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"What are your intentions toward my son?" Yuna Hollander asks, sitting down beside Ilya. She's holding a glass of white wine. There is steel in her eyes, sharp as skate blades, but her mouth is soft. Ilya appreciates her directness.
"I love him," he tells her.
"And?"
"I want to be with him." He's almost glad she knows that love is not always enough. Not when it's balanced against the weight of all their dreams for the future. But he looks at Shane, who is standing by the grill with his dad, and can't imagine wanting anything more.
"You want to be together." She narrows her eyes, just a little bit, and takes a sip of her wine. "But you didn't before."
Ilya sighs. "I did." It's hard to admit somehow.
"For how long?"
For always. That's too much to explain, but he can give her one marker. He looks straight at her. "Since before he dated Rose Landry. I tried to tell him." He tips his head in a more-or-less kind of way. "It did not go so well."
He chooses his words carefully, trying to speak his best English, trying to protect Shane. Shane is close with his parents, maybe, but not so close that he wants them to know everything. But here is Yuna, asking, and Ilya wants to tell someone. He never gets to talk to anyone about Shane. "After the All Stars Game, we...talked. To see if we felt the same. But it didn't seem possible then. Not until Scott Hunter. So Shane invited me. To see if maybe we should try." He gestures, a little helpless. "Even if it's difficult, that's what we want."
Her eyes widen. She nods. "Okay. That does clear a few things up." She pauses. "Rose is a lovely girl."
Ilya nods. "Yes. She is a good friend to Shane."
"But he's only been in love with one person," Yuna says. "Just like you."
"Yes." Ilya lets the word sit between them.
"Huh." Yuna drinks a little more of her wine. They both watch Shane and David for a few minutes.
"I think maybe dinner won't be soon," Ilya says. He winces inside. He could have said that a little better. Impressed Shane's mom. He would like to impress Shane's mom. She is very intimidating. Beautiful, yes, funny, yes, but not like his mom was. Yuna is confident. Yuna is powerful. Yuna is loved.
"You were so good with him," Yuna says. "Earlier. When he got upset."
"He is very easy to be good to," Ilya tells her.
Yuna looks him over again and leans back into one corner of the couch, pulling her feet up in front of her. She looks younger that way, almost girlish. "What a fucking waste," she says.
"Excuse me?" At least he knows where Shane gets his mouth. Not like that.
She laughs. "I spent so many years hating you on Shane's behalf," she says. "Rozanov's an asshole, Rozanov's a bully. Who does Rozanov think he is? Did you see what Rozanov did last week? And the whole time, we could have been loving you instead. At least we were paying attention, I suppose."
"Maybe not the whole time," Ilya says. His brain does a little jump over the word "loving". He will have to come back to it. "I was playing for Boston. Not so lovable."
"Besides that," she says.
He wants to make a joke, but he isn't sure of himself with her yet. At lunch, she shifted position so fast she could have been on skates. She doesn't trust him, she doesn't want him, okay maybe he's not so bad, but he's leaving Boston and maybe that means he'll leave her son too. Now she's happy that Ilya would take big steps to be with Shane, not so far away. Now she's sad that they are a secret, maybe until they finish with hockey. Each time she changes direction, he can't keep up.
Anyway, he would be confused too, if he were her. All of them have had a long and strange day. It was all fine, when they left the Hollanders' cottage, but Ilya did not know what the hours between would bring. Shane thinks too much about everything. Ilya is sure this came from his parents. Yuna, he can tell, is always considering the next thing. It seems like maybe in the hours since lunch, she decided Ilya can stay. He thinks he is on her good side, for now. He wants to stay there. That means no jokes. Well, not too many. Maybe moms like jokes. He hasn't met so many moms, at least not the moms of his lovers. His boyfriend.
"In the elevator," she says. "Was that the first time? Summer before your rookie season? You were going to see Shane?"
He doesn't pretend not to remember. He doesn't even want to lie to her. "Yes."
She smirks. He's seen that expression on Shane's face too. "You probably weren't sad at all when the elevator doors started closing. How awkward, to meet your hookup's mom on your way to his room."
"A little bit," he says. "I knew who you were. I saw you with Shane, at the filming."
She nods like she's thinking. "I always thought it was interesting, the way they called us. It didn't feel like the usual process."
"I asked for him," Ilya says. "Shane. I thought it would be good. For the branding. Maybe we're rivals, but we're wearing the same gear. I thought the company would like it."
She narrows her eyes at him. He feels like he is in the scanner at the airport. "No, you didn't. You wanted to see him."
"Well." Ilya fidgets. He feels like a kid in front of Shane's parents. He had forgotten how that felt. "Both."
"I think maybe you've been lovers longer than just since last year," she says. "In-love lovers, I mean."
Ilya can't help it. He looks over at Shane. There is sunlight in Shane's hair and his eyelashes and on the back of his neck, and all along the straight line of his nose. He hopes no one ever breaks Shane's perfect nose. Shane is smiling and squinting at his dad. Ilya can see they are family. It's in the way they stand and the way their eyes crinkle in the sun.
"I don't know when," he says, not looking at her. "But yes, a long time."
"And Shane?"
"Also a long time, I think. I hope."
Yuna drinks her wine. Ilya can almost hear her thinking.
"Would you look at that?" David says. "We got the grill lit. Good news, sweetheart."
"I told you," Shane says. "It's a different system. I was cooking on it all week."
"Twenty minutes," David calls.
Yuna shakes her head and drains her glass of wine. She sets it on the edge of the unlit fire pit. "Come on," she says, getting up from the couch.
Ilya follows her obediently. "Where are we going?"
"To make the salad."
Yuna knows where everything is in Shane's kitchen. Ilya watches her move around with confidence picking out all the things they need to make the salad: a big bowl, a knife, a cutting board, a colander, a peeler. He only knows about cups and plates mostly. One day, if things go well, he'll find the right drawer in only one or two tries.
She sees him watching. "I know. I manage everything, even a salad."
"It's nice," he says.
"You don't cook with your family?"
"Ah, no," Ilya says slowly. "Not for a long time."
"I guess you don't see them much," she says. "Will you get the vegetables out of the fridge and wash them?"
"Yes," he says. "I mean, yes to vegetables. No to family. There is not so much family to see now. Only my brother, and he is not so nice."
Her face softens. "I heard about your father. I'm sorry."
"Is okay," he says, because the grief eats his English. But it's only a little grief. These days, it's softer, more like relief. But maybe he just did his mourning first, before his father died. "He was sick for a long time. Now he's not." He washes a handful of small sweet peppers and passes them to her.
"But you got to see your mom while you were there?" she asks. She slices the peppers into thin strips and drops them into a big bowl.
"Well," Ilya says. "Her grave. Yes."
"I didn't know." She sets down the knife and looks at him, biting her lip. "Can I...can I give you a hug?"
"Okay," he says, even though his hands have carrots in them. He sets the carrots on the cutting board and lets Shane's mom fold him up in her arms. She smells nice when he rests his head on her shoulder. He wraps his arms around her and she doesn't feel like his mom, not at all, but it's like his mom is hugging him anyway. Maybe all the good moms hug the same somehow. And he definitely doesn't have tears in his eyes, of course not. Russians don't cry like this.
"You must have been so lonely," she says softly in his ear. "Look at you, doing everything on your own."
He wants to say something, but when he takes a breath, it's so shaky. So he says nothing.
"It's okay," she tells him. "You don't have to be by yourself anymore. You have Shane. You have us."
Somehow he believes that. One day with the Hollanders and they've folded him into the rest of their lives. He never could have expected it, but he's so fucking grateful.
He knows she knows he's crying. But she doesn't say anything. She just holds him a little tighter. And when he lets go, she's crying too, silent tears shiny on her cheeks.
"What a fucking day, huh?" she says, laughing a little as she wipes the tears away.
"Maybe one of the best days," he says. "Of my life."
The way she looks at him is so sad and so happy. "We'll work on that," she says, rubbing her hands up and down the outside of his arms. "But first we have to finish this salad, because they're probably pretty close to done murdering that chicken." She shakes her head and chops up a cucumber as Ilya peels carrots. "I don't want you to think the Hollander men can't cook. Under ordinary circumstances, David makes great food, and we made sure Shane could feed himself."
"He made me burgers," Ilya says. "They were nice. Just too many."
"Did he forget to cut the recipe in half?" Yuna asks, picking up the peeled carrots. "He does that when he's nervous. He likes clear directions."
"I know," Ilya says, and then thinks about what that could mean, and then he puts his head in the fridge pretending he's getting out the lettuce. Shane's mom pretends he didn't say anything. That's good. Already today Shane's dad saw them kissing and then Shane told his parents to text before they came to the house and Ilya saw Shane's parents understand what that meant. Ilya doesn't mind too much, except that Shane minds, and also, he will see these people all the time, maybe for the rest of his life. They don't need to know everything he knows about their son.
"From hockey," he says, way too late, and Yuna just says, "Mmhmm." Ilya washes the lettuce and tries not to blush.
"So what do you like?" Yuna asks. "Besides hockey and Shane." It's a very mom question. It makes Ilya warm inside.
"Nice cars," Ilya says. "Also music. Just to listen. I don't play. Sometimes art, but I don't paint."
"Of course not," Yuna says. "When would you have had the time?" She takes the lettuce from Ilya and slices it into ribbons. "That was smart, your idea about the commercial. You don't have a lot of brand deals?"
"Not like Shane," he tells her.
"Well, we can fix that," she says. "If you want." Her mouth turns up at one side. "Shane tells me I can be a little overpowering when it comes to this kind of thing, so just tell me to back off. I won't be upset."
"I don't mind," Ilya says honestly. "It's nice if someone cares."
She puts the lettuce in a bowl with the other vegetables. "You're part of the family now, kid. That comes with all the perks and drawbacks of nosy, involved parents."
"I think I can deal with that, yes?"
"Of all the people," she says, like she's talking only to herself. "Ilya Rozanov. But then, who else?" She turns to him and touches his chin, holding his face in her hand, but not like the sexy way he holds Shane. It should be weird, but it's not. Ilya stays still. He thinks maybe she's looking into his soul. But she likes what she sees, because she smiles.
"Will you get the dressing out of the fridge? The vinaigrette."
He finds the bottle and hands it to her. She shakes it. "We'll let everybody dress their own. It looks like dinner's about to be served."
Ilya picks up the bowl and carries it out to the table. Yuna looks happy about that and it makes Ilya feel like a nice person. She brings the vinaigrette. Ilya sets the salad on the table. He sees Yuna's wine glass, still on the firepit, and brings that back to the table too. It's not exactly a thank you, but it's part of their conversation anyway. She smiles at him as he pours more wine into her glass.
"You two were in there for a while," David says as everyone else sits down. "Looked like you were having fun."
"Just doing some family bonding," Yuna says.
"We made salad," Ilya announces, as if everyone can't see it.
Shane reaches for Ilya's hand, not even under the table. His touch is a question: are you okay? Ilya squeezes Shane's hand gently. Don't worry, everything is good.
"I guess Mom didn't bite your head off, so that's a start," Shane teases.
"I think you tricked us," Yuna announces. For a second, Shane's eyes widen. "I think you did bring home a nice man after all."
"Now that's a big endorsement," David says. He makes his voice like a sports announcer's. "Huge news out of Ottawa: the Hollanders have acquired Ilya Rozanov in a shocking trade no one saw coming. Contract negotiations are still ongoing, but it seems like he's in it for the long-term."
"Oh my god," Shane says, but he's laughing. "Dad, stop. You're going to make him want to leave."
"Nothing could make me want to leave," Ilya says in a quiet voice. "It's perfect here."
Shane looks at him like he can see all their future in Ilya's eyes: years and years of this. Ilya looks back until Shane is too blurry. Shane leans forward and brushes the tears away from Ilya's eyes. It feels like something Shane's mom must have done for him. When Ilya looks over at David and Yuna, they're smiling and holding hands too.
"Who wants chicken?" David asks.
Everyone wants chicken, and salad, and wine, and to talk until the sun goes down and they light the fire. Ilya sits next to Shane, wrapped up in the blanket from the morning, and listens to the Hollanders. Somewhere in the dark, a loon makes its wolf howl, all wild and free. Shane puts his arm around Ilya like it's easy and holds Ilya close.
Just maybe, Ilya is home.