Chapter Text
Ottawa, 2003
It was eleven o' clock in the Hollander home, and Shane was definitely not crouched at the top of the stairs, his socked feet gripping the top step, one hand lightly curled on the bannister. He was definitely not eavesdropping because eavesdropping was not allowed. He was just waiting before he went downstairs to tell them he couldn't fall asleep. Waiting so he didn't interrupt was polite and was definitely allowed. Yuna or David would walk him back to bed and sit with him in the dark until the knots in his stomach unclenched, or until he wore himself out talking about 'worst case scenarios' until he passed out from exhaustion. It would be the fourth time this week, nearly every schoolnight.
It was Thursday, and basically every school night he buried himself under the covers, with just his eyes and forehead peeking out, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling that he and his dad had put up there when he was five and he didn't want to admit he still liked.
"They have hockey in Norway," David said. "I want Shane to get to know faren min before he gets too cool to hang out with his family. Before you know it, he'll be too busy to hang out with mom and dad here at home, much less able to take the time to travel abroad. Now is the time."
"He was going to go to that summer intensive over in Montreal," Yuna said. "We booked it months ago."
"I know, sweetheart," David said.
There was a pause in the conversation. Not a lull. A space David held so Yuna could work her mind around the issue, look at all the angles, and process. He was a patient man. He waited.
Shane saw him take Yuna's hand in his, clasping both together, and scooted closer to her on the couch. She lifted one leg and then the other, crossing them, and rested them gently in his lap.
"Foot hug!" He grabbed the tips of her toes with one hand, squeezing them together.
"Let's be realistic," she said. "They're in good shape. Your dad can still outskate you in his seventies, and your mother can outskate even him."
"They're incredible. They would be able to teach Shane a lot. There is a skating IQ from that generation that these young whippersnappers can't just roll out at a camp."
"Junior league recruits are coming up. It's a good time to make an impression."
"There's never going to be a good time to do this. They won't be around forever. We just have to take the leap. Please."
David did not beg, and he did not have to. Yuna just needed to absorb all of the elements, adjusted the pieces of her Rubik's cube so that all the colors aligned. She always found a way to restore order.
"Okay, love. I'll book the flights." There was a small squeak as Yuna disentangled herself from the couch and the whirr of booting up the family computer in the den.
Shane remained half-crouched as he scrambled up and back to his bedroom. He knew where to step lightly, between the creaky boards, heels raised high, almost pressing against his calves. The Hollanders did not have any pets he could blame on nighttime bumps in the dark.
Shane's farfar and morfar were nice people, from what Shane could remember. They had come to visit when he was in his first year of primary school. He remembered his morfar smelled like cinnamon cookies, and when she hugged him, her wool sweater was scratchy against his nose. He had protested, and she had listened, and didn't force him to hug her. She would squeeze his hand instead, rub one thumb over his, and let go after just a moment. It was a quiet reminder that she was there, if he wanted, and she did not push.
His farfar was gigantic to small Shane. Talking to him had made his neck hurt, trying to crane up all that way, and after just a few hours, he had noticed, and crouched down to his level, or hauled him up to rest on his shoulders. Shane was getting too old for that, Yuna protested, but he insisted. His fair was gray and curly, and it tickled when Shane wrapped his fingers in it, just to see what it would feel like against his skin.
He took Shane on a walk through their local park, pointing out animals and naming some of the flowers. He had been a botanist in his youth, working as a conservationist, and the decades of obscure knowledge remained seeped in his brain.
Now, Shane couldn't remember much besides the basics in Norwegian, but he could still remember the scientific names of the flowers and trees. There were plenty of paper birch trees, Betula papyrifera, in the neighborhood, and some of his favorite French marigolds, Tagetes patula. He knew the names still. His mind conjured the names as easy as his multiplication tables or the latest stats from the Montreal Metros.
That year, his science project proudly catalogued the local flora and fauna of Ottawa. Shane got the participatory ribbon that all the children got, but his farfar had still beamed over video chat like it was a coveted Nobel Prize. Norway was an ocean away, so video chat had been the only way they kept in touch. Until now.
His stomach twisted again. He tucked his sheets around him, pulled the duvet up to his nose, and closed his eyes.
His grandparents were nice people, so it would be fine. Probably.