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She’d been thinking of the changes approaching. She’d been remembering herself during her university years. She’d been working with her feelings of a worrying mother. So now she was playing a wise and cool mum answering Lyuda, ‘What a cool idea, the same thing I would have wanted for my eighteenth birthday. So when are we booking this salsa course, flight, and accommodation for ya, girls, eh?’

Katya glanced at the clock, it was ten a.m. The very time when her daughter would normally wake up with no alarm clock. She made two cups of coffee, placed Varya’s favorite tiramisu cake on a tray, put an eighteen-number candle in the middle, lit the candle and slowly proceeded towards her daughter’s room.

‘Fuck, I forgot the present,’ grumbled Katya, she carefully placed the tray on the floor, opened her purse and fished out a folder with the print-outs of the Cuban trip. She tried to hold the folder and the tray at the same time. It didn’t work. She stood thinking for quite a time. If I put the folder under my arm, I wouldn’t be able to put down the tray; if I put the folder in my nightgown, the folder might fall down; if I put the folder into my mouth…