“Yes, I’ve never met anyone named Knight,” I informed him.

“And I’ve never met anyone named Anya,” he informed me. “What is that”

“What is what”

“Your name.”

“It’s a family name. As in, my grandmother’s.”

“Before that,” he stated.

“It was her grandmother’s,” I shared.

“And before that,” he pushed then explained, “Origins.”

“Russian,” I told him.

“You’re Russian” he asked.

“My grandmother was,” I answered.

“She grow up here” he asked.

“No, she grew up in St. Petersburg when it was called Leningrad. But she died here.”

His head cocked slightly to the side but his face remained impassive. “Died”

I nodded. “Seventeen years ago.”

“Babe, what are you Twenty-three Four”

“Seven.”

His head righted. “Twenty-seven” He sounded like he didn’t believe me.

“Yes, twenty-seven.”

He studied me but didn’t give anything away.

Then he stated, “Still, she had to be young.”

“Liver failure. She was Russian as in, from Russia. She drank vodka like it was water and that’s not a stereotype. That’s very real.”

And it was. And she passed it down to my aunt, unfortunately.

He looked to