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Ilya could see the sunlight behind his closed eyelids. They had forgotten to close the curtains in their bedroom before going to sleep last night. He slowly spread his arm out to the left side of the bed, Shane’s side of the bed, and found it cold. Opening his eyes, he adjusted to the mid-morning sun coming from outside. Ilya rolled over to face the alabaster ceiling. Getting up out of bed was going to be hell. He could feel it in his bones. He and Shane went to bed too late after arriving home from Yuna and David’s house the night before. It wasn't even the fun kind of being awake into the wee hours of the morning. It was the anxious kind that settled itself into the soul. He wondered what time Shane had gotten up for him to find the bed cold, sheets pulled up as best they could be with a large body on the other side.
Finally gathering enough courage, Ilya placed his bare feet on the hardwood floor. He walked out into the kitchen to find Shane, standing, frazzled, a towel over his left shoulder.
“Good morning, moya lyubov,” Ilya slurred.
Shane was startled. Jumping half out of his skin, he said, “Shit, you scared the shit out of me, Ilya!"
“I am very sorry, I won’t do it again, yes?” Ilya murmured while walking over to his husband and placing a soft, sweet kiss on Shane’s shoulder. He settled into the touch, allowing the tension to leave him. They stood there, just like that, for what felt like forever and no time at all.
Breaking away, finally, Ilya walked over to the fridge and fetched out the orange juice, which was the organic, all-natural, sugarless kind that Shane would drink, and poured it into the two glasses that were sitting on the counter.
“What is wrong?” Ilya asked without accusation. He knew why Shane was upset. Today, well, more like tonight, would be the first time Ilya would be meeting Shane’s extended family. Originally, Shane had resisted the idea, wanting to ‘protect’ Ilya. It seemed a ridiculous notion, Shane protecting Ilya from family troubles. Ilya, who found his mother cold and blue. Ilya, who had to watch his cruel, but alive, father slip further and further away from him as dementia ravaged his mind. Ilya, who was not even a thought in his brother's mind. He was not a stranger to family ‘issues’.
“You know what she is going to say. She refused to come to the fucking wedding.” Shane winned. His grandmother, on his father’s side, was more than disappointed by the fact that one of her grandchildren was gay. When the invitation to their wedding was returned with a blatant refusal for her to go, Shane’s heart broke a little bit. Ilya could see it, the way his beautiful then-fiancée’s face slipped silently into a frown. Ilya was pissed, maybe beyond so.
But that was four years of progress ago. She had finally started calling him again on Christmas. Ilya listened in on the phone calls. She had talked around his life and relationship. Anything to not talk about how he was married to a man.
Glenda Hollander was coming to see her son. And Ilya wanted to meet her. He was going to show her how much she was missing by finding herself incapable of loving her grandchild.
“Yes, but she will regret it at the end of today. Old women love me, yes? They flock to me. Cannot keep away. ‘Oh, Ilya, you are so sweet.’ ‘You are so very handsome, do you like older women?’” Ilya teased, knowing it would rile Shane up.
“Stop,” Shane said. Not quite meanly, but not joking.
“You know I kid. You know I play.”
“Yes, but that did happen.”
“It was one time, and when it did, I was a little distracted by some hockey player and his entirely too tight shirt.” To punctuate his sentence, he pinched Shane’s behind, causing him to yelp.
“You are incorrigeable," Shane mumbled while moving to the other side of the island, taking a seat on one of the stools.
“You are very encouraging,” Ilya said, missing the meaning of the word, but being earnest despite the misunderstanding. Shane ignored the translation error and just smiled up at Ilya over the rim of his glass.
After getting dressed and fussing with their hair, Shane and Ilya were ready to head out the door. Shane had insisted on picking out their outfits. He dressed Ilya in a dark blue Polo that hugged his arms just enough to show them off, but not enough to show them off, and a pair of khaki shorts. Shane put himself in a blue and green plaid button-down and blue shorts.
“Will you laugh if I ask you a question?” Shane inquired.
“No, I promise. I am good husband who is very serious,” Ilya said, squaring his face.
“Do I look gay?”
Ily could not help but double over laughing. When he finally caught his breath, Ilya said, “Oh, no, I would not let my very straight husband leave the house looking gay. Would be embarrassment.”
“I’m serious. I want to be the Shane she remembers. I want her to be able to look at me.” The words left Shane’s mouth and landed like lead in Ilya’s stomach. His Shane was worried about this lady, who used to adore him, not loving him anymore. She did not. That was not the scary part, Ilya thought. Shane knew that much when she refused to watch him get married, calling it immoral and unjust. He could tell that Shane’s primary concern was not being enough for her.
Shane got like that. He would go into himself. Ilya knew it, and Shane knew that his husband noticed these moods. How could he not? In the middle of group conversations, Shane would disappear into himself. It would not shock Ilya if that happened tonight.
“She is not going to care; she has bigger priorities tonight, moya lyubov.”
“Yeah, like ignoring the fact that you are there, or the fact that we are married. I hate that she is like this. I wish she could see how wonderful you are.”
The truth was, Shane’s grandmother did not originally hate Ilya. She thought he was a good hockey player and enjoyed watching him and Shane on the ice. That all changed when the video came out, and with it, Shane and Ilya. The phone call was wretched. Why would she tell Shane all these things? Ilya would never understand. He had faced his own family and their homophobia, but they were good and loyal Russians. They were police, not a women in a largely liberal society that legalized same-sex marriage.
Shane insisted on driving. The car was something that he could control.
“Okay, when we get there, let me do the talking. You can say hello to mom and dad, of course, and be polite to my grandmother. She will not like it if you call her anything cute. Mrs. Hollander only, or else she will think you have no house training. Not that you don’t, but she is very particular. Before my grandfather died, you remember me telling you this, she wanted them to be Grandmother Hollander and Grandfather Hollander. My mother never heard the end of me not calling them that. Grandma Glenda hates my mom. And I think she always hated me. She never really showed it to me… I guess…”
“But there were differences… between how she treated you and your white cousins…” Ilya was careful. He could tell Shane was scared. He was like this sometimes. So scared, he, instead of shutting down, would ramble. On the how worried should Ilya be spectrum, this was pretty fucking scary.
“God, I am just talking. I am sorry. You need to be yourself. You are more likable than I am. You know how to act. I don't know. Just iwanthertolikeyouasmuchasido.” Shane mumbled the last part of the sentence.
“I do not think I want anyone else to like me how you like me…” Ilya said with a smooth smile. The same one Ilya used to lure Shane into bed with him.
“Stop, you know what I mean.”
Ilya did know what Shane had meant, and was warmed by the thought, even though it was an almost impossibility. “I will be on my best behavior.”
The drive went quickly. Almost too quickly for Shane. Ilya could tell he wanted more time. But as they pulled into the driveway, Yuna stood on the front porch looking out. Waiting for them, no doubt.
“Mom,” Shane half yelled while getting out of the car.
“Hi, boys!” Yuna responded with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
“Yuna, how are you?” Ilya said, stepping up to hug her. “Did you really come out here to get us, or because you needed to get away?” He asked in a hushed voice.
“A bit of both, but it is so good to see you. Both of you.” She said while pulling away from her hug with Ilya and turning to Shane. She wrapped him in her familiar arms. Shane visibly settled into the hug. Catching his husband’s eyes, Ilya could tell how scared Shane was going into this ostensibly doomed interaction.
“Okay, things are not going to be any less awkward if we stay standing out here!” Yuna said, untangling herself from Shane’s arms.
What was the right move here? Ilya wanted to grab Shane’s hand and enter the house confidently. But he also wanted to turn back around and get back in the car and hide away from the situation. Not knowing the right decision, he grabbed Shane's hand and squeezed three times. Ya tebya lyublyu.
The Hollander Family home was just as much of Ilyas’s house as it was the rest of the family’s. He had just as much of a right to be there as Glenda. Moreso even. This was his home, where his heart was.
“Shaney, look at you,” Glenda said, ignoring Ilya entirely. She side-stepped Yuna and Ilya in favor of wrapping her arms around Shane’s torso. Letting go of Ilya’s hand, Shane reluctantly placed his arms around his grandmother's back, patting twice before he let go.
“Grandma Glenda, it’s so nice to see you,” Shane said.
“You have gotten a little plump since the last time I saw you, Shane,” Glenda said on her way back to the recliner in the corner.
Ilya wanted to hit the roof. What the fuck? Shane wasn’t big by any means; he just had, finally, after months of therapy, started to loosen the restrictions that he placed on himself. “Orthorexia, if given the proper treatment, is treatable, and we will be here every step of the way,” Shane’s doctor had said. And it was working. Shane was getting better, and Ilya could not be prouder. This was going to undo so much hard work. What the actual fuck. Ilya could tell he hated her already.
“Hello, my name is Ilya, Shane’s husband. It is so nice to finally meet you. It's a shame you could not make it to the wedding,” Ilya said when the silence had stretched on for about fifteen long seconds.
“Yes, Mr. Rozanov. I am Glenda Hollander, but you already know that, I'm sure. You may call me Mrs. Hollander.” She said, not even sparing him a look.
“It’s Hollander-Rozanov, but you can just call me Ilya.” He said, trying to force as much happiness into his voice as possible, but still falling flat.
“Ill-ee-ah,” Glenda said as if feeling each syllable.
“Il-ya,” he corrected.
“That is what I just said. Shane, does he speak English? You know he really should if he is going to be here.” The words, while directed at Shane, were meant to pierce Yuna. Ilya had learned that Yuna’s parents had many difficulties learning English and still spoke with heavy accents.
“Well,” David said, standing abruptly, smacking his hand on his jeans, “dinner is almost ready, Ilya. How about you come help me fetch it?”
“Yes,” Ilya said.
“Yuna…” Glenda said at the same time.
As if knowing exactly what Glenda wanted to say, Yuna responded, “Ilya and David have it.” Gelnda’s face fell. It was obvious that she was quite unfond of Yuna and her role in the family.
Leaving the living room behind David, Ilya caught Glenda saying, “Don’t you think that it is the woman’s place to do that?” Yuna could stand up for herself, so he just continued walking, unable to fully process what was happening.
“You look a little pale, son. I know it’s a lot,” David said, fishing out an oven mitt from the island.
“Yeah, I mean, she was so cruel to Shane and Yuna-”
“And you…”
“Da, and me. But, I mean, she called Shane big. He is not going to touch his dinner now.”
“I know. She doesn't think like that. Because why would she?” David said while rubbing a soothing hand up and down Ilya’s arm. Attempting to calm him, even just a bit.
Wanting to talk about anything but Glenda, Ilya asked, “How can I help?”
“Oh, son, I just wanted to give you a minute. You looked like you were going to fall out or hit someone. Maybe a break was best?”
“Yes, no, da. I don’t know.”
Dinner was ready around fifteen minutes later. Ilya had set the table and tried to figure out the best way to support Shane and the Hollanders through this evening.
David called everyone into the dining room, where the food was laid out in the middle of the table on the rough iron cooling racks that Shane had gotten them two Christmases ago. Gelnda sat herself down at the head of the table and decided that she wanted Shane to her left and David to her right. Fine enough, what did it matter?
A few minutes into the meal, Shane was asked, “Did you take the commie last name?”
Shocked by the question, Shane opened and closed his mouth several times before answering, “Ilya and I decided to hyphenate our names, to honor both of our families and cultures.” It was the diplomatic answer. The one for the press. It was not wholly untrue, but it was much more layered than that. Their last names were so tied to their identities as players. They could keep their jerseys. They could keep what people knew about them. It was difficult to rebrand yourself like that. Male hockey players changing their last names was… unconventional. Almost as unconventional as secretly being in love with their archrival for a decade.
“I still don’t see why you had to get married. You were perfectly fine before doing so. You could have quietly lived with one another.”
“Because I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him,” Shane said levelly. Under the table, his foot looked for Ilya’s. This was their thing; all of the conferences that they did together would find them in a similar stance.
“Yes, well, wh-” Glenda started, but was cut off.
“Why did you marry Dad?” David asked his mother.
“Because that is what is natural,” she turned her head away from David and settled on Shane, “ I just don’t understand why you had to marry a man. You had everything, Shane. You did not have to be gay.”
Shane looked at her, terrified. His eyes were saucers. He continued pushing the potatoes around his plate. Left. Right. Left. Right. His breathing was beginning to quicken.
Ilya had had enough. Glenda was talking above him and using mean words at the love of his life. He felt small, and that was her goal. She wanted Shane to feel sorry. “Do not talk to him like that. Can’t you see that you are upsetting him?"
“No, Ilya, I’m okay,” Shane said quietly. He was obviously not okay. Ilya decided that it was time for them to leave.
“No, you are not, and this is your house. Not yours, Mom.” David said more sternly than Ilya had ever heard him speak. “Mom, get up. You have been mean to everyone I choose to love. Yuna, Shane, Ilya.”
“David, you know you don’t want me to go. I haven't been able to see you in years.”
“Yes, I do want that. And the reason that I haven’t seen you in years was that you could not find it in yourself to put aside your bigotry to come support Shane. And me, Mom. He is my child. My baby.”
“Well, you were not a commie faggot chi-”
“Okay, enough! Leave,” David yelled. “You are not going to come into my house, and call my son names and slurs and insult the person that he loves.”
“Fine,” Glenda mumbled, getting up.
When the door finally closed behind Glenda, Shane was able to feel his body again. Ila was rubbing small circles on his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”
“Yep. I just hate it for Dad,” Shane said, sadness obvious in his voice.
“I don’t hate it for Dad,” David said. “I hate that it took me so long to stand up to her. And I’m so sorry, I let her hurt you, your mother, and Ilya. She is a bully. And I was afraid."
“It’s okay,” Ilya said, “I think that it is time that we, maybe, head home. I know, David, I have been you. It is very difficult when your parents cannot see past the parts of your life that they don't agree with.”
“I love you boys,” David said.
“I love you too, Dad,” Shane said back.
Ilya was gathering their things from the kitchen and the living room. He wanted to be home. Today had dragged on and on; all of the fears that had come to fruition weighed heavily on him.
Ilya opened the sliding glass door to the back, startling Shane, who was sitting outside, looking at the lake. “Hey, moy pomidor. I am sorry for scaring you.” Ilya said while walking to his husband.
“Tomato?” Shane asked.
“Da.”
“Today was a lot.”
“Yes, but you are unshakeable. Who cares what she says? Half the people on Twitter have said worse about us.” Ilya joked.
“You know it is different,” Shane whined. “She is my grandmother.”
“She is a pretty bad one if she cannot love you, is not hard.”
“God, you are a sap,” Shane said while leaning back into his husband. Ilya, guilty as charged, placed a kiss on the top of Shane’s head.