Who: Julian and Anya. What: First date! When: Sunday afternoon. Where: Diner. Rating: PG for adorable! Status: Complete.
Julian hadn’t gone on a real, proper date in years. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to have butterflies in his stomach, but there he was, wearing his favorite jeans with the shirt that he knew made his eyes look even bluer than usual, knocking on Anya’s door to pick her up. It was just coffee and lunch - nothing pressing or pressuring - but his heart was still thudding.
Since it was lunch and not dinner, Anya figured that she could dress a little more casually. Still, she did her makeup, unlike most days. She’d been to class that morning and now she’d put her face on, along with a dark brown shirt that matched her hair, and a new pair of jeans that were still a little stiff. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to own any jeans.
She heard the knock on the door and squeaked, having jumped, but she got her calm back soon enough. Anya ran a hand through her hair, grabbing her handbag and opening the door. “Hello, Julian Maitland.” She smiled shyly. “Right on time.”
“I try to do that, Anastasia.” He liked how she was dressed; she was the sort of girl that was beautiful without having to put much effort into it. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, thank you.” Anya smiled a little wider. “You look nice. How are things going? Is your head healed back to normal?”
“It’s a bit better, yeah.” His black eye was better too, having faded to a light grey. “I had this really awesome nurse in the hospital. She helped a lot. I should thank her.”
“Who is she?” Anya teased. “I’m glad it is improving, though. I said a prayer for you. Erm.” She winced. “I hope that you are not offended.” Prayer and religion seemed to be a touchy subject for Americans. She’d simply added him to the list of people she’d wanted to keep safe. Russian Orthodoxy wasn’t the same as Protestantism or Catholicism, and damn, she hoped he wouldn’t be offended.
“She’s gorgeous. She said she’d go out with me, but she’s way out of my league.” He chuckled, shaking his head as they walked toward his car. “I’m not religious, but I’m not the sort of person to get angry with someone for being nice to me.” He didn’t mind people being religious as long as it exalted them and as long as they didn’t try to convert him.
She was still a little red. “I was raised Orthodox and still pray, but I only mean it as a kindness and never a judgment. Judgments are not my place.” Anya shook her head. “And we do not do like the … Witnesses? The people who show up at unholy hours and talk about God.” She couldn’t help the nosewrinkle - she’d been having a lovely dream when she’d been awoken by Vera Efimovna squawking at the people to get off her property.
“I usually offer those people something to nibble on and drink, if only because it’s really hot out sometimes when they come to visit. Plus, they tend to take the rejection easier if they have time to sit down and use the restroom.” He grinned as he unlocked his shiny silver Civic Hybrid, flashy yet responsible. That was Julian Maitland.
“This is so, but if I am woken from sleep by them, I am not inclined to be charitable.” Anya laughed, getting into the car after he had opened the door for her. “My first class was at eight in the morning sharp. Sleep is a luxury.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that.” He hopped in, glad he’d turned the volume on his stereo down before he’d gotten out. “I usually fall asleep around eight on worknights, so I have the opposite problem. I hate whenever there’s construction in the afternoon.”
“How are you awake now?” Anya felt a twinge of sympathy. “Have you no work tonight?” She didn’t want to be the reason for him being tired and strung out.
“I do, but I didn’t work last night. I got up an hour or so ago.” He shrugged, starting the car and pointing it into the direction of a bistro that he liked and had gone to a few times before.
Anya nodded. “I don’t want that you be in bad form tonight over me.” She smiled. “I still am thinking you do a job which needs your full attention, yes?”
“I admit I underestimated that part of my job previously!” He laughed a little at himself, his nose still tender. “I thought all I had to do was spread rumors and chat up pretty people. How I was wrong.”
She risked flirting, not sure how it would turn out. “I think you are one of the pretty people.” It was true, just … awkward.
He blushed a little, ducking his head. “That’s what my boss says, but honestly, clubs are so dimly lit, nobody notices anyway.” He sucked at taking compliments, but he did reach out to squeeze her hand for a moment. “Besides, pretty’s more of an on the inside sort of thing.”
Well, he seemed to be flattered. “That’s so, yes, but scientifically, people have features which are more or less pleasing to the eye.” Anya smiled, looking away. “It sounds cold, maybe, but is still so. I would not be surprised if your sister was pretty as well.”
“She’s prettier than I am, it’s true. And stronger.” He chuckled to himself, swinging them into the parking lot. “I’m the lover, she’s the fighter.” They’d both had different ways of dealing with their parents.
“You must be a good team.” Anya got out of the car when it stopped, smiling. “I have three sisters, and we are most often the Big Pair and Little Pair. Olga and Tatiana, then Maria and me. We sort of protect each other.”
He smiled a little. “She’s ... my family is a bit fragmented because my parents aren’t the best people.” He thought that was tactful enough. “So my sister and I got very close. She’s my family, I don’t really talk to my parents at all.”
She didn’t want to press what was clearly a painful topic, so all she said was, “Maybe is the best thing, if they hurt you.” Then they went inside, and she could find enough to change the subject. “This is nice. We don’t really have this sort of food back at home.”
“I’ve heard you have more soups than anything else?” He smiled and blushed a little, trying out the little bit of Russian he’d taught himself since meeting her. ”I am sorry.”
Anya blinked, laughing. “Очень хорошо! Very good.” Even trying was sweet. “So many people just look at the alphabet and run in terror from our language.”
“Oh, I just learned it by ear. I’m not messing about with the alphabet yet. I’m sure I’ll cry later on.” Julian smiled to himself.
“I hope not. If you had a real interest in the language, I would be pleased to teach.” Anya smiled right back, hoping she didn’t look awkward. “Do you speak any others, out of curiosity?”
“A tiny bit of high school Spanish, but that’s about it.” Julian had been an above average student, but he’d always been better at history than anything else. “I tried to teach myself Latin as a kid, but that didn’t work.”
“Why Latin?” Anya followed the server over to a corner booth, sitting across from Julian. “We could choose to study English, French or Arabic when I was in primary school, and English is the very most useful. I started to study it at age seven, so I have had many times of practice.”
“I like history, and I always wanted to read a lot of things in the original language.” He smiled, loving her tiny word slips, thinking she was possibly the cutest girl he’d ever met.
“That does make sense.” Anya saw him smiling and looked away. “What is it?”
“Uh.” He looked down and laughed. “You’re pretty.”
“Oh! Um. Thank you.” Anya blushed hard. “You’re kind to say it.” She picked up the menu. “I’m used to people saying kind things about my sisters, not me.”
“I’m sure they’re nice and all, but I like you.” He smiled and looked at the menu as well. He was planning on paying for whatever she wanted.
“You have never met my sisters.” Anya kidded. She looked at the menu for a bit, but when she’d decided, she wanted to know more about him. “So. What do you do for fun, Julian? If you have any spare time?” “Oh, are they terrifying monsters? Do they threaten people until they get compliments?” He smiled lopsidedly, setting the menu down when he’d decided as well.
He thought a bit to himself, trying to think what his hobbies were. “I have too much spare time. I read a lot - mostly historical stuff and autobiographies.” When he told her that, it made sense what he wanted to do with his life. It was funny, sometimes he couldn’t put it into words with anyone, but Anya had pried it right from him.
She cocked her head. “You look like you had a thought. I mean, an unusual thought.” Was everything okay?
“Well, I’ve been thinking about how to get out of my current job. The money’s nice, but it seems silly to do something that puts me at risk for relapse that I hate so much. I just realized what I’d like to do, and I have you to thank.”
“Is this so?” Anya raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. “Well, I’m glad. I mean, from the standpoint of medicine, getting yourself out of danger of relapse is best idea. But it also has to make life sense. Is that a good sentence?”
He nodded. “It is. I know what you mean. I think I’m going to go back to school and see if I can’t get a degree in History, see if I can become a curator or something. I love history, and I really want to see if I can do something with that.” He could even become a professor.
Anya couldn’t help but smile more broadly. “That is excellent.” She reached over the table, laying her hand on his before she could think. “I hope you can get the money; I know that may be expensive, but possible, I think.”
“I don’t mind taking out loans if it means I’ll have a better life.” He smiled wider in response to her smile, turning his hand and clasping hers. He liked squeezing her hand, being gentle and hoping she wouldn’t be upset.
She realized what she’d done and went deep red, but he was smiling, and honestly, this wasn’t bad. Just intimidating. Anya kept her hand on his. “My time here to study is paid for, but now in Russia we must pay to go to school. I’m used to it, of course, but Mama and Papa are still confused by it.”
“They didn’t in their time, right?” He was glad that she wasn’t needing any funding to stay in the US, and briefly he hoped that she decided to stay for longer in the country. “Do your sisters go to school back home?”
Anya nodded yes to both questions. “When Mama and Papa were my age, school was paid for but you had to use what Russians call блать. Blat’ means ‘connections’ - who you know, how many Party members that you could telephone or write. If you had no блать, you went to a very bad school.” She smiled. “My sister Olga started school before the wall came down, so it was the same back then. But Tatiana, Maria and I were too young. Poor Olya had to swap schools.”
Sometimes when Julian spoke to other people, he realized how good he had it. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now. Do you think you’re going to keep going after the end of the semester, or are you going to go home?”
“Oh, I’m here for one year at least.” Anya smiled, looking down. She still hadn’t moved her hand, not even when the waitress came over to take their orders. “Most of the pre-medical classes are one year, not one semester only, so I had to stay.”
“That makes sense. It’s so much information, it’s probably hard to crowd into one semester.” He smiled at her, finger lightly stroking her knuckles as the waitress smiled at them and jotted their orders down. “You know, I can’t thank you enough. I’m going to see about enrolling for the Fall semester as soon as I get home. See? You’re pretty and smart too.” He had no clue why she was single, but so much the better for him.
Anya blushed. “I am very glad you had such a brainwave.” That was the right word, she hoped. After the waitress left, she turned back toward Julian. “I know I was lucky in that I learned some medicine at young years. My aunt is a doctor and I was always interested, so I had a calling from when I was very small. Not everyone has this experience.”
It was exactly the right word, and he smiled to hear it in her beautiful accent. Some people thought Russian accents were hard and scary, but he thought her voice was lilting and soft, like the ocean. “Not so much me. My sister was like that, though. She’s always loved lizards.”
“Lizards?” Anya echoed, not sure of herself. “Green and small, with tails, and - ” She stuck out her tongue wiggled it, hoping he’d laugh and not think she was weird.
He couldn’t help it, grinning and laughing giddily. “Exactly those!” He pulled out his phone and looked up the Wiki entry for Komodo Dragons. “She was off studying those for a few years, she just got back. They’re huge.”
“That is … interesting looking. Are they vicious?” Anya was interested. “I hope your sister had not much harm. Their teeth look sharp.”
“They’re not exactly cuddly, but she likes snakes and the non vicious ones too. She’s fine.” He smiled, obviously proud of his big sister. “She’d have punched any that tried to bite her in the face.”
“She does not get pushed around, even by big monster dragons?” Anya grinned. “I like such a person. I think I might still be scared were I them.”
“She’s tiny, too, she’s like dynamite.” He held a hand up above the floor. “She’s five foot two. Maybe.” He smiled, ducking his head, his white-blonde hair falling into his face. “I uh. Like women who are strong.”
Anya had to laugh. “I am one point six meters tall. That is …” She thought for a moment, doing the math in her head. “Five feet four inches.” For whatever it was worth.
“So she’s smaller than you.” He pretended to be all put off. “Pfft. Meters. We don’t use the metric system here, because that would be ... logical. And smart.”
“You people make no sense.” Anya laughed. “Americans seem to be just like us, really. Some of you are rude and nasty. A few of you are kind and gentle.” Yes, that was meant to be a compliment.
“That’s people all over the world, I think.” He smiled and shook his head. “And we’re just too lazy to realize that the metric system makes more sense.” He grinned stupidly when he realized they were still holding hands.”
She finally let his hand go when their food arrived. “Honestly, Russians are apparently very rude by other standards. I’m used to how we speak with each other, but I guess some things we say are not polite.” Anya tried to think of an example. “Like, at home, when you eat, you are supposed to burp at the end. It’s your compliment of being full, to the chef.”
He chuckled at that. “I used to do stuff like that with Abby.” He’d been good at it when he was younger, but fortunately he’d grown out of trying to be gross on purpose. Now it was just limited to the accidental kind.
“But still, you say this as a joke, instead of something serious.” Anya laughed. “You would go to Russia and never burp and the chef would be hurt!”
That cracked him up. “If I go to Russia, hopefully I’ll have someone like you there to remind me to burp after every meal.” He smiled broadly, still holding her hand, running his thumb gently over her knuckles.
Anya blushed hard and let go of his hand, but it was to pick up her fork. “I confess a love of this diner food,” she said, smiling. “We have few places like this in Saint Petersburg. They used to call them capitalistic or say they were bad for us.” She’d learned what she could of that time, but honestly, it all seemed silly to her.
“It’s pretty much what I eat after work every time,” he grinned sheepishly. He’d gotten corned beef hash and eggs, and they’d served the sunny side up eggs on top of the savory meat, letting the yolk run. “Do you want a bite?”
“Yes, please.” Anya took the bite off his fork, biting her lip gently to get the egg off it. “That is good! What is the meat?”
“Beef that they age for a while. It’s good, I like it. It’s got some potato in it. It’s better if you’ve been drinking, but I don’t do that anymore.” He chuckled, trying not to blush at the unassuming way she bit her lip.
Anya shook her head. “I understand not. I still do a bit, but I think it is because my cells are at least 45% vodka.” She grinned. Old stereotypes sometimes had grains of truth in them. “I had to get French fries with cheese, though. It has become my guilty secret food.”
“They’re wonderful, aren’t they? You should try them with chili on them too.” He smiled to himself, nibbling on his own cottage fries. He liked how easily the conversation flowed between them.
“Chili? I’m not familiar with this. What is it?” Anya asked between bites. “I really do like trying everything, though I know sometimes people only say it.”
“It’s sort of a stew? Tomatoes, beef, spices - some people put beans in it. It’s very thick, so it’s good to put on top of things.” Talking about it made him want it, so he politely asked the waitress for a bowl when she came by to top off their drinks.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” Anya protested, when he ordered some. “I can try another time.” She ate another fry, making a happy noise at how warm and smooth they tasted.
“Oh, I wanted some myself,” Julian laughed. He was happy to put chili on top of his cottage fries. He was tall and slender for a reason; his metabolism was mostly like a hummingbird.
“Ah. Never mind then.” Anya chuckled. She just tried a little, dipping a fry in and taking a bite. It was actually pleasant; it was indeed thick and a little spicy. “I like this too.” She nodded, chewing. “Very nice.”
“People eat it by itself, or on stuff. You can get it canned at the grocery store.” He smiled at her, dipping his cottage fries in the chili. “So, get any weird patients lately?”
“Other than the poor man who got hit in the face by an elbow?” Anya teased gently. “Um. The only one I can think of is the person who had to have surgery after putting a drug … pipe?” She gestured, indicating a long, thin tubelike structure. “In their bottom.”
Julian winced. “Oh no, why would - oh, no.” He winced and covered his mouth with his hand. “I hope you didn’t have too much contact with that guy. I mean, you already had to deal with that wuss who got a concussion from an elbow to the face.”
Anya blushed, laughing. “I’m sorry; you asked. I just had to help in the surgery by preparing tools. Doctor McCoy did most of the work.” Please, let her not blush at the thought of McCoy when she was on a date.
Julian noticed the way she smiled, and he couldn’t help but grin back. “Work crush? Everyone has those.”
Anya went even redder. “It isn’t …” Her English failed her for a second. “He is many years older, and has daughter, so I am not … He doesn’t … I am not stupid.” She didn’t want Julian to think she wasn’t interested - she was! He was sweet and charming.
He smiled, shaking his head. “I had one of those in high school, my AP History teacher. Mrs. Bernard was gorgeous, and she helped me out a lot.” He took her hand again, threading their fingers together. “It makes work more fun, no?”
At least she remembered her English this time. “A bit.” Anya murmured, still red. “I have no expectation, though, I mean.” She liked his hand-holding; it was sweet while being respectful too.
“I know.” He smiled, grabbing the dessert menu. “They have good pie here, would you like some?”
“Yes, I think so, please. It’s very good. At least the one I have had.” Anya smiled, feeling slightly less awkward. “I just didn’t like to give an impression I don’t like you.”
“You like me?” Julian grinned. “Enough to do this again sometime?”
“Well, yes.” Anya blushed again. “You make me smile.” People who made her smile were increasingly rare. “And you are handsome, now that your nose is not puffy and purple.”
“Oh, thank you. Purple’s just a bad color for me.” He grinned, liking that she was growing more comfortable around him. He ordered his pie, glad that she was ordering too.
Anya tried one she hadn’t before. “I have almost never had blueberries,” she said. “They are not easy to find at home. Sometimes you get lucky and find them in the city, but they are not grown in the country.”
“I don’t even know what a blueberry bush would look like. I was born and raised in the city.” He’d always wanted to go to the country, at least on vacation, and he thought about how fun it would be for him and Anya to go somewhere.
“Which city?” Anya was curious. “I come from a place called Pushkinskoe, which is near to Saint-Petersburg. It used to be Tsarskoe Selo - Tsar’s Town - but at the revolution it was renamed.” As if the Bolsheviks would ever have kept anything named for a tsar. “Right here. I’ve just never left.” He smiled, trying to say the name of her town. “Pushkinskoe? Like the writer, right?”
“Yes, like Aleksander Pushkin. -skoe means town.” Anya smiled. “Very good, for someone who has no Russian. There are things named for Pushkin and Lermontov all over Russia - Lermontov is our other famous poet from the tsars’ time. I know it sounds strange that the Bolsheviks would name things for poets which come from Imperial times, but they adored the literature above most things.”
“Which is probably why your country’s so beautiful. I can’t imagine a country of people who love books being anything but amazing.” He smiled to himself. It was pretty obvious he was smitten.
“Have you looked at pictures? I can show you if not. I may be biased, but I love it.” Anya let his hand go as the waitress brought their pie. “Many good memories are woven into the land. Despite the history of it.”
“I’ve looked at pictures.” Only after meeting her, but still. He’d looked at them and wished he could visit. It looked like places in fairy stories.
“Then you know how pretty some places are.” She grinned, then focused her attention on the pie. “It looks good, but … large. Is it rude to put a napkin here?” She gestured to her collar; she didn’t want juice on her shirt.
“You know, I don’t know? Do it anyway.” Julian laughed, doing the same thing so she wouldn’t feel awkward.
She did, smiling. “I will not ruin my shirt, no matter what the social problem.” Anya chuckled, then picked up a fork and took a bite. “Mm. How sweet. I like this.”
“It’s the sugar.” He smiled broadly, nibbling his own key lime pie contentedly. He offered her a bite of it, wondering if she’d like the tartness.
After taking a sip of water, she did try it, wincing. “That is very harsh. Too much, I think.” Oh well, couldn’t like everything. The important thing was to try it out. Anya was determined to try every new food America had to offer.
He eeped a little at her wince, glad she had some water. “It’s kind of an acquired taste.” He hated when they were done with their food, because it meant the date was at its logical conclusion.
Anya wasn’t crazy about it either; she’d enjoyed herself. Sitting back, she looked at him. “I hope you don’t grow too tired this evening,” she said, remembering belatedly that he had to work. She wondered how many beautiful women would flirt with him every night. He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” Sighing, he settled the check. “Is it silly that I don’t want to take you home? I’d much rather stay here and chat with you.”
Anya blushed, looking down. “I’ve enjoyed myself too. But I did say I would like to go again.”
“When shall we go?” He grinned, looking down as well. It was funny they were both so shy, yet in jobs that made them be outgoing.
She had to think a second. “I think my next day not to work is on Friday. But this time may not be good for you?”
“I can do early evening on Friday.” He smiled to himself. “If you don’t mind going out for dinner or something. Instead of lunch.” He just wanted her to be comfortable around him.
“Such a thing is fine.” Anya smiled more broadly. “I have never dreaded working before!” She’d be awfully impatient on Thursday, she knew that. He made her smile, as simple as that.