went out, or I did anything except work, sleep, eat, repeat.

“You know, when you are thinking, you press your tongue against the inside of your cheek. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you got a mini dick in there.”

I couldn’t hold it any longer. “Fine, scumbag. You win.”

“Yes! That’s what I like to hear.”

“But brush your teeth. Your breath stinks.”

We stood in line. Me, Yura and his girlfriend, whom he never called a girlfriend. I didn’t even know her name. From where we stood, we couldn’t even see the door. Just a queue of bodies pressed together. The club sat wedged between an apartment block and a vegetable market that immediately vanished as soon as the clock reached 3 PM. Yura wanted to cut in line, but I wasn’t looking for a fight today. Here, the guys don’t let you slide with that. Right in front of us, a group of young guys in tracksuits passed a bottle in a paper bag. We asked for a sip. They ended up being far less scary than they looked. Those were not actual hooligans, more like small-time toughs. I took a couple of sips and wiped my mouth with my sleeve. Anything to calm my nerves. Being surrounded by so many attractive girls made me more nervous than the idea of getting into a fight with the wrong guy today. I caught one girl’s gaze — curly hair, red skirt, leaning into the arms of some guy whose stare fixed on me. I looked away.

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not.”

“Brother, I know you. Talk to me, what’s up? Oh, by the way, have you met Alina?”

He pulled her forward, placing her between us. “This is the girl who’s going to help you.”

“Hi.”

“Hi! Nice to meet you.”

“Dear, tell me­ — should a guy like Vanya be worried?”

She giggled. She was noticeably more drunk than either of us. “Worried about what?”

“Oh!” He pointed at her. “Key words. Worried about what?”

“I’m not worried. I’m just a little tense.”

Yura put his arms around my shoulders like he was loosening my muscles before throwing me into the boxing ring. He whispered in my ear: “All these guys look like they just came out of the plant. You’re good, brother. Calm down.”

I shook him off, “I’m alright, don’t worry.”

As we entered, the heat hit me first. The spilt beer and the cigarette smoke caught up later. Also, the notes of something sweet I couldn’t name. A perfume, maybe. People were screaming, laughing, and dancing all at the same time. The music was in a language none of us understood. English, maybe Italian. It didn’t seem to bother Yura; he screamed the lyrics anyway. The floor was sticky. To make a proper step, I had to peel off my shoe from the ground every single time. The more I looked around, the more overwhelmed I became. Faces mid-drink, mid-kiss. I stepped off the dancefloor and found a quieter corner. Yura rushed over.

“Wha’sh you doin’?”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I said: What are you doing?”

“Just chilling.”

“Alone? No, brother, take this.” He handed me a bottle of wine. “Take it. It’s yours. You need it.”

“I don’t man. Maybe I should go?”

“We just got here. What, go?”

Alina pulled Yura onto the dance floor, where he disappeared into the crowd. I opened a bottle of wine and took a sip. I shouldn’t have come. It’s always like this. I watched the girls in the bright dresses brushing their shoulders one against each other, letting themselves savor the night. These weren’t the same women you see at the cashier desks or on the bus. These ones felt more open. More secure. The dancefloor was mostly women. The guys stood in the corners, each one watching his girl. After another sip, the courage to approach someone woke up in me, then quickly left as I realised I could approach the wrong girl and end up eating concrete. Another sip. I looked at the bar. A guy elbowed his way forward, slammed his glass down and demanded another. The bartender poured something transparent into his cup, clearly hoping the bill would get paid. My eyes drifted to the dancefloor again, namely to a tall brunette in a greenish dress. I’d noticed her in the queue. She’d entered with another guy — tall, clearly more muscular than me. I knew looking at her any longer could be very expensive for my body. But I couldn’t stop. An ABBA song came on. Her body found the beat before anyone else. With each inflexion of the music, each note, her hips answered. Light steps in the circle, a barely noticeable tilt of her head from left to right. Eyes half-closed, half-looking. Others were just left staring there, witnessing her dictate the pulse of the room and forced to adapt to the temperature of her own heat. She caught me looking just for a second and turned her back to me. Should I try? The lights kept on flashing. She’s with someone, a guy twice your size. You don’t even know where Yura is. But I couldn’t stop watching. At the way she moved. At her curly hair. At these fragile arms raised to the ceiling. I took another sip. Fuck it. I stepped forward.

As she massaged the tension from her neck, a single drop of sweat rested in the hollow of her collarbone. I stood close. Close enough to smell her perfume over the smell of alcohol and sweat. I hoped I didn’t smell like sweat. Each vocal crescendo coming out of the speaker thumped in my chest. My heartbeat tried to keep up. I tapped her on the shoulder. She turned.

“Hi!”

Her face was surprised, even a little shocked. “Hi. Do I know you?”

She tilted her chin up to look at me. I couldn’t clearly see the colour of her eyes, but they were huge. Her eyebrows were perfect, clean, dark and defined arches, a small nose, slightly puffy lips with the marks of bites on them.

“What do you want?”

I leaned closer so she could hear me.

“You dance better than anybody here.”

The huge eyes warmed.

“What?”

Fucking music.

I leaned in again. “I said: you dance better than anybody here!”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

The DJ was switching a track. A brief silence

“Can you teach me?”

“Teach you what?”

“Dancing.”

She took a step behind.

“You’re the first guy I’ve met who actually wants to learn.” Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up.

“Is that bad?”

“You tell me.”

The bass kicked back in, and the synths of another oddly familiar song got her moving again. Same slow roll, left to right.

“I said you wanna be starting something, you’ve got to be starting something–” She stopped, looking at me expectantly. “You don’t know this one?”

I shook my head.

She shook hers back. Slow and judgmental.

“Join me.”

She pulled me closer. Not too close — just enough space between us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy approaching from the left. The same guy who was with her. She quickly glanced over and made a “get lost” gesture. I still didn’t know who he was, but I was certain — not a boyfriend.

“Look at me.” She turned my shoulders to face her. “Don’t worry about him.”

She started moving. Hips slowly left to right. Lazy, but smooth.

“Just…,” she half-closed her eyes, “feel it. Don’t think.”

I tried. My hips didn’t move like that. One went too far to the left, the other too far right. I felt stiff, so I tried to add some arm movement to imitate the wave.

She smirked, “Loosen your knees.” She grabbed my waist, guiding me, “Let them bend.”

I listened and added the small shoulder rolls.

“Yes, good. Feel it.”

She took my hand and placed it on her waist. I moved closer. Her eyes were brown ­– I could see that now. A small scar on her temple, but somehow it made her prettier.

“Follow me.”

She moved her hip against my palm. I tried to match it, as her other hand landed on my chest. She nodded. “If you’re so good, let’s try something harder.”

She pushed me back lightly, dropped lower in her knees. Her hips picked it up when she stretched her arms to the ceiling.

“I’m definitely not stretching my arms to the ceiling.”

She laughed.

I tried to drop into a squat to match her — the shock on her face said it all.

“You’re so clumsy it’s not even funny.” She stepped forward.

“Come here. This is easier.”

She put my hands back on her waist as her body did all the work. I felt every movement. Her warmth captured my palms. She looked up at me. “Better, right?”

I nodded. She smiled back, “You’re learning fast.”

“It’s all the teacher.”

She grinned. I couldn’t hide my smirk either. I wondered if Yura saw any of this.

“Want to catch some air?” she asked.

“Yes. I would love to.”

She grabbed my arm and guided me outside to the place where all the ordinary people smoked, those who couldn’t afford the richness of smoking inside without getting into trouble. My ears buzzed with snippets of synths and saxophone lines. She walked ahead of me, finding a spot between two couples. She turned, leaning against the fence, facing me.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Ivan.”

She sighed, “Expected something more unique.”

“Like what?”

“Richard.”

“That’s not even a Ukrainian name.”

“Who said I wanted you to be Ukrainian?”

She grinned. I didn’t understand what was in her mind, but I played along.

“What’s your name?”

“Adelaida.”

I let out a long, dramatic sigh to match hers.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“What? That’s my real name.”

“Adelaida? In what world is that your real name? I don’t believe it.”

The smile disappeared, and the frustration crossed her face. She looked younger now. At least three years younger. Her hand dove into her pocket. She pulled out a couple of cigarettes, cupped her hand against the wind and lit one. Smoke curled from her lips right into my face.

“You want one?”

“No. not a smoker.”

She studied me.

“You’re gonna judge me, aren’t you?”

I shook my head.

She hissed back at me, “Liar.” She took another drag and let it out slowly. “You think I haven’t heard it before? Girls don’t smoke — it’s not appropriate. I’ve heard that way too much already.” Another drag. “It’s not feminine, it’s not this, it’s not that. I’m tired.”

She leaned back against my chest.

“So I steal them from my brother.”

“This guy there, he’s your–”

“My brother, yes. How else do you think my family let me come here?”

“I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

The cigarette smoke mixed with her floral perfume. Bold, vibrant. It fit her.

“Do you study somewhere?”

I never got accepted into anything. The only reason I ended up a driver.

“Yes, I’m going to be a doctor.”

The most impressive thing I could make up.

She gasped, putting her hands to her cheeks, “Really? You must be very smart then.”

She took a step closer, her eyes fixed on my lips. Was it what Yura was talking about? The ideal opening? She laughed and looked away.

“You’re alone here?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you come alone?”

“Just to rest after a long day.”

She took another drag and nodded.

“Want to try something new?”

My face turned red. I lost the ability to speak.

“Try…that?”

She looked confused for a second, then realised what I was implying.

“What? No. I meant smoking.” She punched me in the shoulder. “How can you even think of that?” She giggled.

“I wasn’t sure.”

She waved it off, “So, are you going to try?”

I’d never properly drunk. Never danced. Never smoked. But in one night, I’d already done two of those things. What was stopping me from the third?

I took one. She lit it for me. I felt her breath — smoke filled with alcohol and mint. I inhaled and immediately coughed, dropping it on the ground. She threw her head back and laughed. Her warm laughter cut through that suffocating feeling.

“Oh, my god. How do you even do this?”

I coughed again. Wiped my eyes.

“Take another one. It’ll be better.” She handed me her half-finished cigarette. I couldn’t refuse those dark eyes.

“You’re a bad influence.”

“Am I?”

We stood there talking. About life, about my fictional student life, and plans for the future. She wanted to go to USA, I didn’t quite understand it, but I acted as I did. She studied journalism near the city centre, but she told me she didn’t really like it. She wanted to get into fashion instead. I just nodded and kept listening. What shocked me most was that she’d been abroad once. Almost a year ago, her family went to Italy. She even admitted she’d wanted to stay there and run away. But the plan didn’t work. Her brother caught her.

“So, what do we do?”

“I don’t want to go back in,” I said.

“Me neither.”

“Want to walk down to the beach?”

“Are you going to kidnap me?”

“Your brother looks way too scary for me to kidnap you.”

She grinned.

The coastline stretched ahead. Full of hotels and construction cranes. It didn’t use to be that way. A few years ago, there were more buildings, more markets, more places for locals. But I guess the tourism is good, right? No. With the tourists came the trash. Our beautiful black sea turned into a pile of scraps on the water. The plastic bottles, the cigarette butts, you could find anything on that sand.

“I don’t understand. Is it so hard to clean up after yourself? There are so many children playing here.”

She circled her arm around mine. “You’re right. I throw trash everywhere, too.” I looked down at her with a spark of judgment.

“Not intentionally,” she added quickly. “It’s just a habit, I guess.”

“A habit to break…Adelaida.”

She pushed me lightly to the left, then reconnected to my arm. After a couple of minutes, she stopped.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Just–“ She laughed. “Can’t walk and smoke at the same time anymore.”

“We weren’t even walking that fast.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, catching her breath, “I know.”

“Maybe that’s a sign.”

“A sign of what?”

“That you should quit.”

She looked at me. “Didn’t you say you were a doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re terrible at this.”

The sea stretched out in front of us. The water was barely visible except for the faint moonlight on the surface, and the waves moved back and forth smoothly. She walked down to the rocks without looking back. I followed. She sat down, leaning against the rocks. I sat next to her.

“Another cigarette?”

“Are you serious?”

“More for me, I guess.”

We sat there for a while, hands together, looking into the darkness in front of us. This was the perfect moment to make a move. I knew it. Everything was aligned, the slight wind, the waves — you couldn’t have done this more romantic.

“You know, Ivan,” she said, “You’re a cool guy.”

“You don’t know me, though.”

“It’s not about knowing. It’s the feeling. This night. You just being here.”

“I wondered why you never brushed me off. I approached you quite awkwardly.”

“Exactly. That made you look–” She studied me, tilting her head slightly. “Cute.”

Her head rested against my shoulder. Her hair smelled like vanilla.

She was quiet for a moment, but then she clenched my hand a bit harder.

“When we were in Italy, I tried to stay behind. At the train station in Rome.”

I looked down at her.

“My parents were ahead. My brother was buying something. And I just… stood there, thinking: what if I could just not get on the train?”

“Why didn’t you?”

She laughed.

“Because I’m a coward. What am I going to do there alone?” She paused. “And because my brother dragged me back.”

“Why did you want to stay?”

She pulled away slightly, releasing my arm.

“Because in Rome, no one told me what I should do, who I should be, how I should act. For three days, I felt more liberated than in the last 17 years.” She paused. “Here, I’m always someone’s daughter, or someone’s sister. Do this, do that. Help me here, help me there. The girl who’s supposed to marry and shut up.”

I didn’t understand her, and I was scared to say something stupid, so I just listened.

“Sorry,” she said.

She lifted her head and looked at me.

“I have to go. My brother’s probably looking for me.” She grinned. “Any second now, he’s going to think you actually kidnapped me.”

I wish I could have.

I stood up and offered a hand. We walked back to the club in silence. She let go of my hand.

“Well. This is me. Thank you.”

“For what?”

She ignored the question. Letting me find the answer myself.

“Will you come here next week?”

“Probably.”

“Maybe I’ll see you then.”

“I hope so.”

“Bye.”

Doubt crept in. What if I never see her again? How could I make sure I would? What would Yura have done? He probably wouldn’t have been in this position.

“Bye.”

“So­­­–” I hesitated. “Did you ever see her again?”

Grandad leaned back in his chair. Stared at his tea.

“No. I never did.”

“Why didn’t you ask for her number? Or her address? Or whatever you guys used to ask for back then?”

“At first I thought it was fear, but then–” He paused. Looked at me, “I don’t know. I realised I just…I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin what? You could’ve seen her again. The way you described it, that night meant a lot.”

“Exactly.”

I felt confused.

He raised his cup of tea, a hand shook slightly as he brought it to his lip.

“I could have asked her out. Maybe we’d have gotten a coffee, maybe we’d have dated and realised we were never meant to be together, maybe it would’ve been…” He stopped. Lost his train of thought for a second.

“Something even completely different. But that night would never be the same after.”

“It already happened, though. You can’t change what already happened.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. I barely felt his grip on my shoulder.

“Look, kiddo. Some moments in your life, you have to keep the way they are. That was one of them. That night was perfect.” He paused. “And some things are perfect because they aren’t.”

“I still don’t understand it.”

He smiled faintly.

“Then stop listening to your old man and go out there. Explore.” He hesitated. “I’m dying, bud. Don’t waste your time sitting here watching me do it. Go. Maybe you’ll find your perfect night.”

I looked at him. At whom he was. He’d started out exactly like me. Doubtful. Awkward. Yet, he still went. Maybe it wasn’t just about the club.

“You really think I should go?”

“I think you should stop asking me and just go.”

“When I come back, you’ll tell me more stories?”

He smiled. “When you come back.”

I grabbed my keys and stood up.

Before I left, I looked at him one more time. He was watching me. Something about his look had pride in it. And maybe a bit of relief.

I took a step outside and gave myself to the night.

Two weeks later

Ivan (Vanya) Orlyk, March 12, 1951 — September 18, 2024

Ivan Orlyk, 73, of Odessa, passed away peacefully at home. He will always be remembered for his humour, unshakeable optimism, and the ability to be not just a great friend, but a devoted husband, grandfather, and father.