Work Text:
Tuesday 19 May, 9:00 PM, Eastern Daylight Time
“Shane! There’s a whole language made to call you pretty!”
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose and held his phone to his ear.
“What?”
—————
Earlier that day
Ilya had needed lunch in New York City. He’s liked New York now more than he had—he had originally found it thrilling because they hated him there at games, and it motivated him. Now he liked it because he found that people there were the most supportive of his and Shane’s relationship. A lot of the time, if a hockey fan saw him, it was a young one, and sometimes they were part of the queer community themselves. But being on display was so exhausting. So he wore black sunglasses and a black hoodie.
He couldn’t decide what he was craving, but he kept seeing signs around for all of these delis. He would catch glimpses of the food inside and realize it was quite similar to Russian fare, and it stirred a craving for the dishes he missed in his home country. He may as well give it a try.
He walked into a place called Silverstein’s to see a case loaded with bagels. Not the fake round things from Montreal that Shane insisted were bagels. But real bagels. The woman behind the counter smiled as he took in the array of bagels and spreads before him. She was short—maybe around five feet tall—and looked to be in her late 40s, with long, wavy dark hair, brown eyes, and freckles across her nose that reminded him of Shane’s.
“Just let me know when you are ready, and I will put in your order.”
His head jerked up, and he met her eyes. He hadn’t expected it, and her accent was a little softer—she had probably been in the States for much longer than he had. But she sounded like...him.
He smiled way bigger than he intended. “Where are you from?”
Her eyes lit up when she heard him. “Sankt-Peterburg! Well, back then it was Leningrad.”
“I’m from Moscow!”
“Nice to meet you! My name is Malkah.”
It occurred to him, based on her reaction only to his Russian accent, that she had absolutely no idea who he was.
This was fantastic.
“I am Ilya, it is nice to meet you too,” he said to her in Russian.
She smiled back at him, and her eyes crinkled. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint who it was.
“What is good here?” He asked her because he genuinely had no idea.
He was happy to hear her reply in Russian as well. “My favorite is a lox bagel on everything. It’s a classic here in New York.”
Ilya looked at the name on the menu curiously. “What is lox?”
“Salt-cured salmon. The bagel also comes with scallion cream cheese, capers, dill, and red onion if that’s alright with you.”
He supposed he may as well go with the whole package. “Works for me.”
Malkah beckoned him over to the cash register and typed his order into it. “Would you like a drink with your order? We have Cola, diet, iced tea, cream soda, cherry soda, anything you could dream of.”
He looked over at the cooler full of every soda can and bottle there was in the whole world, probably. His eyes scanned over the different types before it settled on a can of Dr. Brown’s ginger ale. God, he missed his Shane. Ilya was definitely going to tell Shane all about the New York bagel he had that blew any Montreal “bagel” out of the water.
He told Malkah he’d take a can of ginger ale, and she added it to his order. The total came out to $17.12, and he swiped his card, adding a large tip. He really liked Malkah, and the restaurant was very charming. The deli counter held many foods that reminded him of home—potato salads, herring, and more. He also saw that the restaurant sold borscht and chicken soup with noodles. Another chicken soup variety included a matzah ball. He’d seen them at similar delis around Newton and Chestnut Hill, but hadn’t been in those places yet because he either didn’t have time or was craving pasta specifically. He spotted another dish in the case, kasha varnishkas, which looked like pasta made with buckwheat. A genius combination that he hadn’t thought of before. He would definitely need to try it sometime.
As he saw Malkah put an everything bagel in the toaster, he heard the door open behind him, and two older women walked in, both wearing colorful sweaters and long, flowing black pants. They were speaking to each other rapidly in a language he didn’t recognize. It sounded like German, but not quite. Some of the words sounded vaguely Russian, but it still wasn’t anything he could understand. Until one of them said something that made his head whip in their direction.
“Er iz azoy sheyn. Aun azelkhe sheyna kerlz.”
He gathered his thoughts in English before saying it to them. “What about Shane?”
The woman looked at him, and the one with short curly hair giggled. She had a New York accent, but not the typical one he’d usually hear around him. “Doll, we were just saying you’re handsome. And ugh, you have such nice curls.”
The other one, with darker, wavy grey hair, cut in. “You look about my granddaughter's age. Are you single?”
He smiled at them. He’d already loved this place because of Malkah and her amazing taste in food, but he loved it even more now because not one person who walked in here had any idea who he was.
He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.” He blushed. “I have a boyfriend.” He nodded his head to the right. “Well, fiancé now. His name is Shane.”
Both women’s faces lit up, and they quickly walked over to him. “Do you have a picture?” The darker-haired one asked him before holding out her hand. “I’m Golda, by the way. And this is Esther.”
Ilya shook Golda’s hand before shaking Esther’s. “Lovely to meet you. I am Ilya.” He blushed and pulled out his phone. “Give me a second to find picture.” He scrolled through his camera roll and found the first picture he took of Shane and Anya. She had walked onto Shane’s lap, and Ilya had taken a picture before she had curled up there for a nap. A strand of black hair had fallen from behind his ear and was hanging next to his eye. Shane had insisted he was going to keep it long, but the ends were dead, and he couldn’t stand that, so he’d gotten a trim, and his hair was only about halfway to his shoulders now. He had a tight-lipped smile, but his eyebrow was raised, and he looked a little confused. He was wearing one of Ilya’s hoodies that was slightly too big for him. The sleeve came up over his hand as he’d cautiously placed it on Anya’s back.
He showed his phone screen to the women in front of him, whose faces both split into smiles. “Oh my gosh, he’s adorable.” “Look at his freckles.”
Esther patted his shoulder. “You did a good job. Treat him well.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly, blushing. “I do my very best.”
Golda smiled at him before asking the question he always got. “Where are you from? Your accent is adorable.”
He laughed, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. “Moscow.”
“Malkah!” Esther called from where they were standing. Malkah looked up from the bagel that she was arranging toppings on for Ilya. “He’s from Russia too!”
“Esther! Golda! Come here.” Malkah lifted an arm and beckoned them to the counter. “You too, Ilyushka.”
It was a little bittersweet to be called that after all this time. No one had called him Ilyushka since his mother died. He walked to the counter with Golda and Esther, and all the women began talking rapidly in English. First, some catching up about them and their lives before Golda once again pivots to Ilya.
“He has the most adorable fiancé, Malkah you have to see.”
“Oh?” Malkah turned to look at Ilya with an eyebrow raised. “You have a picture?”
Ilya pulled up the same photo he’d shown to Golda and Esther. Malkah smiled at the photo. “Oh, he is adorable.”
“Lives up to his name, doesn’t he?” Esther told her.
Ilya looked at her inquisitively. “What do you mean?”
“Pretty, handsome, all that, in Yiddish, is ‘sheyn’.”
Ilya couldn’t help the way a smile overtook his face, eyes lighting up. The women looked at each other, taking delight in his expression. He hadn’t heard of Yiddish before, but he liked it as a language already if the word for pretty was basically his fiancée’s name.
“I love it,” he beamed.
Malkah handed him his bagel from over the counter. “Thank you so much!” He told her in Russian as he took it. He turned back to look at Esther because he had quite a few questions now.
“What is Yiddish? I haven’t heard it before.”
“Jewish people in Europe spoke it,” Esther replied, “Not surprised you haven’t heard of it—it’s not really spoken much anymore. But my grandmother spoke it, and my mother spoke it, so they taught me too.”
He knew there were many Jewish people in Russia at one point. Some of his teammates were Jewish, and they’d told him stories of bar mitzvahs, summer camp, and other traditions he’d always loved hearing about. But most of them had fled Russia at some point for one reason or another. There were still a few families left, but Ilya had never known them because his father had said they weren’t people to be associated with. Ilya had never understood why—they were just people after all. His mother had a friend when he was young who’d look a little like Malkah—she’d had dark curly hair and warm brown eyes. But she’d stopped coming around after a while like his mother’s other friends. He wondered what would’ve happened if his mother had been allowed to see them. Maybe she would still be here if she’d had other people in her life who cared for her.
“My parents were Czech, but Yiddish was still their primary language.” Golda began to tell her story. “They didn’t speak much English so it’s how we spoke at home.”
“Ahh, okay,” Ilya nodded and scratched the back of his head. “Sounds a little like German.”
“It mostly comes from German,” Esther told him, “but there’s some Russian and Hebrew in there too.”
“Oh?”
Esther continued, “My grandmother was from Russia, elya hasholem. She had a week to pack her things and leave. Fled when she was twenty-two like Malkah here.”
“I was still Malia when I fled,” Malkah handed him his bagel across the counter, “but I was Malkah at home, and I always liked it better.”
Ilya knew he should probably leave and eat his bagel, but he never thought he’d get a chance to learn more about his home country again, and this was a story he hadn’t heard. He propped his elbow on the counter and held his face in his hand. “Why did you leave?”
“It was unsafe for us, with the changing government,” she smirked. “Well, it was unsafe with the old government, too. But my father openly dissented against the new one, so we had to leave fast once he’d said his piece.”
“Is unsafe for me, too,” Ilya smiled back at her. Her eyes were so warm; they were, but she had the same crinkles at the corners when she smiled. “For a different reason, of course.”
“You miss it.” Malkah said innocently, but her eyes were knowing. She didn’t even ask, just stated a fact.
He nodded sadly. “I do.”
Malkah stripped of her gloves and came to the separator between the space behind the counter and the rest of the restaurant. She came around the counter, looking at him fondly before reaching out a hand and squeezing his shoulder.
“Me too.” She crossed her arms once she pulled her hand away. “Some people don’t want you to miss it. They say you are safer in other places and your old country shouldn’t mean anything. But they were all born in the United States, and don’t know what it’s like to have your home ripped from you. And I like it here—I met my husband, Ari, here. His family owns the restaurant, and has for generations. But I like cooking, and he doesn’t? which is why I’m here and not him. He takes care of the financial side.” She sighed, “But I do miss it. I always will.”
Ilya smiled at her with a lump in his throat. “I hope you can go back,” he told her in Russian, “one day.”
“You too,” she replied. “We will see it again.”
Ilya didn’t hug people he didn’t know, but he wished he could hug her. He wanted to take Shane to Russia so badly—he had conflicted feelings about the place, but it was home. He wanted to show Shane the parks he would visit with his mother, take him to get authentic Russian food, and walk around Moscow in the snow. It ached sometimes, that Shane would never fully know that part of him.
He didn’t wanna get too sad, so he opened his bagel and took a bite of it. He’d never had this combination before, but he was now a huge fan. The bagel was savory from the added seasoning, the lox was salty, and the dill cut the richness of the scallion cream cheese. He swallowed his food before looking at Malkah in amazement. “This is so good.”
She beamed back at him. “I’m glad you like it.”
Ilya pouted when he remembered where he lived. “I wish they had this in Ottawa.”
Golda was quick to interject as she began scrolling through her phone, holding it in her left hand and using her right index finger to scroll. “My niece lives near Ottawa. I’m sure she knows a place. I don’t know what kind of bagels they’ll have, but they’ll have matzah ball soup and other things.”
“I’d love to try all of that,” Ilya said. “Is hard to find food similar to what I grew up with.”
“Here, it’s called Goldberg’s,” Golda shoved her phone in his hand to show him the location pin. She was really quick on her phone for someone who seemed to be in her late seventies. It wasn’t that close to where he lived, but not an outrageous distance either. He would definitely be taking Shane there for a date one night. Now that he was off his stupid diet, they could go to tons of different restaurants; Shane still wanted to be healthy for hockey, but he became less restrictive with the particular foods he let himself eat, so he could find more dishes at different restaurants that could be somewhat healthy but also satisfy any comfort food cravings he had.
“Thank you so much,” Ilya said before looking at his watch. He was supposed to be meeting Scott at a coffee shop by the Kingfisher in about half an hour.
Ilya looked around at Golda, Esther, and Malkah and told them, “I have to leave soon. Meeting a friend for coffee.”
“It was lovely to meet you,” Esther told him.
“Have a lovely time,” Golda added. She went back to talking in Yiddish—yes, Yiddish, he remembered—with Esther.
Ilya looked at the door. He knew it would be good to see Scott, but he was dreading what the outside world would hold for him. He wasn’t an easy person to read for those who didn’t know him, but Malkah saw it instantly. She came out from behind the counter again, where she had been organizing take-out containers, and gave him a sympathetic look. She held out a hand by his arm, and he nodded, letting her give it a small squeeze.
“It’ll be okay,” she told him, again in Russian, “whatever troubling you will pass.”
He nodded and looked down at the floor. “Thank you,” he sighed. “I hope so.” He fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie.
“If you are ever back in New York, do not hesitate to drop by.” She headed back to the counter. “And bring that boyfriend of yours. I would love to meet him.” She handed him a small business card from a display near the cash register. “My email is here if you ever need anything.”
Ilya took the card from her and stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans. “Thank you so much, I’ll reach out soon.”
She smiled and waved him. “Go see your friend, I’ll bet he’ll be happy to see you.”
He smiled and waved as he walked out the door, taking a look back at the little restaurant.
Yes, he would definitely be back here one day.
—————
Tuesday 19 May, 9:15 PM, Eastern Daylight Time
“So,” Shane said on speaker phone, “it means pretty.” Ilya knew Shane was blushing even if he wasn’t there.
“Yes,” Ilya smiled. “Because you are so pretty and handsome. You are...” he struggled to find the word for a second, “epitome.”
“Where’d you learn that one?”
Ilya shrugged. “New Yorker.”
“Shut up.”
Ilya smiled, though Shane couldn’t see. “I will be bringing you to the restaurant next season when we go to New York. The woman who works there is from Russia. She is very sweet, and we talked in Russian for a bit.”
“I’m glad you got to talk to her in Russian. That must’ve been really nice.” Shane exhaled. “And I like how it sounds,” he said, “when we go to New York.”
Ilya looked at the floor. The thought made him smile—that wasn’t what was making it sad. But it was still so far away, and they were still getting looks whenever they walked on the street. Would they still get looks next season? When was the next time they’d have peace?
“So,” Ilya wanted to distract himself. That wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have right now. “How do you like your birthday presents?”
Shane sighed happily into the phone, which made Ilya’s heart jump. “I was a little confused but the desk hockey set at first, but I love it a lot. It helps when I study gameplay videos. I can model how it looks on the ice.” He laughed. “And the massager...” Shane giggled, “you wouldn’t wanna use it again next week, would you?”
Ilya’s smile turned into a smirk. “If it is what you want, I’d be happy to give.” He began fidgeting with the cuff of his Centaurs crewneck. “I can’t wait to see you again.”
“Me too.” Shane yawned, “I may have to go soon, though. Today was grueling. Physical but also mentally.”
“Yeah,” Ilya said. He couldn’t believe how Shane’s team was treating him. Well, he could. That was how hockey players were. But his love was so undeserving of it. “It’ll be okay, moy dorogoy.”
“Alright,” Shane stated, starting to move around, probably to find pajamas. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’ll pick up.”
Shane took a breath before continuing. “I love you, Ilya. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” Ilya felt a lump start to form in his throat. He’d had a good day, but part of him ached to be next to Shane right now. “I love you so much. I will see you soon.”
“See you soon,” Shane said longingly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”