"Welcome to the world, Maria Valereevna Bure." I plant a kiss on my baby daughter's forehead and hand her to my wife, brushing my fingers through her sparse, cornsilk-colored hair. "She's beautiful, Candy. Just like you."

Natasha, our eldest, rests in my mother's arms, watching Candace and Maria with careful eyes.

"She's so precious," Mama whispers.

"Look at her little fingers." Candace laughs, peeling back the baby's pink blanket. "She's beautiful."

Papa stands beside my mother, holding Lev and Maxim in his arms, gazing down upon Candace and me with a stern, unwavering gaze. "She is a fine child, Valeri."

"Thank you, Father," I reply, timidly. I brush my fingers through Candace's sweat-stiffened blonde hair and rub the back of her neck, affectionately.

"Cigars for everyone." Pavel waltzes into the hospital room, bearing flowers, boxes of expensive Cuban cigars, and stuffed animals. "Uncle Pasha comes bearing presents for the little ones!" He hands Natasha a teddy bear, which she lets fall to the ground.

"Tashenka," Mama scolds, gently, "you don't handle your gifts that way."

"She's just a child," Pavel scoffs, lightly. "Leave her be, Mother." He walks over to me and ruffles my hair. "Beautiful child, Valya. She's just beautiful."

I try not to let my aversion show. "Thank you."

"Have you picked a name?"

"Maria," I reply, woodenly. Mama eyes me, peculiarly, but doesn't speak.

"Maria, a good choice," he says, airily. Pavel plants a kiss on my head. "She looks just like you." He moves to Candace and gives her a kiss, and then Papa.

"Pavel Vladimir'ich." Papa greets Pavel formally, eyes cold and hard, showing no paternal warmth toward his oldest son.

"Vladimir Valereevich," Pavel greats Papa with a big, arrogant smirk.

'How I wish I had the balls to slap it off his face...' I watch the two of them, waiting for Papa's reaction.

"Always were the cocky one, weren't you, Pavel Vladimir'ich?" He asks, stone-faced.

"I have the talent to be cocky, Father," he replies, shooting me a meaninful glance.

Our father doesn't miss the look that passes between us. "Your brother is celebrating the birth of his fourth child. How many grandchildren have YOU produced? None. Despite the money you make, you are a failure as a son."

Pavel's face falls at our father's insult. "I make more money than you could ever dream to see in your lifetime, Vladimir VALEREEVICH." He places stress on Papa's patronymic, shooting me another pointed glance.

"What does that money mean if you don't have a family to spend it on?" Papa counters, sharply.

"I don't need anyone," Pavel fires back, hotly. "I'm beginning to wish I hadn't come."

"I, as well," Papa retorts.

Pavel takes several deep breaths before moving closer to me, so that we are standing side by each. "Congratulations, Valya."

"Spasiboh." I avoid looking into his eyes. Instead, I gaze at the baby, resting comfortably in the crook of Candace's arm, and smile. Being around my wife and children calms me, and reminds me why I can't commit suicide. I have to protect the ones I love.

---

I wander out of her room and head for the vending machine to get a Coke and some potato chips. As I feed the machine my dollar bill, Pavel puts his arm around my shoulders.

"Hello."

"Go away," I reply, stiffly, punching in some keys. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Papa's being awfully cruel to me, don't you think?" he sighs, flippantly, tightening his grip around my shoulders.

"You've earned his scorn, Pavlusha," I reply, accepting my Coke and tearing off the cap.

"Mind sharing?"

I hand over the pop, wondering how he can act so calm and brotherly toward me. When he holds the Coke to me, I shake my head. "Keep it."

"Thank you," he replies, deep in thought. A few seconds later, he speaks. "Valya? May I ask you a question?"

"Okay." We walk toward the battered old lobby couches and sit down together.

"Do you hate me?" he asks, timidly, his arm still wrapped around my shoulders.

I turn to look at him. "Why?"

"Because I hate me... I just wonder if you feel the same way," he says, earnestly.

I gaze at him, surprised with his honesty. "You hate yourself, Pavlusha?"

He nods. "Very much so."

"Then why don't you try to change?"

"Because I like things the way they were," he mutters. "I liked when it was you and I. All these babies..."

I heave an unhappy sigh and cross my arms over my chest. He moves his fingers in circular movements on my shoulder, and I sigh again, resting my head on his shoulder.

For just that one moment, we're brothers again.

I take a mental photograph and store it away in my memory.

---

"Where do you want these?" Pavel gestures to a box of baby clothes our mother has sent over with him.

"You can put them in the dresser if you want," I say, pointing to the white dresser by the curtained window.

"Ah, okay." Pavel picks up the box and carries it to the dresser, emptying the contents into the drawers and sorting them out according to season. "How is Candy doing since she came back from the hospital?"

"She's all right," I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "A little sore, but that's to be expected. You know?"

He doesn't look at me, but nods, staring down at the clothes. He picks up a faded blue bib and holds it up. "This was mine when I was a baby," he says, laughing softly. "It must be thirty years old. I don't know why she kept it."

"And that's mine." I pick out a pair of old baby booties, frayed with age.

He smiles. "I'm kind of glad she kept this..." He gestures to the clothing. "I miss this."

"I do too." I drop the booties into the drawer and unpack another box, unable to bring myself to look him in the eye.

Pavel sighs unhappily and lets out a whistle, as he continues to fill the dresser drawers with our hand-me-down baby clothes. "Maybe I'll find a girl and have children one day," he says, out of the blue.

"You? Children?" I ask, turning to face him. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

He shrugs. "I'm getting older. Having children might, you know, fix me."

"It's not that easy," I grumble, fiddling with the baby monitor. "And somehow, I can't picture you with children, Pavlusha."

"I wouldn't hurt my own children, if that's what you're thinking," he adds, softly.

"I wasn't, but now that you mention it, I don't think you having children is a good idea at all." I join him by the window, the bright sunlight streaming in, filtered by the filmy curtains.

He looks at me, his blue eyes pained and plagued, and I have to lower my eyes to my feet. He leans against my shoulder and sighs. "I don't know how much longer I can go on without cracking a little bit."

I rub my hand through his wavy hair, messing it up. "Cracking? How so?"

"You know, showing a bit...more truth to my character?" he whispers.

I'd never noticed until now how frightened he's always sounded. How unsure of himself he's always been. I guess he can thank our Father for those insecurities. "Ah."

"I'm a bad person, Valya. If people find out - "

"People won't find out," I grumble.

"What if I want to tell?" he asks, and I look at him.

"What? What do you mean?" I step away from him, but he clings to my waist.

"What if I want to tell someone? Like a...psychiatrist? Someone who can help me?" he asks, so frightened and lost, like a child.

"You're thinking of talking to someone?" I ask, astonished that HE would come to this revelation on his own.

He nods, pressing his cheek against my shoulder and tightening his grip around my waist. "I don't want to be like this forever, Valya. I want to have a family one day... I thought I had something with Anusha, but...it couldn't compare to what we have. And that's when I realised I need help. I kept comparing my women to you and they could never live up to you. You're the one and only, Valya."

I sigh. "I don't know what to say. I just don't think you and children would go well..."

"I want a little boy to carry on my name," he whimpers.

"You've got nieces and nephews," I reply.

"But you never let me be an uncle to them. I only arrive, give presents and leave."

"Because I'm afraid for them. I'm afraid that when they get to a certain age, you'll start looking at them the way you looked at me. I'm only trying to protect my family," I reply, feeling that familiar lump form in my throat. 'He isn't making me feel sorry for him, he isn't...'

"I wouldn't - "

"How do I know that, Pavlusha?" I ask, softly. "I don't want to risk it."

He sighs, and then raises his lips to mine. "You're my strength, Valya. Help me, please," he begs, burying his face into my neck.

I pat his elbow, stiffly. I don't know what to do with him. Do I get him the help he needs, like a good brother should, or do I just give up on him?

I know I have every right to give up on him, and at the same time, I don't think I could ever do that. This is so confusing. I wish I didn't love him.

---

Pavel and I head downstairs, laughing and joking, pretending to be normal brothers. He pokes me in the ribs.

"I can't believe you enjoyed that movie," he scolds, eyes crinkled. "It was so...stupid, Valya."

"Jim Carrey is a comic genius, Pavlusha. Time will tell on the Cable Guy, you wait and see," I grin, slipping my arm around his shoulders.

Candace is standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Hi, honey." I move to kiss her, but she sidesteps me.

"Valeri, we need to talk," she says, avoiding eye contact with Pavel.

"What about?" I ask, smiling playfully.

She holds up the other baby monitor in her shaking hand. "About what I just heard on my baby monitor."

Part 7 | Part 9