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“Hi, honey!”
Ilya grins widely as he opens the door to Yuna, who greets him enthusiastically.
“Yuna, I have missed you!” He gives her a quick hug before stepping aside to let her in the door and taking her grocery bags. “How was vacation with David? Never been on cruise but I assume is fun, no?” He says back to her, walking to the kitchen.
“It was so much fun! And very relaxing. But of course I missed you boys. And hockey! It’s difficult to watch your games on a little tiny phone screen.” She starts to put away the groceries when she sees the look Ilya is giving her. “What?”
“You watching hockey on vacation?” He says, unimpressed. “Yuna, vacation is for relaxing, not for hockey.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I couldn’t help it! But it doesn’t matter, I still had a great time.”
“Well good,” he smiles. “I was missing you. Shane would not let me cook, said it was all unhealthy. Need carbs to survive, yes? Shane does not think so.” He’s exasperated, but still fond.
Yuna laughs again, “well fortunately for us, Shane is in a meeting with Rolex and won’t be here while we’re cooking. Which means we can make whatever we want.”
“See, this! This is why I need you, Yuna,” Ilya says, “Would be sad and have no carbs without you.”
———
“You okay?” She asks him. Ilya has a deep furrow in between his brows, and he’s staring intently at his phone.
“Yes, yes, fine. Trying to make storage. Cannot save vacation photos, no room in phone.”
“Ilya,” she chuckles, “why do you want to save our vacation photos?” She’s pulling something out of the fridge to start dinner, but Ilya can’t quite make out what it is.
“You and David are cute, I save photos. Can show team how cute you are.” He looks up at her and smiles, then looks back down at his phone. “Google says delete voicemail, so I try that.”
“Listen to them before you delete them!” Yuna says. “What if there’s a cute one from Shane that you want to keep?”
“Da, Yuna, yes. So smart. See, I die without you.” He opens his voicemails, and gets to work.
———
He listens to voicemails while Yuna cooks, and it’s peaceful. Every once in awhile, he’ll let out a chuckle, and Yuna will look up. “Just Shane being Shane,” Ilya says with a smile. So far, there’s been more voicemails that he’s decided to keep rather than delete, but it’s been a nice walk down memory lane.
He comes across a voicemail from a number that’s not in his contacts, and he’s curious.
He immediately wishes he wasn’t.
His father’s voice barrels down the speaker, unforgiving and undeniably loud. “I watched your game, Ilya. Don’t think I didn’t see. How could you? Losing to that son of a bitch, Hollander? You bring shame and disgrace to our family. I thought I raised you better than this. Your mother would be-“
Ilya slams the phone down onto the counter, startling Yuna. He hasn’t heard his father’s voice in years. Suddenly, he’s 19 again, and he wants to die. He can’t breathe.
“Ilya, honey, are you okay?” He looks up to see Yuna staring at him, concern all over her face.
Panic is gripping him so suddenly he has no time to think, no time to consider anything. Logically, he knows his father is dead. But that dead man’s words are haunting him in a way he was not ready for today. The way his father so casually, cruelly brought up his mother-
“I-“ He starts, but can’t get the words out. “My father-“ he gasps quietly. He really can’t breathe. “A voicemail-my father-“
He briefly registers that Yuna is suddenly in front of him. She pulls him from his spot at the kitchen counter and drags him to the couch, pushing him to sit.
“Ilya-“
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-“ He gasps out, hoping she won’t be angry at him. He’s trying so hard, but can’t seem to explain. He’s trying so hard.
“Ilya. Ilya look at me honey-“
“No, no you don’t understand-“ he heaves, his body in a panic. He places his hand on his chest, trying to self regulate. His eyes are wide and wild, trying to focus on something, anything to calm him down, before he squeezes them shut to try and stop the tears that have already started to fall. His hands are trembling, and his breathing is shallow. He cant believe he’s letting anyone see him like this, what his father would say if he were here to witness the absolute embarrassment that Ilya was bringing onto their name, their family-
“I can’t breathe-“
“Damn it, Ilya, look. at. me.” His eyes open, and Yuna has placed both hands on his face, gently maneuvering him so he’s looking right at her.
“Take a deep breath,” she says, inhaling deeply as if to show him how. He follows her movements, and she moves her hands down to clasp his own.
“I need you to listen to me, okay? Just listen.”
He nods quickly, erratically, trying to convince his body that it’s just Yuna, that she’s not going to judge him for this, that he’s safe. It doesn’t work. He feels like he’s on fire. He wants to run, to scream, to pretend like this never happened. Like his father never existed. He wants to laugh, because it’s just a voicemail.
She takes a deep shuttering breath in, and brings her fingers back up to his face, up to caress his hair. She’s looking at me like my mother used to, Ilya thinks. That is a dangerous road to tread. She steels her expression, so determined, so genuinely Yuna that the familiarity brings him back to himself just a fraction.
“It’s not your fault. None of it.”
For a split second, his brain goes quiet. She says it with such conviction that he almost flinches back, not from fear but from shock.
“W-what?” He whispers, still unable to find his voice. What is she referring to? His panic? That is and has always been his fault.
“None of this is your fault, Ilya. The way you are feeling right now is shitty, but it’s real, and it means that you’re still here. You made it. Despite everything you’ve been through, your mother’s death, your father’s mistreatment of you, you made it. None of what you have gone through is your fault, do you hear me?”
He knows his voice is going to break as he speaks his next words, but he says them anyway. “But my fa-my father-“
“Was wrong.” She scoots just a bit closer to him, and when he doesn’t pull away, she wraps her arms around him so fiercely he can’t help the sob that escapes him, and he clings to her like she’s his mother.
“Ilya, my sweet boy, how I love you so,” she breathes, and Ilya breaks. He lets out another broken cry, and he knows he’s soaked the fabric of her shirt. “You are so full of love, of light,” he can feel the line of her smile on his shoulder, and he knows that she is beaming. She speaks to him like he is her world, and he can’t fathom how anyone could love him this much. He knows Shane loves him more than anything, but this is a different kind of love. They sit there, arms wrapped around each other, and Ilya realizes that the feeling in his chest is one he hasn’t felt since his mother died. He feels like a son.
“Grief is the thief of hope,” she says after a moment, still enveloping him. He has a feeling she won’t let go until he does, and the thought comforts him. “It steals your joy, and your father used that against you. You were just a child, a child, and he used your pain to his advantage.”
Maybe she is right.
She takes a deep breath, and Ilya thinks she might be crying, too, the way it shudders out of her. What a pair they make. The thought makes him smile, just a bit.
“I am so angry for you. I am so sad for you. And I’m also so happy for you, that in spite of it all you kept going, and now you’re here. With Shane, with David and I.”
He loosens his arms just a fraction, so that they’re still hugging, but he can see her face.
“You are strong, Ilya. So strong, and you love so fiercely. And you make my son so happy,” she wipes the tears off his cheek, and hugs him tight again. “I love you, Ilya. I really, really do. You are family. And I will tell you every day if you need me to. We all love you, so much. You were the missing piece of our family we didn’t know we needed.”
Ilya groans, his eyes watering again and small laugh escaping him. “Yuna, I finally calm down and you make me cry again.”
She laughs, and loosens her grip once again to see his face. “I’d say i’m sorry, but I’m not really,” she says with a smile on her face, and he feels better, so much better.
“I love you too, Yuna,” Ilya says, “Thank you. Needed to hear this.”
“I know, my love. I know.” She leans back into the couch, and Ilya hesitates.
“Come here,” she says, patting the spot right next to her, “Just come be with me. We could stay here all day, if you want.”
Ilya raises his eyebrows, smiling. “Wow, Yuna. Who knew you like me so much? What would David think?”
She laughs, tossing a pillow at him. “Oh, stop that. Come here.” She pats the couch again, and this time, Ilya obeys. He sits next to her, and she gently pulls his head to rest on her shoulder. “You can stay here as long as you like, Ilya. Don’t get up until you have to pee, or something.”
He laughs loudly this time, and cuddles in closer, getting comfortable. He feels safe, and he feels understood, in the way a mother would elicit. He knows she can’t replace his mother, no one ever could, but he still needs this kind of love. He didn’t realize just how much he needed it until it was given to him.
He falls asleep.
———
Yuna: Hey, baby. I was making dinner but we had a bit of a blip in plans. Maybe we can order in?
Shane: no worries, mom! you guys good over there? i’m heading home right now
Yuna: *image attached*
Yuna: all good :)
Shane: SHUT UP
Shane: THAT IS SO CUTE
Shane: i love you both so much
Shane: i’ll be home so soon, don’t wake him
Yuna: Don’t worry, we’re staying right here.