Page 65 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

VAL

"They say marriage is like fine vodka: it’s an acquired taste, but once you find the right one, it goes down easy."

Laura and I stand at the edge of the cliff where we will be married in two days.

The ocean stretches out endlessly before us, the sun slowly dipping into the horizon, painting the sky with shades of pink, orange, and lavender. It’s beautiful, everything we had envisioned for this moment, but I can’t seem to shake the ache that’s settled deep in my chest.

My mother isn’t coming.

She’s not going to be at my wedding.

The disappointment is overwhelming, a hollow ache that seems to grow deeper with every passing moment. It feels like a piece of me is missing, leaving behind a painful void that nothing can fill.

She was denied a travel visa .

All the plans, the calls, the efforts—none of it was enough to get her here.

And it’s like something’s broken inside me, a piece that’s missing from what should be the happiest moment of my life.

I’ve waited so long for this, for family to gather and witness what Laura and I have built together, and now there’s a gaping hole.

Laura stands beside me, her hand gently slipping into mine.

She knows, even without words, the storm brewing inside me.

She can see it in the way my shoulders are tense, my eyes distant.

Laura knows the weight of disappointment and longing I carry right now, the way it feels like something essential is missing.

Her gentle touch tells me she understands, and her presence is her way of saying she’s here to share that burden.

She doesn’t push me to talk, doesn’t try to force the hurt away.

She’s just here, steady as ever, and I love her more for it.

“Are you ready?” she asks quietly, her voice almost lost in the breeze.

I nod, letting out a slow breath, feeling the salt air fill my lungs. “Yeah. We should go.”

She squeezes my hand, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay to be sad about it, you know.”

I meet her eyes, the compassion in them making my chest tighten. “I know. I just... I wanted her to be here, you know?”

“I know.” She steps closer, wrapping her arms around me. “She’ll still be a part of it, even if it’s not how you imagined.”

I close my eyes, holding her tight for a moment before letting go. “Thanks, Laura. Let’s go get my dad.”

We turn, leaving the cliff behind, and start the drive to Atlanta.

My father—Sasha—will be waiting for us at the airport, and it feels surreal.

I haven’t seen him in almost fifteen years.

I’ve imagined this moment so many times, what it would be like to see his face again, to hear his voice in person rather than over a muffled phone call.

And now, it’s happening. The reality of it weighs heavy on me, mixing excitement with a deep-rooted fear that’s hard to name.

Laura reaches across the car, her hand resting on my leg. “It’s going to be okay,” she says softly, and I glance over, catching the warmth in her eyes. She’s smiling, that gentle smile she saves just for me, and for a moment, it calms me.

“I hope so,” I reply, my voice cracking just a bit.

She tilts her head, her gaze never leaving mine. “I know so. He’s your dad, Val. No matter what, he loves you, and he’s here now. That’s what matters.”

Her words sink in, and I nod, feeling a little of the tension ease.

My shoulders drop slightly, the tightness in my chest loosening, and I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and I squeeze her hand, feeling the warmth of her presence calming me.

“Thanks, Laura. I don’t know what I’d do without you. ”

She squeezes my leg gently. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

We drive on, and it feels like an eternity until we finally reach the airport. I scan the crowd of arrivals, my eyes searching for the face I remember from my childhood—older now, but still familiar in my mind.

And then, there he is.

He looks different—grayer, maybe a little more worn by time. But he’s still my dad. His eyes meet mine across the terminal, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The noise, the people—all of it becomes background to the sudden rush of emotion that hits me like a wave.

“Papa,” I whisper, my voice lost in the swell of it all.

He smiles, and it’s the same smile I remember from when I was a kid. His eyes glisten, and before I even realize it, I’m moving toward him, closing the distance between us. We collide in a hug, and the tears come—hot and fast, years of distance and longing pouring out of me.

“Valik,” he says, his voice cracking. He calls me by the nickname he used when I was small, and it’s like I’m a child again, held by my father. I close my eyes, gripping him tighter, not wanting to let go.

Speaking in Russian, I tell him, my throat tight, “It’s been too long, Papa.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands on my shoulders, eyes searching my face like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

“You’ve grown so much,” he says, his voice thick with emotion and his Russian accent. He turns to Laura, smiling through his tears. “Laura.”

Laura steps forward, her own eyes glassy, and nods. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Sasha,” she stumbles through the Russian words, but it doesn’t matter. My dad pulls her into a hug too, murmuring something in Russian that makes her smile.

“What did he say?” she asks, glancing at me with a soft laugh.

“He said you’re even more beautiful in person,” I translate, my voice still shaky. She blushes, and my dad nods, giving her a warm smile.

The long drive back to Panama City Beach is full of conversation.

The road stretches out ahead of us, winding through the countryside, with the sun beginning to dip low on the horizon.

My dad's voice fills the car, telling stories about Russia—stories of his life, the people, and the places that were once home.

I steal glances at Laura, catching her wide-eyed fascination, and it makes me smile.

I feel a mix of emotions—relief, joy, a little bit of the bittersweet knowing how much time we lost—but mostly, I feel grateful .

Grateful that we're here together, that we're getting this chance. The trees blur by, and the golden light washes over us, adding a warmth to everything. It’s like, for the first time in years, things are finally starting to fall into place.

“Tell him about the train ride through Karelia,” Laura says, leaning forward, her excitement evident.

I smile, nodding. “Papa, tell her about Karelia, the white nights.”

He launches into the story, his voice animated, describing the endless summer days where the sun barely sets, and I watch Laura’s face light up as she listens. It feels good—having them here together, sharing pieces of my past with the woman I love.

Laura leans closer, asking more questions, and I translate as my dad continues, his voice full of warmth and nostalgia.

We talk about the village where he grew up, the winters that seemed to last forever, and the long summer days when the sun never fully disappeared.

The more he speaks, the more the years of distance seem to fade away, replaced by a sense of connection that I’ve missed for so long.

By the time we get back, the sun is dipping low, and Skipper has already started cooking a crab boil for everyone.

The smell of garlic and spices fills the air as we approach the condo, laughter and chatter drifting out from the deck.

The sight of my dad stepping into this chaos, meeting all of our friends, feels surreal.

He doesn’t speak English, but somehow, everyone gets by—gestures, smiles, laughter filling the gaps where words fail.

Rhea, who’s starting to show now, gives my dad a huge grin, patting her growing belly. She says something, her voice full of warmth, and I do my best to translate, though my attempt is clumsy.

“She says you’re going to be a grandfather, kind of, since you’re part of this family now,” I say, laughing at how awkward my translation is.

My dad smiles at her, nodding like he understands every word, and Laura just shakes her head at me, laughing softly. “You’re terrible at this,” she teases, nudging me.

“Hey, I’m doing my best,” I protest, grinning.

The laughter, the warmth—it all feels like a piece of a dream I thought I’d lost. The reality of my father here, surrounded by these people who have become my family, fills me with a sense of fulfillment I hadn’t realized I was missing.

It's a chaotic mix of cultures and languages, but somehow, it works.

There's a shared understanding, a feeling that words aren't always needed to make someone feel welcome.

At one point, I pull out my phone, and we call my mom.

She’s on video, watching the chaos from thousands of miles away, her eyes full of longing.

The sadness that she isn’t here is palpable, but she smiles anyway, waving at everyone, her voice filling the space with warmth.

We promise her that we’ll set up the video call for the wedding, and she’ll get to see everything, even if it’s through a screen.

“I wish you were here, Mama,” I say, my voice cracking just a bit.

She nods, her eyes glistening. “I know, Valik. But I’m with you in spirit. I’ll be watching, and I’m so proud of you.”

Laura leans into the frame, her smile warm. “We’ll make sure you don’t miss a thing,” she promises.

My mom’s smile widens. “Thank you, Laura. You take good care of my Valik.”

“Always,” Laura replies, her eyes meeting mine for a moment. There’s so much love there that it almost overwhelms me.

The night winds down with the group gathered by the beach, the sound of the waves lapping at the shore as the moon rises high above.

My dad sits with Skipper and Sebastian, trying to understand their stories with my occasional translations, and it’s chaotic but perfect in its own way.

There’s a warmth in the air, a sense of togetherness that I’ve missed for so long.

It’s like all the pieces of my life are finally coming together.

Laura and I slip away, finding a quieter spot a little further down the beach.

The cool sand shifts beneath our feet, soft and damp, and the sound of the waves fills the air—rhythmic, soothing, like a steady heartbeat.

The breeze carries a slight chill, brushing against our skin, and the salty scent of the ocean mixes with the earthy aroma of the sand.

The sky above is a blanket of stars, each one twinkling brightly, their light reflecting off the dark water.

It's peaceful, the kind of quiet that wraps around you, making everything else fade away.

We sit there, the sand cool beneath us, the ocean stretching out endlessly before us, and I pull her close.

“You okay?” she asks, her head resting on my shoulder.

I nod, my gaze fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The ocean is dark and endless, waves rolling gently onto the shore, the rhythm of it soothing.

The sky is littered with stars, their reflections shimmering on the water, and I feel a strange kind of peace wash over me.

Laura shifts beside me, her fingers lacing into mine, and I glance over at her, her face bathed in moonlight.

“Thank you for all of this,” I whisper, my voice almost lost in the breeze.

She turns, her eyes meeting mine, and she smiles—soft, warm, full of love. “Always,” she says simply.

I lean in, pressing my lips to hers, the ocean stretching out around us, infinite and full of possibility.

We sit there until the night deepens, wrapped up in each other, the sound of the waves our only witness.

The weight of everything—my mom not being here, the years apart from my dad—feels a little lighter with Laura by my side.

The ocean’s gentle melody becomes our soundtrack, each wave a reminder of the vastness of life, its ups and downs, and the love that anchors us.

Laura rests her head on my chest, and I feel her breath even out, her body relaxing against mine. I know the next few days will be filled with joy and chaos, family and friends, the whirlwind of the wedding, but right now, in this moment, there is just us.

The stars above twinkle like scattered diamonds, their reflections creating shimmering paths across the ocean’s surface.

It’s like the universe is reminding us that we are part of something bigger, something infinite and beautiful.

I take a deep breath, the salty air filling my lungs, and close my eyes, content.

“Laura, my world, my love,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.