Let’s Call Her Michelle – Part 3

Previously on Let’s Call Her Michelle
She brought tulips to Babushka, learned Vika’s marriage was collapsing, and ignored a missed call from an Israeli number. Now she’s headed to Vika’s.

Let’s Call Her Michelle Part 3
Michelle pulls into Vika’s driveway just after nine. The lights are still on, warm against the dark street. She notices a bike helmet hanging off the mailbox, the kind of detail that makes a house feel lived in. Maybe the kids are still awake. Maybe they waited.

Vika opens the door, but before she can even get out her usual “hey,” Michelle steps forward and wraps her in a hug. Warmer and tighter than their standard polite cousin hug. The kind of hug that says more than words.

Vika pulls back, suspicious. “I guess you know.”

“Know what?” Michelle asks, pretending innocence.

“Michelle.” Vika tilts her head. “You never hug me like that. Babushka probably said something.”

Michelle exhales. “Oh, yeah. Fuck him. But why didn’t you message me? I would’ve touched the Wall for you in Israel.”

Vika gives a soft, sad laugh. “I wasn’t ready to talk.”

Before Michelle can respond, two human firecrackers explode from the living room. Ben and Sophia yelling her name like it’s the best word they know. They grab her legs, practically dragging her down to their level.

“You stayed up for me?” Michelle asks.

“Mom said we could,” Ben says proudly. Sophia grins and holds up a Kinder Surprise candle egg. “From you?”

Michelle nods. “Of course.” Then she remembers. “Hold on, I left something in the car for Mama.”

She steps back outside, the night air cool on her face, pops open the backseat door, and pulls out the bunch of tulips. Purple and yellow, slightly wilted but still stretching for light. She carries them inside and hands them to Vika.

Vika smiles, small but real. “They’re beautiful.”

In the kitchen, tea is already steeping. The table is its usual mix of mail, a bowl of apples, a kid’s art project still drying. Michelle drops the pastries she brought in the center and sits down.

“So… Sveta?” she says quietly.

Vika exhales through her nose, half sigh, half snort. “Yes. The neighbor. With the dog that barks all night and those cheap, brassy highlights she does herself in the kitchen. I knew she wanted him from day one.”

Michelle leans in. “How did you find out?”

“One night, I get into bed and the pillow smells… different. Not our detergent. Not our soap. Some cheap floral body wash, you know the kind that comes in a three-pack at the dollar store. I knew right then.”

Michelle blinks. “From soap?”

“From soap,” Vika nods. “So I started tracking him on the phone. And guess where he was going when he said he was working late? Straight to her apartment. Then I hired a private investigator. Two weeks later, I had photos, him walking right into her building, her letting him in. So I sat him down, showed him the pictures, and told him to pack his clothes while the kids were at school. Go to his mother’s. Or wherever the hell he wanted. Honestly, I don’t give a shit.”

Michelle just shakes her head, speechless.

Vika raises her mug of tea like it’s a glass of champagne. “Poopsik, I wish you find a man who will not cheat on ya, and love you, and bring you tulips just because.”

They clink mugs.

An hour later, Michelle leaves, the warmth of the hugs, the tea, and the tulip exchange still in her chest.

On the way home, her phone rings.
Same Israeli number.

She swipes to answer.

“Michelle?” The voice is warm, familiar, with that singsong lift only certain girls from the neighborhood have.

Michelle tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“Oh my God, my love, that’s so amazing, I just got to Israel. I wanted to see you so bad. I’m here right now.”

Michelle blinks. “You’re in Israel?”

“Yes. Just got in yesterday. I was like, no way, Michelle’s here too. This is perfect. I had to call.”

Michelle shifts the phone to her other ear, balancing her grocery basket. “That’s amazing. I can connect you with my friends there, they’ll take care of you. Where are you staying?”

“In Tel Aviv, near the beach. Why?”

“Perfect. I know a few people right there.”

The girl’s voice perks up. “Oh, and I’m doing an internship with this really cool tech company out here. It’s all very start up-y, bean bags in the conference room, kombucha on tap. You’d love it.”

Michelle smiles. “Sounds perfect. Let me know when you’re back.”

“I will. Miss you, babe.”

They hang up. Michelle grabs a few more things for the morning, no need to list them all, and heads to the register.

She drives home through the quiet streets, the hum of the car filling the space between her thoughts.

When she walks in, the glow from the living room is still on. Her mom is curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eyes glued to a Turkish soap opera with subtitles too small to read from the doorway.

“What did you buy?” her mom asks without looking away from the screen.

Michelle sets the bags on the kitchen counter, kicking off her shoes. “Snacks. Milk. Some energy drinks… Can you make me some grenki tomorrow, please? I bought everything for them. I miss them so much.”

Her mom glances over and gives a small smile. “Of course.”

Michelle lingers a second longer in the doorway. “Goodnight. I’m so tired. And… thanks for telling me about Vika’s divorce.”

Her mom tilts her head toward her, eyes still on the TV. “Ne tvoye delo.”

To be continued…
Next Friday morning. Unless I ghost you.

By Gary Guz & Daniella Diva aka GD