Work Text:
October 2018
Yuna made her way through the store, glancing down at the pages in her hand and on her phone as she tried to make sense of the Cyrillic lettering on the labels. David had printed out a shopping list for her based on the recipes he’d scouted online. It had taken him a few years, but he finally seemed to understand the concept of YouTube and had been trying to learn some Russian comfort recipes.
Ilya had moved to Ottawa just before the pre-season started. He and Shane had set up his, or really their, house, but there hadn’t been time for much else. Yuna and David had gone over with dinner and helped the boys get some things organized, but they wanted to give them space before the season started. Ottawa was closer than Boston, but there wasn’t much that could be done in weeks like these when their schedules conflicted so much.
Shane was on a road trip with stops in Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver, and then Seattle. Ilya had a handful of home games with one in D.C. mixed in before he’d be able to see Shane in Montreal. Yuna told herself this was better; it must have been, than when they only saw each other a few times a year. But when she and David had gone to the Ottawa game the day before, they both noted that Ilya seemed off. He hardly chirped the entire game, and his eyes seemed glazed over. And Shane wasn’t much better when they spoke with him on the phone. He was meal prepping during the call, and she and David shared a look that they’d shared a bit too often now whenever the topic of food came up around Shane.
They’d deal with that later, but for now, one of their boys was here, and they could maybe, maybe do something to make him feel better. Feel at home. Yuna reminded herself of this as she picked up two jars of what she assumed were mustard.
As if she could hear Yuna’s internal monologue, an older woman appeared next to her. Her worn, handwritten nametag said, Varvara. Yuna smiled at her and held up the two jars, “I’m looking for a Russian-style mustard. Do you have a favorite between these two?” The woman looked between the two, Zakuson and Teschtina Gorchitsa. She chuckles and asks Yuna, “You are good with heat?”
“Yes -” Yuna pauses, was Ilya good with spicy food? Yes? She tries to think about the meals they’d made for him, but they were all fairly basic pseudo-Italian. She wasn’t sure where these would land in comparison to Karashi, but something about Ilya told her he could handle spice.
“Yes, heat would be good,” she says more confidently. Varvara nods and smiles, putting the Zakuson back on the shelf. “That one is good, but this one -” she points to the jar still in Yuna’s hand, “this one is more homemade.” She looks down at the papers in Yuna’s fists, “Is list? For meal?” Yuna nods and hands it to her.
She waits as Varvara reads it, pursing her lips in approval before handing it back to Yuna. “Okay. Follow me, is very good meal. Will taste like home.” Yuna follows the older woman around the store as she stocks her cart with the necessary ingredients. Speaks to the man behind the deli counter in Russian, grabbing the list and handing it to him. When she gives it back to Yuna, she motions for her to keep following her. When it seems they’ve finally gotten everything David asked for, Varvara takes her over to the cash register. There’s a stack of reusable totes with the store’s name on them, and Yuna asks her for two.
She listens as Varvara rambles off some final tips, hands her the list so she can write down notes for David. By now, it was apparent that Yuna would not be the one cooking. She was about to leave the store and paused. She put the bags down and gave the woman a hug,
“Spasibo.” Yuna knows the pronunciation must be terrible. She’d been trying to listen to some of the phrases Ilya and Shane said to one another. She wasn’t kidding herself that she’d actually be able to speak Russian. But a few polite phrases couldn’t hurt. Varvara raised her eyebrows in momentary shock, “Ne za chto.” She handed her the bags again and smiled at Yuna as she left.
***
“Sweetheart, has the cake cooled yet?” David asks his wife. The sharlotka seemed like the safest dessert option. It was the right time of year for an apple cake, and from what he’d found online, it was a heck of a lot easier than zefir. It was for sure easier than the meatball soup he’d been working on. The zharenaya kartoshka was almost done, and he checked the clock on the stove. Ilya would be here any moment.
Yuna rushed back into the kitchen to grab the sour cream and mustard. She rests her hand above the cake before nodding to David, “It’s good. Or it will be once we’re done with everything else.” They both turn their heads as they hear Ilya’s car pull up in the driveway. Yuna is almost to the door when she hears Ilya ring the doorbell. They’d given him a key, but he was still wary of using it, it seemed.
“Oh, good, you’re here! David’s almost finished. Help me with the table?” Ilya seems a bit taken aback, but Yuna knows he likes to be helpful. She’d teased Shane about how much better Ilya was at doing small things for them when he was here last. He acted annoyed, but she saw how Shane gazed at Ilya drying dishes with David and knew he loved it, too. Ilya took off his shoes and hung up his coat before following Yuna to the kitchen.
“Hello, David -” he stopped, literally stopped in his tracks as he came into the kitchen. David watched as Ilya sniffed the air. What was it Yuna had called him? Golden retriever boyfriend? Ilya came over to the stove, looking at what was in front of David. He turned around and looked more closely at the cake. “Is Russian? You make Russian food?” Ilya asks, his accent stronger than it typically is these days.
David glances between Ilya and the stove, blindly grabbing the recipes on the counter and handing them to him. “Ugh, yeah. We um, wanted to make you feel at home here, in Ottawa. We know it was a big move and figured you might like a taste of home. Does this, do these look right to you? I’ve been doing some research on what would be good, and then Yuna found a Russian grocery store in town. She’ll give you the name of it before you leave. You liked it, right, sweetheart?” David stumbles over his words a bit.
Yes, David is where Shane gets his boring from, Ilya thinks to himself. He looks over the recipes, nodding and trying to smile at David, to show him that he appreciates this. The effort that he and Yuna clearly made for him. But he was trying to ignore the knot in his stomach, the glassiness he felt betraying his eyes.
“This -” Ilya clears his throat before continuing, “this is very good. Is what my mother used to make. Polina did not cook much, and my father was not like,” he motions at David, standing over the stove wearing a ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron that Yuna had gotten him a few years back. David elbows him “Well, let’s just hope I didn’t screw it up too much, hmm? This nice woman at the store gave Yuna some tips for me, but I’ll be honest, I don’t entirely know what flavors to be looking for. Can you grab the bowls for the soup?” He nods to the cupboard, and Ilya breaks away to get them. Taking the opportunity to wipe his eyes while his back is to them.
Yuna and David share a look as she hands David a serving dish for the potatoes. He plates them quietly before passing them back to her. She leaves, nodding towards Ilya, who was still standing with his back to them. Staring at the bowls directly at his eye level.
“Can you bring those over here, son?” David asks. Ilya shakes his head, taken aback by the term, before hurrying over with the bowls. “Yes, yes of course. I’m sorry.” David gives him a thin smile as he starts serving the meatball soup. “You know, if there’s ever anything you’d like us to make, you can always let us know. We feel a bit spoiled being able to have you so near. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to take care of someone like this. You’re really doing us a favor.”
Ilya smiles at him softly. “You are very kind, David, thank you. This, this is very nice. Is not what I expected, but maybe, is what I needed. Even if I did not know. You are very kind, you and Yuna.”
David pats Ilya’s shoulder a few times before grabbing two of the bowls and heading to the table. “That’ll be your bowl, and then we’ll have vodka? There are some glasses over on that shelf. Grab three of them, will you?” Ilya nods at him, happy to follow each request.
With each bite, every spoonful, Ilya is sure to express how good everything tastes. Asking questions about the recipes, the store, trying to glean what all they did to give him this gift. He refills David’s vodka glass, and Yuna shoos his hand away when he reaches for hers. He likes to think of Shane sitting at this table when he was younger. That this is what his childhood was like. Comforting.
Ilya is in the middle of plopping a large spoonful of sourcream on to the fried potatoes when he says, “You know, it is good Shane is not here, actually. This is not food for Shane.” David chuckles, “No, I think you’re right about that.” Yuna wants to ask him about Shane’s eating, but she stops herself. She needs to have that conversation with Shane first before involving his boyfriend. Especially when he’s not there.
By the time the evening's over, they’ve each had some of the apple cake, cleared the dishes, and tried a few rounds of Yahtzee. Yuna won, but Ilya was quickly learning the rules. She grabbed one of the tote bags from the store and packed it with Tupperware filled with leftovers. Ilya was putting his shoes on by the door, talking with David, when she handed it to him.
“That’s from the store. When you go, look for Varvara; she really was great. And enjoy those, but I expect my containers returned next time you come over.” Yuna says seriously. Ilya would guard these leftovers with his life. And he wouldn’t dream of endangering future nights like this by not returning Yuna’s containers in the most pristine condition that even Shane would applaud.
But he couldn’t say that. Or else that knot in his stomach would come back up, and his throat would catch, and he would cry. And then they really might not have him back again. So, he didn’t say that. Instead, he just said, “Thank you, Yuna. Thank you, David. This was really very nice. I - thank you.”
David shakes his hand before wrapping him in a hug. Yuna grips him in a near chokehold, kissing his cheek. “Ne za chto. This is your home now, Ilya.” He buries his head in Yuna’s shoulder.
***
Yuna’s phone rings early the next morning. She glances to see it’s Shane and picks up quickly, “Well, hello - how are you doing? I thought you’d be on your way out by now.” She glances at the calendar for Shane’s schedule and sees that he should be leaving soon.
“Hey, no, yeah, g’morning. I’ll be heading down soon. I just um. Ilya told me about last night, how you guys made him Russian food and all. You didn’t have to do that -” Yuna had never felt so sure in her life that they did in fact have to do that, especially after it brought Ilya to tears as he was leaving.
“Oh, Shane, it was nothing, really. I mean, he moved here to be closer to you. He makes you happy. Making him dinner was the least we could do. Really -”
“No, I know, and I’m happy you did. It, it really meant a lot to him, Mom. Like a lot. And please tell Dad I appreciate it. Did he really watch recipe videos?” Shane asks. Yuna chuckles to herself, thinking of how many times she’d walked in on David watching videos of Russian grandmothers cooking different traditional dishes. How red he had turned when she joked that she needed to keep an eye out for the babushkas.
“Yes, quite a few of them. But it was worth it in the end. Ilya said he nailed the meatball soup. My god, your father was so proud of himself.”
She can hear Shane smile through the phone. “That’s awesome. Could you, do you think you could send me those recipes? I feel bad, I never thought to do that for him.” Before she could stop herself, Yuna let out a laugh and said, “Well, of course you didn’t, Shane.”
The silence on the other line was deafening.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. Of course, you would think to do something sweet for him. I just - I mean that food means different things to you and Ilya. To you, it’s fuel -” Shane interjects, “Well, yeah, because it is. We’re hockey players -”
“Yes, Shane, I am very aware of that.” She pauses to police her tone. She doesn’t want to make Shane feel like he can’t talk with her about this in the future, but she also doesn’t want him to think that’s all that matters.
“I guess, what I mean to say is that to you, food is what fuels you so that you can do what you do. Would you say that’s how you feel?” Pass him the puck, let him answer. “Yeah, there’s a lot I can’t control when we’re on the ice. But what I do with my body, with my food, that’s something I can control. And if I can control how I fuel my body so that I can play my best, for as long as I can, then that’s something I’m going to do.”
Control. Yuna winces each time he says the word. She and David are definitely going to need to talk about this.
But she can’t let Shane think he can’t tell her these things, not like last time, so instead she says, “Right, well, thank you for sharing that. I guess, for Ilya, it means something different. It means comfort.”
“Oh, right,” Shane says. Yuna hears Hayden in the background yelling to Shane. “Ugh Mom, I’ve gotta go. The bus is out front. But thank you, seriously. It meant a lot to him. And to me. You’ll send me those recipes, right?” Yuna smiles to herself, “I’ll even have your dad send you the videos he watched.”
“Alright, great, thanks. I love you. I’ll give you guys a call when we land.”
“Love you, too, sweetie. Have a safe flight and tell Hayden we said hello.”