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The doorbell rang at precisely six o’clock on a sunny Saturday evening in Ottawa.
"Ohmygodohmy-" Irina started yelling. "I'm not ready yet," she screamed down the stairs.
"I've got it," Shane yelled back from his spot on the couch. He turned off the highlights of the previous night's game that was airing on TSN and went to get the door. He brushed the air off his freshly ironed blue shirt and opened the door to find a tall, lanky boy with short blond hair.
"Hi Mr. Hollander," he said, greeting Shane.
The boy was cradling a bouquet of fresh yellow flowers in his right arm, and Shane wondered if he was supposed to take them from him. Before he could make any moves, the voice behind him exclaimed, "Max!"
Irina ran down the stairs like a madwoman and practically jumped into the boy's arms, while he was still standing in the entrance, and embraced him. Shane just stood there awkwardly in the doorway. Then Max handed her the flowers.
Oh, Shane thought. That’s sweet.
"Thank you so much," Irina said, putting her nose into the stems. She was practically floating with excitement. "I'll go put these in some water."
She jetted back into the kitchen, leaving Shane alone with Max.
"Let's go chat in the living room," Shane suggested.
"Sure."
Max followed Shane to the living room and sat down on the couch across from him. A few seconds later, Irina came back with the flowers in a clear vase and set them on the coffee table.
"They're so pretty," Irina said, beaming. "Aren't they dad?"
Shane didn't know anything about flowers. Ilya never bought them outside of their anniversaries and Valentine’s Day.
"Yeah," he said.
"Where is your husband, Mr. Hollander," Max asked.
Shane opened his mouth to answer, but Irina beat him to it.
"He's making dinner," Irina said. "I hope you like spaghetti."
”I love spaghetti,” Max said.
"It's pretty much the only thing he knows how to make," Shane interjected.
"It's still more than you know," Irina chided her dad.
Shane frowned. "You won't eat anything I cook," Shane reminded her.
Irina snickered. "That's because you eat like a bird."
"And your father eats like he just got out of prison," Shane said.
"I heard that," Ilya shouted from the kitchen.
"I don't care," Shane shouted back.
Ilya exited the kitchen carrying a giant pot of boiled pasta in two hands and set it in the middle of the dining room table with a loud thud.
"Dinner is ready," Ilya informed everyone, removing his oven mitts.
"Do you need help," Shane asked, after all the hard work was already done.
"Oh, now you ask if I need help," Ilya said mockingly. "No, I'm fine. Go sit down."
As they were going to sit down, Irina whispered to Shane, "Do you like him?"
Shane nodded. He hadn't had enough time to form a real opinion of Max yet.
"Soyez gentil," Irina begged. Be nice. "Please."
“I’m always nice,” Shane responded in English. “It’s your father that you have to worry about."
"Do you think he'll like him," Irina asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.
Shane didn't know how to answer. "Knowing your father, probably not right away," he said gently. He ran a hand through her long hair. "Give him some time."
Irina took a sip of her dad's wine before handing the glass to him.
She scrunched up her face in disgust.
"Blech," she said, sticking out her tongue.
Shane laughed. "Still tastes gross, huh?"
"She would like vodka," Ilya hypothesized.
Shane glared at him, and then smiled like a robot. "Well, she can find that out when she turns eighteen."
Ilya looked mildly freaked out by Shane's creepy smile.
"Your parents let you drink wine," Max asked Irina, as if it was surprising to him.
"Yeah," Irina shrugged.
Ilya scooped out the spaghetti noodles from the stainless steel pot and divided them onto four plates. He handed one of them to Shane, who began inspecting a soap stain on his plate.
"Problem?" Ilya asked his husband.
"Did you check that the plates were clean?"
Ilya's used his signature Russian stare to diffuse Shane's complaints. "I took them out of the dishwasher, love."
Shane passed the next plate over to Irina, and then finally to Max.
"Thank you for dinner, Mr. Rozanov," Max said.
"Yes, thanks papa."
"Was no problem," Ilya said.
"He hardly ever cooks for us," Irina said.
"Not true," Ilya argued.
"Spaghetti is for special occasions," Irina said, looking at Max lovingly.
Ilya rolled his eyes.
"I'm honoured," Max said.
Ilya sat down next to Shane, directly across from Max and Irina.
Shane had already consumed most of the liquid in his glass, and was going for a refill.
Ilya cracked his knuckles loudly.
Threateningly.
"So, Max," Ilya said slowly, pronouncing each syllable. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"
"Dad!" Irina said, mortified.
"Relax, relax" Ilya said. "I am kidding. But really Max, what do you like about my daughter?"
"Sorry, what?" Max asked.
"What do you like about her," Ilya repeated. "She is very smart, beautiful, good at hockey. Pick one thing."
”Ilya,” Shane scolded, his eyes searing.
Ilya raised his hands with his palms facing upwards. "What? He should be able to name a few things that he likes about her? Right Max?"
"You don't have to answer that," Irina told Max.
"Yes he does," Ilya said.
Max spoke nervously. "I really like her," he said. "Sir."
"Let's just eat," Shane said. "Pass the tomato sauce," he instructed.
Ilya rolled his eyes and passed the sauce.
“Most people mix the pasta and the sauce beforehand,” Irina noted.
“Do you want me to feed you or not,” Ilya asked. “I am not a professional chef.”
“We know,” Shane teased.
“Really? From my own husband?” Ilya sulked.
“It tastes good, papa,” Irina said.
Max took a performatively big bite of his meatball. “Really good,” he said with his mouth full.
Ilya looked pleased with himself. “At least the kids like it.”
"So Max, how many girls have you dated," Ilya continued his interrogation.
Shane raised his eyebrows disapprovingly.
"Ummm," Max stuttered.
"That's fine," Shane interrupted before Max could attempt to answer the question. "It's really none of our business."
"If he wants to date Irina, it is our business. Tell me, is it more or less than twenty?"
"Twenty?!" Shane shouted. "What are you talking about? They're only fifteen years old."
Irina picked up her napkin and held it over her face to hide her embarrassment.
"It is not an unreasonable number," Ilya said. “Maybe for you it is,” he mumbled.
Shane tucked that little quip into his brain to bring up to his husband later once their guest was gone.
"Let's talk about something else," Shane said to lighten the mood. "Did you see that Montreal loss last night," Shane asked Max. Relishing in his old team losing was still one of his favourite topics of conversation all these years later. "That was brutal."
Max shook his head. "I don't watch hockey.”
Ilya was dumbfounded. "Why not? You are Canadian, yes?"
"That's okay," Shane said nicely. “What sports do you like to watch?”
Irina spoke for Max. “He doesn’t watch sports, dad,” she said like Shane was stupid for asking the question. “He’s an artist.”
“Oh Jesus Christ,” Ilya said quietly before stuffing his mouth with more noodles.
”What kind of art,” Shane asked curiously.
”A bit of everything,” Max said. “Pastels, watercolour.”
”He painted me,” Irina said excitedly. “A few weeks ago.”
”You let this boy paint you,” Ilya asked with a mouthful of food.
”It was just my face,” Irina said defensively. “Just from here up.” Irina put her hand at the base of her shoulders to show him.
“Babe,” Shane said sternly. “Lay off.” He turned to look at Max. “I think that sounds very cool.”
"Papa," Irina scolded Ilya. "You're being rude."
Ilya scoffed while Shane hid a smirk.
“Yes that is… interesting,” Ilya said half-heartedly.
”Thank you, Mr. Rozanov,” Max said.
Ilya slumped down in his chair and shuffled one of his meatballs around his plate with his fork.
Shane furrowed his brow. Stop playing with your food, weirdo, he said with his eyes. But Ilya wouldn't look at him.
"Irina has never had a boyfriend," Ilya said out of the blue.
"Papa!"
Shane kicked Ilya's shin under the table. The legs of the table shook with reverberations and the plates and glasses shifted with the movements.
"Blyat!" Ilya shouted.
Max nearly jumped out of his seat.
"Papa are you okay," Irina asked, concerned.
Ilya scooted his chair away from the table. "Shane," Ilya turned to his husband, who was swirling pasta on his fork and ignoring him. "Can I please see you in the kitchen for a second?"
Shane shook his head. "I'm eating right now, Ilya."
Ilya put his hand on Shane's shoulder, and Shane wondered if he was going to yank him up by the back of his collar and drag him into the kitchen.
"Now Shane," Ilya whispered with a menacing smile on his face.
Shane looked at his daughter, and then at Max, considering his options.
"We'll be right back," Shane said, standing up and pushing Ilya towards the kitchen. "Go," Shane demanded.
Once they had shut the door, Ilya put a finger to Shane's lips to stop him from talking.
"Listen," Ilya said.
Shane batted Ilya’s hand away from his mouth.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Ilya brushed Shane's cheek. "I'm sorry, okay? Just listen."
Shane crossed his arms. "Talk," he instructed.
"That boy is not right for her," Ilya said, vaguely.
Shane sighed. "Come on. That's why you dragged me in here?"
Ilya looked around the room like he was worried about someone watching. Then he stared deeply into Shane's eyes, attempting to communicate without using words.
"Listen carefully to what I say. He is not right for her," Ilya said. "Understand?"
Shane definitely did not understand.
"He seems nice enough to me," Shane said, totally oblivious.
Ilya rubbed his left temple. "Jesus," Ilya said, fed up. "That boy is gay."
Shane cocked an eyebrow. "What? Why do you - I mean, I don't know. Maybe. Who cares?"
Ilya nearly collapsed into a pile of limbs on the floor. "What do you mean? He cannot date her if he is gay."
"Why not?" Shane asked, not sharing Ilya's level of concern. "If that's true, then they'll figure it out eventually. It's not our place to say anything."
"But," Ilya sputtered. "But he -"
Shane saw the anxiety in Ilya's eyes and instantly softened. "Maybe you just don't like that she's growing up."
Ilya started mumbling in his mother tongue, and Shane could only make out about a quarter of the things he said.
"No speaking Russian when you're angry," Shane demanded. "House rule, remember?"
Shane had to put his foot down when Irina was around six, and her and Ilya started speaking Russian to each other so that they could have secret conversations without Shane understanding them. While Shane's Russian had improved tremendously, was nowhere near fluent, especially when they spoke quickly.
"Fine," Ilya reluctantly agreed. "But we have to do something."
"No, we don't," Shane disagreed. "Here's what's going to happen: We will go out there and put smiles on our faces and have a nice dinner with our daughter and her boyfriend. You will finish your spaghetti and then we will have ice cream for dessert."
Ilya's ears perked up. "We have ice cream?"
"I bought it this morning," Shane said.
Ilya had seemingly forgotten what their previous conversation was even about.
"What kind?"
Shane gave him a knowing look and Ilya had to resist the urge to take him right there against the counter.
Shane continued outlining the order of events. "We will enjoy our ice cream, and then Max will go home. And then, when we're alone, we can talk to her."
Ilya nodded enthusiastically.
"How did you hide ice cream from me?"
"I have my ways." Shane smiled, proud of himself for keeping a tiny secret from a man who he usually couldn't keep anything from.
"Yes, I love your ways," Ilya said. "So sneaky. Go sit down." Ilya patted him on the back.
When they exited the kitchen, Max and Irina were silently staring at them.
"Are you guys okay?" Irina asked as Shane and Ilya took their places back at the table.
"Of course," Shane said, in a strange tone. He was a terrible liar.
Max had cleaned off his plate to the point that it was almost sparkling.
Ilya noticed that Irina's plate was still half-full. "Why are you not finishing your food? I worked so hard on that."
"I'm full," she shrugged.
"I'll take hers," Max offered, gliding the spaghetti and meatballs onto his empty plate with his fork.
The Hollander-Rozanovs all shared a glance with one another.
They sat in uncomfortable silence while Max finished Irina's leftovers with surprising efficiency, and let out a quiet belch.
Shane mouthed to Ilya, Is he okay?
"Is everything okay," Ilya asked out loud.
Max seemed almost lightheaded.
"Do you need some water?" Irina asked.
Max shook his head, "I'm good," he said unconvincingly. "Can I use your bathroom?"
"Of course, it's upstairs and to the left," Shane said.
Max politely excused himself from the table. The three of them watched Max ascend the stairs, and as soon as he was safely out of earshot, Irina began chastising her father's for their bizarre attitudes throughout the evening.
"Look what you did," Irina exclaimed. "You made him feel so awkward."
"He looks sick," Ilya observed.
Shane tentatively picked up a piece of meatball on the end of his utensil and eyed it suspiciously.
"Maybe it's the meatballs," Shane offered an explanation. "They tasted kind of funny this time around."
"It is not the meatballs," Ilya said angrily.
"Were you trying to poison him," Irina said loudly.
"It is not the meatballs!" Ilya slammed the table.
"Calm down, love," Shane told Ilya. "There's no need to get upset."
"You are accusing me of trying to murder someone!"
"He ate like five of them," Irina added. "Maybe I should go check on him."
"No," Ilya said firmly. "We need to talk to you about something."
He looked to Shane for support.
Shane rolled his eyes.
Irina looked annoyed. “What could you possibly have against him already? I thought you promised to have an open mind.”
“I don’t have anything against him,” Ilya said truthfully. “That’s not the point.”
Irina seemed even more confused. “Then what’s wrong?”
Shane tried a softer approach than his husband. “Your father has some concerns about Max.”
Irina's eyes were darting back and forth between her fathers.
"What do you mean," she said nervously. "Did he do something?"
"No," Shane said clearly. "You know what, it's not important."
”Fuck this,” Ilya said. “Max is gay.”
“Ilya, language,” Shane shouted.
“She needs to hear this,” Ilya said. “Before this goes any further and she gets too attached.”
”Dad,” Irina looked to Shane for an ally. “Please tell him that’s not true.”
”My husband agrees with me,” Ilya said. "Do not try to divide us."
Shane was caught in the middle now. "I told him to wait until after dinner," Shane clarified.
"He's gay," Ilya said, incredulously. "Shane, tell her."
Shane shrugged. "It's none of our business." He pushed another one of the suspicious-tasting meatballs into his mouth and chomped down until the tomato sauce mixed with meat filled his tastebuds.
Ilya pushed his lips out into a pout. His ice-blue eyes caught Shane in their gaze. Shane relented. "Okay fine, he's gay."
"Dad!"
"I'm sorry honey," Shane stood up. He walked over to his daughter, patted her back comfortingly, like she'd just lost a game of Scrabble, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Yes," Ilya agreed. "There will be other boys. But this one is not for you, okay?"
"He's not gay," Irina protested, her voice becoming higher towards the end of her sentence. She was becoming less and less sure of that fact by the second. "Just because he doesn't watch hockey doesn't make him gay."
Shane went back to his own chair.
“Trust me,” Ilya said. “This is like a superpower for me.”
"Knowing when people are gay?" Irina said, puzzled.
"Yes," Ilya said. "Sometimes even before they do. Like with Shane - "
"Fuck you!"
"Dad!" Irina reprimanded him. "What is with you two tonight?"
"I'm sorry," Shane apologized. "I don't know what came over me."
Ilya laughed at Shane's expense.
"And you," Irina turned her attention to Ilya.
Ilya pointed a finger towards himself, like he couldn't tell if she was talking to him despite looking directly at him.
"Yes you, papa. What gives you the right to decide what someone else's sexuality is?"
"That's what I told him," Shane said, smiling at how irritated Ilya had become.
Ilya huffed and his mouth hung open, mystified by how his entire family could gang up on him for trying to save his daughter from heartbreak.
"Oh and you two are just so perfect," Ilya said sarcastically. "One of you has a gay boyfriend and the other did not know he was gay until he was twenty-six."
"You are so dead," Shane said sharply. He noticed out of the corner of his eye, the sides of Ilya's lips had curved into a small mischievous smile.
"Can you guys do, whatever the hell this is, later?" Irina begged. "I wanted us to have a nice dinner tonight."
"I know honey," Shane said. He looked at Ilya and shook his head, mouthing what's wrong with you?
Irina looked at her father with soft eyes. "I really like him, papa. Please just make an effort to get to know him."
Ilya nodded sympathetically. He could remember what it was like to be young and in love with a closeted gay man.
"Has he ever tried to kiss you," Ilya asked tenderly.
Irina seemed like she was deep in thought. Ilya and Shane glanced at each other for a couple seconds.
"Not really," she answered finally.
“It is probably because he does not want to,” Ilya ascertained.
Shane let out a breathy laugh. "Oh god," he said. "I remember those days."
"See," Ilya pointed to Shane. "Gay."
"Hey!" Shane reacted to Ilya's comment.
"It is not a bad thing," Ilya clarified. "I love gay people," Ilya said. "Like your father. I love him, truly."
Shane shot him a pissed-off look.
"Max is not like you dad," Irina tried to sound confident. "No offence."
Ilya let out a snort. Shane would get him back for that later.
Shane tried his best to get the conversation back on track. "The point is," Shane said, "you can’t force what isn’t meant to be."
"Exactly," Ilya latched onto Shane's words. “You will find someone else. Someone who is not gay.”
“Papa,” Irina scolded. “Just please try to be normal for once.”
”I am being normal,” Ilya argued.
”What part of tonight was you acting normal?”
”I know what I’m talking about,” Ilya said.
Shane reluctantly nodded. “It’s true, your father is very perceptive.”
Ilya’s heart swelled at Shane’s observation.
"Sweetheart,” Ilya said in a serious yet soothing tone. “When I met your father, I immediately wanted to kiss him.”
"You did," Shane asked, his heart quickly turning to mush.
"Yes," Ilya confirmed. "And once I did, I could not stop kissing him.”
Shane felt butterflies in his stomach.
”I could hardly keep my hands off of him."
That comment was a bridge too far.
"Ew," Shane and Irina said in unison.
"Stop it," Shane demanded, his leg twitching to kick Ilya again.
"Yes, please stop," Irina agreed.
Shane and Ilya's eyes met across the table, and Ilya raised his eyebrows.
"But the feeling was mutual," Shane said softly. “You deserve to find someone who feels the same way about you that you feel about them.”
Ilya’s face contorted into a small smile. “Listen to dad.”
"Your father is trying to protect you,” Shane continued. “We just don't want you to get too attached if it might not work out."
Irina put her hand up like a stop sign. "Okay," she conceded. "Can this wait until after dinner, please?"
"Yes," Shane agreed. “Who cares if he’s gay? He’s our guest.”
”And he’s definitely not gay,” Irina said. "Why would he even want to date me if he was gay?"
"You're father dated women too," Ilya pointed out.
Shane's face went pink and he raised his fork like a weapon. "I will stab you in the eye with this fork," he threatened.
"You would not hurt me," Ilya said confidently. "You would miss my eyes too much."
"I wouldn't miss your annoying mouth," Shane said back.
Ilya had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from making an inappropriate joke in front of their daughter.
Irina breathed in and out, releasing a long exhausted sigh. "I hate you both."
"You are lucky you have parents that are still in love," Ilya said playfully.
"He just threatened to stab your eye," Irina argued.
"This is how your dad expresses love," Ilya teased.
"It is not," Shane countered.
"Sure, yes, I'm very lucky," Irina agreed with her father. "Now please shut up."
Ilya started laughing, which spurred on Irina's laughter, and soon the air filled with the sounds of the entire family cracking up at how ridiculous this whole night was.
Then, half a second later, their happiness was interrupted by a squeaking noise coming from the stairs. It was that loose stair that Ilya had been promising to get fixed ever since they moved in. Over the years, they had all just sort of gotten used to it. But Max wouldn't have known.
All three of their heads turned, and saw Max’s blond hair peaked out from around the bannister.
They were totally caught. It was unclear how long he had been listening, but it was obvious that he had just heard what they were talking about. They were so fucked.
Max seemed to realize that the jig was up, and began to emerge from his hiding place.
Defeated, he descended the steps, and Irina's stomach sank each time his foot landed.
“I think I’m going to go home,” Max said when he finally reached the main level.
No one quite knew what to say. It was a level of awkward that none of them had experienced.
“No, don’t go,” Shane pleaded. Then he attempted to bribe the child with the promise of dessert. “We have ice cream.”
The bribe was unsuccessful.
”Thank you for dinner,” Max said, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry. I’ll see you at school Irina.” He bid her farewell. They heard the front door slam shut, and then Max was gone.
An eerie silence filled the house. No one wanted to be the first person to speak.
"Can we still have ice cream," Ilya asked, completely misreading the mood of the room.
"Do you really think that you deserve ice cream after all this," Irina asked.
Ilya hung his head sheepishly. "No."
The next day
Irina used her key and walked in through the front door after school was over. She threw her backpack on the couch and sighed loud enough for everyone in the house to hear.
"I'm home," she shouted, giving her fathers a heads up.
"In the kitchen," Shane said.
She went to meet her dad in the kitchen, where he was preparing a kale salad for dinner that night.
"You guys were right," Irina admitted. "He's gay."
She didn't seem too upset by the revelation.
Shane ran his hands under the tap and wiped them on a towel. Then he embraced his daughter in a comforting hug.
"I'm sorry," he said, pulling away. "But your father is never wrong."
"Yeah, I'm starting to see that."
"You can still be friends," Shane offered as a consolation.
Irina nodded. "Obviously," she agreed. "I still really like him as a person."
"Next time you like a boy, just introduce him to us first okay?"
"Deal."