My parents and I are not used to this; my mom gently brushes her off.
“Don’t mention it,” she says, “It’s what we all should do.”
We don’t stay long in the apartment – the point of us visiting was to show what’s where, help with any issues, and bring some food: my mom got a bag of potatoes for the family. My dad also exchanged numbers with Sasha because he’s taking the man to the local city council. All internally displaced people in Ukraine have to register to receive help and for security reasons. All men, too, are required to report: they may be conscripted if the need arises.
“If you want, we have a farm nearby which you can visit,” my mom offers, “In case you are bored and want to have a walk or something.”
The grandparents seem to brighten: they don’t have much to do in a new town, so they happily agree. Sasha and Lena also nod: the farm may be fun for Il’ko.