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“Papa, but all of my friends are going to the concert. You have the money. Can you please just buy me a ticket so I can go with them?” Ilya studied his daughter as she raked her hands through her hair, yanking slightly. So much like Shane she was sometimes. Mia was a teenager. Teenagers asked for things. Ilya knew this. Still…
This was exactly what Shane had been talking about the other night as he lightly admonished Ilya for spoiling their daughter silly. Shane’s words were light, yet firm, as he explained to Ilya he feared Mia would become spoiled.
Morseo than she already was.
‘You don’t want Mia to have the same mindset as you brother, Ilya.’
Shane had said it in his most no-nonsense way. Now, though, Ilya couldn’t stop thinking about it. The words wouldn’t stop replaying in his head.
“You can get job. Make your own money. Much more rewarding that way, no?” The denim Ilya had been folding moments before scratched at his palms. Yes. He could see how clothing textures might be a sensory issue for someone like his husband. Ilya would make a note to go on a shopping trip to find better, less scratchy, denim.
“I won’t be able to make five hundred dollars in the next three days, papa. Please.” Mia’s backpack landed on the floor with a resounding thud. She crossed her arms. “It’s one concert. Who knows if she’s ever touring again.”
“I do not understand, Malyska. Friday is family night anyway.” Ilya cleared his throat. He and Shane had discussed this with each other just the other night. Of course they wanted to provide for their daughter. They spoiled her like no other child had probably ever been spoiled before. Still, she should learn the value of money. She should learn work ethic and responsibility, as much as Ilya would have loved to just give and give and give to his daughter. “You stay home with daddy and me. We will watch movie. We-”
“I just want to go to one concert, Papa. One. You are being so unfair.” The air slapped Ilya across his cheeks, Mia spun around so fast. Her back tensed. Her arms crossed.
“Mia. We just bought you a new phone. Is not responsible.” Ilya started. “If you ask Daddy, he’ll probably say same thing.”
“No. Dad will tell me to ask you.” Mia pouted. “It’s just money. You and daddy have so much.” Three steps, then four, Mia stomped further and further away from Ilya. “Why can’t you just give me some for this concert? What is the point of having rich parents if they don’t buy you things? You are the worst.”
They were the words of a teenager, normal and not at all malintentioned. At that moment, however, Ilya didn’t hear his daughter. His Mia. He heard the word of his father, his brother, grumbling thousands of miles away across phone lines for which Ilya had paid. Reality blurred. Consonants and breaths churned in Ilya’s heart and in Ilya’s gut. Focus, focus.
Focus.
There was a lesson here Ilya had to teach. A lesson for his daughter - he had to keep this strictly emotion-free. The only problem was, the emotions were already flowing. This was a hall Ilya had walked before. This was a conversation Ilya knew all too well.
You have so much.
Just send the money.
You have so much and we have nothing. It’s not fair, leaving us for dead while you live life up in North America.
“No. I said No. You do not get access to ATM Papa today. Funds denied. Incorrect PIN. You sound exactly like Andrei. No. No, you will not be spoiled like Andrei.” Ilya didn’t yell, not exactly. His words were sharp, though. They were sharper than any he’d ever used with his daughter. “Go to your room. The worst Papa.” Ilya huffed. He regretted every single word he spoke the minute they’d left his mouth.
“Papa. Who is Andrei?” Mia gaped. Her voice wobbled ever so slightly. "Was there another kid before?" Guilt already singed Ilya’s esophagus. He cast his eyes down to the pile of laundry he no longer cared about. Maybe it was the slightly warm tinge the air took on today that reminded Ilya of his younger departures back to Russia.
"No. Is no other kid." Ilya choked the words out, if barely. That much. He could do that much and only that much. He didn't want to think too much on where his daughter's mind had gone. Did she think she was replaceable? Did he make her feel like that?
Maybe it was the date. Today was the anniversary of his father’s death, after all. Ilya had stopped counting calendar years sometime after his retirement. His past didn’t matter so much, not any more. Time had healed Ilya’s wounds in a way Ilya never thought it would - never thought it could, really. Every once in a while, they reopened though. They bled and screamed until they were raw and gaping. They stained everything in sight, ruined everything in their path. His wounds weren’t generally perilous any longer; Ilya’s new life, the only one that truly counted for anything, was separate and away from the splash zone.
Or so he thought.
Ilya only thought, because now tears shone bright and heinous in Mia’s eyes. Ilya was stupid, and wrong, and… and a horrible father. His past wounds, those he had worked so hard to shield his wonderful daughter from, had opened right in front of her. They had bled onto her.
They had ruined everything Ilya had built with her over fifteen years in a matter of moments.
"Mia." He had fucked this up. Ilya had fucked this up so royally.
“Okay, Papa. I'm going.” Mia’s voice wobbled. Mia cast one final look over her shoulder, the tracks of everything Ilya had built with her spilling down, her face. No.
No.
Ilya couldn’t make his voice work, couldn’t make his mouth move quickly enough. He couldn’t make his body move at all. He had vowed to never yell at his daughter, and… Well he hadn’t yelled, not really. Somehow, this felt worse. This felt like treason.
This felt like death.
Mia was his daughter. His world. His everything. She wasn’t Andrei. She wasn’t his father. It was like a punch straight to the gut. Ilya idly wondered if Mia would ever forgive him.
Ilya knew he would never forgive himself.
Mouth dried out entirely by virtue of hanging open for entirely too long, Ilya realized he hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. Might have been hours. Were probably just minutes. The front door creaked then latched. Ilya’s lids clenched shut. He’d have to admit this to Shane. He’d have to admit -
“Why is Mia texting me to tell you that she’s sorry, Ilya?” Shane’s voice cut through the oppressing static noise threatening to strangle Ilya’s every thought. The muscles in Ilya’s neck clenched; he must have stood motionless for a long while then.
“I’m so sorry.” The words fell from Ilya’s lips like snow in a Canadian winter - quickly and unceasingly. “I. I think maybe I am not her Papa anymore.”
“What does that even mean, Ilya? Did you call a lawyer to abandon our daughter or something?” Shane was clearly trying to joke - clearly trying to point out the melodrama obvious in Ilya’s voice. He was trying to get Ilya to talk.
“I would never.” Ilya choked. “Is not funny joke.”
“Obviously.” Shane rolled his eyes. “I would feel much better if you sat down, Ilya. You look a little pale.” Shane’s palm found Ilya’s shoulder and guided Ilya to the couch slowly.
He settled onto the couch where just a few nights ago, Ilya had curled up with Mia to watch Mulan for something like the twentieth time. Would Ilya ever be permitted such bliss again? Probably not.
“You’re bleeding. Shit.” Shane cursed under his breath, his calloused fingers peeling Ilya’s own back from where they had embedded themselves into his palms nails first. “Stay here.”
Where would he go?
The telltale sting of alcohol burned across Ilya’s palms as Shane swiped a disinfectant pad across them. Not for the first time in his life, Ilya wished he might trade all of his emotional strife for physical. Hell, carving his own heart out would undoubtedly be less painful than losing Mia’s love.
“Are you going to tell me what happened? Or should I ask Mia?” Shane’s voice was calm, calculated. Ilya knew then that Shane knew.
“You already talked to her, didn’t you?” Ilya wasn’t sure whether he’d prefer a yes or a no. It didn’t matter really, he supposed.
“I did. She was pretty broken up, but-” Ilya’s stomach lurched. In an instant, he was on his feet, surging to the kitchen. In record time, the trash can was out from beneath the kitchen sink. Then, the total contents of Ilya’s stomach emptied itself into said trashcan. Shane’s palm ran soothingly over Ilya’s back.
Broken up. She was broken up because of something Ilya had said.
“She will never call me ‘Papa’ again.” There were probably a million things more important, a billion fears more salient in Ilya’s mind at the moment. Still, this was the reality that would haunt Ilya until he died.
“She did on the phone with me, love.” Shane cooed.
“Is she okay?” Ilya croaked as his body heaved again.
“She’s sad, but she’s not nearly as broken up as you. She didn’t sound like she was in her room wretching.” Shane’s hand never left Ilya’s back, undeserving as Ilya felt. “Now, she already told me what happened, but I want to hear it from you.”
“I am monster. I am like my father.” My father, not ‘dad’ as Ilya had so often referred to David Hollander decades ago.
“Did you hit Mia?” Shane asked.
“Of course not.” Ilya gasped, stomach rolling once more at the thought.
“Did you yell?”
“Close enough to it.” Ilya shrugged, defeated.
“Did you belittle Mia?”
“I don’t think so.” Dizzy in thought, Ilya couldn’t be one hundred percent certain of anything. “If I did I - Fuck, Shane. I don’t blame you two if you leave me.”
“I think even hearing you say that would break Mia’s heart.” Shane’s thumbs massaged deep into that juncture between Ilya’s shoulders and neck that had a propensity for getting just a bit too tense.
“She does not need to hear any of this. She does not need to hear from me if she does not want. I spoke like Mia was Andrei. Shane I was,” Ilya gasped. “I was awful. I was like my father.”
“Ilya, remember. I spoke to Mia. That’s not what she made it sound like.” Shane’s voice, his cadence, was far too calm for the tumult of the moment.
“She does not know to compare me to them. But I was. Moya lyubov’ I-” Shane held his palm to Ilya’s mouth.
“Breathe. Ilya. She called me. Told me you were upset. Told me she wanted to apologize, but didn’t know how. She said she was sorry - she’ll spend Friday with us. She said she’d get a job. That’s honestly what confuses me the most. I’m not really sure how any of this is correlated.”
“Shane, I was awful. I should have just given her money or concert ticket. I got in my own head, though. About our conversation. Maybe about the day it is. Does not matter anymore. Mia will never talk to me again. Never call me-”
“Papa.” Mia’s voice broke shaky and unsure from down the hall. “I. Can I come down?”
Ilya wished he could bottle Mia’s voice. He wished he could cage the sound of that title on his precious daughter’s lips. He didn’t deserve the title, not anymore, but he would selfishly keep it as long as he could.
Ilya opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Um. Honey.” Shane stood, positioning himself between Ilya and Mia, blocking Mia’s view of Ilya. He must have looked awful. “Papa isn’t feeling so great right now. You should probably go to bed.”
“He’s that mad at me?” Mia choked. The sound was so wrong. Ilya hated it - hated he’d put that hitch in her voice. “I won’t ask for anything else, Papa. Daddy please. I need to see him. I need to make sure. I. You both still love me, right? I know I sounded spoiled.”
“Yes.” Ilya croaked from the floor behind Shane’s legs.
“We both still love you, honey. This isn’t. Your Papa isn’t even mad at you. Not really. This is about something else. He isn’t upset with you, baby.”
“He sent me to my room. I thought he was going to come up so I could apologize. Papa, if you’re still mad, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. And I… I texted Auntie Sveta. She told me why today was probably hard for you, and I’m so sorry.”
Shane stilled, just a fraction, probably just realizing. If Ilya was honest, he had long ago stopped counting death anniversaries for his father. He still wore his mother religiously, but his father was different. Ilya grieved what might have been. What could have been. It didn’t matter right now, though. The past was powerless, inconsequential in comparison to his present crying atop the stairs and down the hall. Ilya squeezed the back of Shane’s calf.
“Go. Talk to her, Shane.” Ilya heaved a breath. Control. He had to get back under control. “I’ll be up when I’m not… like this.”
“Will you be okay by yourself?” Shane didn’t move from his stance. “Go back to your room, sweetie! I’ll be right up!”
“I have to be. For Mia.” Ilya nodded resolutely, committing.
Committing for Mia.
“You just have to understand that Papa didn’t have the same kind of family growing up that you’re used to. He isn’t mad at you. Not really.” It would have been so easy to keep listening from here, behind the door. Shane was doing an excellent job apologizing for him.
“He sounded pretty mad, Dad. I don’t think you understand. You weren’t there.” Mia sighed. Dejection painted her every word, though she didn’t sound as utterly crestfallen as Ilya was. Small mercies, he supposed.
“Papa is not mad.” Ilya’s voice shook as he came around the corner. “Can I come in?” Ilya hesitated, just outside of Mia’s doorframe. He wouldn’t enter if she said no. He’d understand -
“Papa!” Mia leapt out of bed and into Ilya’s arms faster than he’d ever seen any NHL player skate before. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I won’t ask for anything else ever.”
“Shh. Shh. Malyshka is okay.” Ilya soothed a hand down the back of Mia’s hair with one hand. With the other, he held onto Mia’s trembling body as she slung steadfastly to him, like he might disappear. “You still call me Papa.” Ilya sighed, more to himself than to Mia.
“Should I not?” Mia peeled back, voice hitching.
“Never stop. Please never stop, Mia.” Ilya’s arm snaked tighter around Mia’s back.
“I thought you were never going to talk to me again.” Ilya was pretty sure Shane couldn’t hear Mia. Her voice was little more than a garbled whisper in Ilya’s ear.
“No. No, Mia. Never. Never that. Shh. It’s okay. We talk now like always, okay?” Ilya cast his gaze to Shane. Shane wavered between halfway sitting and standing. Ilya nodded, excusing him. “Just Mia and Papa, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay.” Mia mumbled, still slinging to Ilya.
“Is that okay, dad?” Mia looked up, eyes red glossy.
“Of course, sweetie.” Shane patted Mia’s hair. He squeezed Ilya’s bicep once as he walked past.
“We sit on bed. Yes?” Ilya spoke low and carefully.
“Yes. Yeah. That’s fine.” Ilya sat, but Mia never let go of her hold, like she was afraid Ilya might disappear. Ilya gulped. He had put that fear, that uncertainty, into his daughter’s heart.
“Mia. You know I love you, right?”
“Still?” Mia choked.
“Oh. Baby girl, of course.” Ilya peeled back, just far enough to thumb a tear from Mia’s cheek. “There is nothing you could do ever to make me stop loving you. Ever.”
“I called Auntie Sventa.” Mia wouldn’t meet Ilya’s gaze.
“Yes. I heard.”
“She explained. I didn’t tell daddy everything she said. I’m sorry, though. I understand now.” Mia’s voice wavered.
“Mia. We have very special family. Very big and very different. You can always call. Auntie Sventa will always pick up. Auntie Rose too. Even Uncle Hayden, but I will deny admitting it if you ever mention to him.” Ilya tried to joke, but nothing seemed to lighten the load written into Mia’s every feature. “Also you can tell daddy everything, baby. He knows everything about me. There are no secrets in this family.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother. I asked her who Andrei was.” Mia hesitated, like the acknowledgment alone might cast her out of the space she’d burrowed into Ilya's soul.
“He is not important. He is not Uncle. Never call him.” Ilya tried to laugh. Mia didn’t even smirk.
“I also didn’t know today is the anniversary of the day your dad died.” Mia struggled, like the words were laced with venom. Maybe they were once. It wasn’t so acrid to Ilya anymore though.
“Yes. It is.” Ilya admitted. “I am okay, though.”
“I don’t think… How did you survive, Papa? I got so sad just hearing Auntie Sveta tell me everything. And then I remembered you downstairs. I remembered what I said. I remembered what you said.” Mia hesitated, like rehashing it might rekindle their argument. Ilya gently squeezed Mia’s shoulder, not unlike how Shane had done for him in the kitchen.
“Is okay, Mia. We are just talking.” Ilya coaxed the emotion out of his throat.
“I don’t think I would have survived like you did. How did you do it?” Mia finally met Ilya’s eyes, trusting, and open, and oh so scared.
“You would have, but you don’t have to ever, and I’m so glad you don’t. But family, our real family, got me through it all. You help me so much more than you know.” Ilya thumbed another track of salty tears off Mia’s cheek.
“Really, Mia, your father and I just don’t want you to take any of this for granted. We’ll always be here to help you, of course. But we also want you to learn about hard work.” He drew another shuddering breath. “I think, all things considered though, we’ve both learned a few things about each other.”
“No. No, Papa, I'm sorry. Whatever you think you learned about me, I can be better.”
“Shhh. I do not mean in bad way. You are compassionate. You saw something wrong, you called Daddy. You called Auntie. You are resourceful. You are full of love, Mia, and that should be rewarded. What is name of artist? I buy you and your friends all VIP-”
“No.” It was more hysterical shriek than it was a word from Mia’s lips. “No. I don’t want to ask for anything. I don’t want to be like… like who Auntie Sventa was telling me about. I’m sorry. Don’t buy me anything.”
“Awww, darling. You are nothing like them. I promise. I am sorry I made you feel like this, Mia. It was not my intention. I should not have said the things I said. I am very, very sorry. I was wrong. I just wanted to teach you responsibility. You did nothing wrong. You were being teenager.” Ilya’s fingers trembled as he opened Ticketmaster on his phone, praying the artist’s name might come to him through divination.
“Papa, please put it away. I don’t want to go anymore.” Mia’s fingers trembled as she clicked Ilya’s screen off.
“I ruined this for you. I am sorry, Malyska.” Ilya sighed, reclining back on Mia’s bed. Despite everything, a little bubble of pride swelled in his heart as his daughter reclined with him, cuddling into his side.
“I just want to stay home with you two. I never really thought about how lucky I am that I have you both still. That you’re both like you and not…” Mia worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “You don’t, uh… Nevermind.”
“No. There is no stupid thing to say now, Mia. Say it.” If there was a small tear patch forming on Ilya’s chest under his daughter’s cheek, he wouldn’t say anything. No. He wouldn’t risk embarrassing her. Not like this.
“I don’t want you to regret me. You know? I don’t want you to look at me and think you should’ve never adopted me. I don’t want you to think I’m making your life worse. And if that’s what I’ve been doing by asking for money, I’m sorry. Just keep loving me, please.” Ilya didn’t even try to hold the tears back at that.
“Oh, honey. Never. You are my daughter. Daughters ask their parents for money. Is the way the world is supposed to be. You did nothing wrong at all. Your daddy and I, we have never once regretted you. Nothing could make me stop loving you. Ever. You are my favorite person in the world. I would give you my heart if you needed it, dochka. There is nothing in this world or any other that could make me stop loving you.” Ilya held his daughter’s shaking body just a bit more tightly. “I am sorry, Mia. I should have phrased things better. I should have realized where my own mind was when I spoke.”
“I won’t ever-”
“Mia stop. You are breaking my heart. I said once you can ask me anything. Tell me anything. I might not give you the answer you want, but is still okay for you to ask.” Ilya drew a long breath.
“I heard you crying.” Mia’s voice shrunk as she hid behind her confession.
“Is okay. Is not secret. I was crying because of my own brain. Not because of you, Mia.”
“I reminded you of people that Aunt Sveta said hurt you.” Mia’s face burrowed into her blanket. A smothered, barely audible sound, sneaked its way to Ilya’s ears. “She didn’t say that. But she said enough. I figured that out on my own. I don’t want-”
“Mia. You do remind me of people often. Not of bad people though. Look at me please.” Ilya nudged Mia onto her side. His fingers combed through her tear soaked curls. “You remind me of your dad so much when you correct me. You remind me os Auntie Sventa when you do things like call in the cavalry. You remind me of my mom - your grandmother Irina. I know she’s so proud of you somewhere. You do not remind me even a little of the people whose names I already forget.”
“You didn’t forget-”
“Ah. See. Don’t even remember who we were talking about.” Ilya smirked, raking his fingers one final time through his daughter’s curls. “If you want tickets, is no problem. You are my princess, after all. Forever.”
“I want to stay home. I didn’t,” Mia gulped. “Auntie Sveta really got me thinking. I should appreciate you both so much. You both choose to be good dads everyday. You don’t have to.”
“Is not choice. I am powerless around you. But, what about this? What if dad and I go to concert too? We sit away from you and your friends. Then everyone has a safe ride home together. Is okay?”
“Dad is gonna hate that.”
“No. Because it makes you happy. We are both mush for you, Mia. You are our sunshine. You made both of our lives better. You do every day. Don’t every forget that.” Ilya pressed a soft kiss into Mia’s forehead. They laid in comfortable silence for a few long moments. That comfortable silence morphed into labored snores.
Comfortable snores of a forever family.