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“So what about this foundation”
It’s the way his mother has always asked questions. It’s as if she’s broaching an investigation; like she’s already figured out a checklist of variables and suspicions in her head, only speaking out loud when she’s absolutely sure what she thinks and now needs to know if they’re on the same page.
It’s not malicious. It can sometimes be really helpful, especially when they’re talking about something he couldn’t give a shit about, to have her lay out all the facts so all he needs to say is yes or no.
It can also be kind of annoying. Mostly when it comes to things he does give a shit about, but hasn’t had the time to plan out properly. Yuna Hollander could make a Marine look like they aren’t properly squared away, so whenever it comes down to the two of them fighting separate corners over something, he straight up feels like a little kid. That sometimes makes him act like a little kid, getting bitchy and sulky with her in a way that can’t be flattering, which in turn gives her that look in her eyes as if she knew all along that you haven’t thought this through, Shane. You need to be more responsible.
Okay, maybe that’s unfair. Like he said: bitchy and sulky.
But it can touch a nerve nevertheless. It’s not that he doesn’t think about things. Some days he can hardly switch his brain off. But outside of the rink- where his decision making has a reputation shaped something like ruthlessness- Shane knows he can be indecisive. It’s like if he can’t work a problem out from start to finish his brain ends up squeezing it so tight that it slips right out of his grip.
It’s why he likes to keep a lot of things simple and strict, like what he eats and when he exercises. Home clothes are selected based on comfort and familiarity, everything else is replaced semi-regularly to keep in line with what he sees his team mates wearing (the snoopy t-shirt incident of grade 2 had taught him the importance of that).
But this question- the one about the foundation- makes Shane’s chest tighten in a new way. It’d been a week since his dad walked in on them at the cottage. That meant three meals eaten as the four of them, including this evenings: chicken parmesan, the remains of which were now sitting in tupperware for Ilya and Shane to take home with them.
Three meetings in a week felt like a lot, but Ilya had seemed enthusiastic enough, and his parents (or his mom, at least) obviously felt they had a lot to catch up on. Nine years worth of stuff.
She was looking at him now, eyebrows raised slightly. His dad and Ilya were still in the kitchen, wrapped up in some mutually adoring conversation about a pre-school photo that sat on the cabinet. Shane swallowed.
“We’re going to put our own money towards it, obviously. But I also wanted to do hockey camps for kids during the summer. Get other players to coach. It’s going to be accessible- not just for families who are rich, or already planning on their kids getting scouted or whatever. It needs to be accessible. I want it to show…I don’t know. That hockey can be for everyone.”
Her face softened slightly.
“Well that’s a good start. Ethical. There’s certainly a gap for it. Structurally, hockey can be…unforgiving, sometimes.”
Shane rubbed at his eyelid, but said nothing.
“But what about the rest of it?” Yuna continued, “I mean, where’s the money going to go?”
That was exactly the topic he’d been trying to avoid: he had been trying to keep his face a mask of neutrality, but then his mom let out an exasperated sigh.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t even considered it! Shane, this stuff is important. There can’t be any room for error, not with something like this. And you want to make sure the money’s being spent in the best possible way. How about cancer research? Or the CASO? It might be a bit more fitting…or something for LGBT groups?”
Shane shot her an incredulous look.
“Okay, okay maybe not that. Not yet at least. I just meant it should be something you both care about, something you can articulate to the people you’ll need on board with this.”
“No one knew I was gay until last Friday, mom. I don’t think I’m in a position to be articulating anything.”
It came out too hard, too sharp. Her face dropped.
“Sorry.”
He said it earnestly enough, but the word only made the crease between her eyebrows deepen. Shane was suddenly aware that David and Ilya were looking over at them.
Perfect. Excellent execution, well done.
“I knew you were gay before last Friday" Said Ilya.
It cut the tension and got a genuine laugh out of David, which made Ilya look at him with a pleased, strangely innocent expression. Then his eyes rested on Shane’s. It wasn’t anything, really. No silent communication. No trying to guess what the other person was thinking. Just a fond, familiar acknowledgement of one another that suddenly made Shane’s heart feel like it was going to burst with how much he loved him.
It was barely a moment, but when he looked back at his mom she was watching him intently. The pained expression she’d been wearing before had fallen away. He mouthed sorry one more time, and this time she smiled, eyes shining with an expression Shane couldn’t quite decipher.
“We’re talking about this foundation,” said Yuna. David took a seat next to her.
“I bet you were. Making inroads already?”
“Well it’s good to prepare” She raised the half full wine glass to her lips-
“What do you think, Ilya? About which charities you’d like to work with?”
Shane wondered for a split second if he had even heard her: Ilya was staring at yet another picture of Shane- twelve this time, gangly and unsmiling at a cousin's wedding- like he was trying to burn it into his brain.
“I think we have decided already.” He sat down in the corner of the couch, letting their legs brush together momentarily,
“Mental health. It’s important. Coming from us especially, I hope. We’re men, we’re athletes. Maybe we can reach people who otherwise wouldn’t seek help.”
“Well that reassures me. It’s underrepresented, certainly. And I’m glad you’ve got an angle, so to speak.”
Shane cringed. Ilya shot him a reassuring smile.
“I think so too. I will probably sell some of the cars for when we start up.”
“Oh no, not the cars” Shane said flatly. Ilya pouted in mock offense.
“You do not make fun of the cars. They are very dear and precious to me and I will kiss them goodbye when they leave.”
Shane smirked and began counting on his fingers-
“Bright red Ferrari. Bright orange McLaren” he paused, trying to think.
“The purple one.”
“Are you saying I’m tacky?”
“Not in Boston, maybe”
“I’m not sure Ottawa would do them justice” said David diplomatically, sounding amused.
“Still, you must care a lot about this foundation to give them up for it.”
Ilya smiled. Shane wondered if anyone else could see the sadness in it. He reached over- subtly, he hoped- to rest a hand on his knee. The conversation was skirting dangerously close to things he wasn’t sure his boyfriend wanted to talk about just yet, and Shane didn’t want to fuck up by acting like Ilya was going to fall apart at any second or something. But the thought of not touching him, at least letting him know that he cared, was unthinkable.
Ilya laced their fingers together.
The discussion drifted on to other things, and Shane caught himself wondering about Irina. Had he only waited so long to tell Shane because everything about their relationship had been a long game until now? It should’ve made sense, but the idea nagged at him nonetheless.
It would’ve been a grizzly rumour to get passed around locker rooms, but aside from friends in the league, who else was there? The series of Boston club-rats Shane had seen on his story over the years? The women from hook-ups that got splashed all over the tabloids? Svetlana must know- but what about other old friends from Moscow? There were none Ilya regularly mentioned apart from her.
He thought about what he’d said to his own mother- that he wasn’t ready to be articulating anything about his personal life, least of all in service of other people. He was struck with the bravery it must take to decide to be open about something like that. Or maybe Ilya was just sick of hiding, pretending his mom had never existed just to save other people the discomfort of knowing how she died.
It must be lonely, Shane thought. To love someone so much, and not have anywhere to put it. He looked over at the photo of himself, the ugly one that Ilya had been transfixed by. Twelve. What had Irina’s life looked like, for her to have died the way she did?
What had Ilya’s life looked like? They had shared it, after all. Even if only for a short while.
***
They were doing a long goodbye, it seemed. Shane had put on his coat and shoes ten minutes ago, but when his mom opened another bottle of wine he had taken it as a sign of defeat and gone to sit with his dad in the living room.
“I think I’m ready for bed,” David yawned.
“Mmm. Me too.” He wasn’t sure they meant it in quite the same way, but still.
There was a stream of laughter from the other room.
“I’m glad she likes him,” he said it quietly, almost like a thought escaping.
“I like him too” David looked thoughtful for a moment, “very much. And I can tell he likes you.”
Shane blushed. He felt willing to wait suddenly, for however long it would take his mom and Ilya to put some tupperware into a carrier bag and finish a glass of wine.
***
"Take one of these bottles with you. And you should really think about Adidas. I think it would be a good fit- you know, I'm shocked you don't have someone on this stuff."
"My friend Sveta used to help," he shrugged "not formally. Just with advice. She is very business minded, like you"
She hummed in affirmation. Dinner had been finished an hour ago- Ilya was starting to get hungry again, actually- and the sky outside was slipping in to the arena of dusk, but something in him wasn't ready to go just yet. Yuna seemed to feel the same way, because she had asked him to help her empty the dishwasher and made him a cup of herbal tea and resolutely ignored the way her son was staring in to space with the look of someone who has mentally left the building. Ilya wanted to give her what she wanted. He liked her, after all. She was funny. She was welcoming. And she had a streak of stubbornness, a strength of conviction that made Ilya feel that the fact that she seemed to like him really meant something. It wasn't the transactional love he was used to. It was something fairer, more honest. He didn't feel like he was being tested. He felt like she was letting him speak for himself.
And they both loved Shane. There were a million things he wanted to ask her about him, things he'd missed out on. Perhaps she felt the same way.
They carried on for a few more minutes, putting away the last few plates and talking about the upcoming season. Ilya was just about to politely pull himself away when Yuna snapped her fingers, turning towards him as if something had suddenly come to mind-
"Domain name!"
He wasn't sure if he'd misheard her or just didn't recognise the English word.
"I was going to ask Shane earlier. You need to register one for the foundation. As soon as possible, ideally. Have you had any ideas?"
She was looking at him expectantly. Ilya bit the inside of his cheek. The conversation in the lounge had not been entirely unexpected: Ilya knew that sooner or later, people would start to ask questions about the charity. Not just Shane. Not just Shane's parents. Managers, consultants, people in the league: if they were going to go ahead with it, soon everyone would know. He had never in his life felt ashamed of his mother, even when she was alive and forgot to wash some days, or slept through his hockey games when everyone else had parents cheering in the stands for them. His father had always said it was her fault, but Ilya didn't trust his father, so he knew it was probably because of something he had done. After she died, he talked to her in his head everyday. He didn't tell her what people were saying about her. Just the good stuff.
He opened his mouth. He wanted to tell Yuna about the good stuff.
"I want to name it after my mother, Irina. She was very funny and imaginative. She was a good dancer. She had mental health problems. I was talking to Shane about her- it was his idea, you know, this foundation."
"Oh" Yuna's eyes had gone wide and shiny. "That's lovely."
She seemed to cast around for the right thing to say, which thread to pick at.
"You were close with her?"
"Very. She died when I was twelve, you know- committed suicide. But it wasn't her fault. She was ill." His lips go tight then, refusing to let much more out.
"I'm so sorry, Ilya." She looks sad, not shocked. "I had a friend from high school who killed himself. It's a terrible thing. I remember people either wanted to ignore how he died or ignore how he lived. Nobody had the language for both. It's not the same of course..."
Ilya shrugged. It sounded pretty familiar to him.
"...but I just mean she'd be very proud of you. I'm sure she was proud of you no matter what."
He smiles, fiddling with a worn edge of the dishcloth he's still holding.
"Can I give you a hug?" She sounds so earnest, like she really wants to. He's certain it'll feel like that specific combination of soft wool and cold jewellery that he sometimes wakes up reaching for. If her hair tickles his cheek he might burst out crying. If her perfume smells like amber and ginger he might never let go.
"Um. No thank you. Sorry." Please understand. Please ask again one day.
"Of course" Yuna breathes out as if she's trying to dispel something from the room, then picks up the bag stuffed with wine and leftovers.
"Take this. I'll send you the recipe. Just text when you want to come over again, I'll make that chocolate thingy I was telling you about. I know you'll be back in Boston soon, but don't disappear on me, okay? You have my number."
"I promise. Thank you for everything. It's been- I've been very happy. Thank you for that."
She's reaching for him then, placing two hands on his arms, rubbing slightly as if she's trying to warm him up.
"Me too."
***
She's brushed her teeth, washed her face, put her hair in to it's night time bun. The expensive cream that gets replenished at every birthday and Christmas is applied until it goes translucent, then applied again, layer after layer, more for the methodical, self-soothing ritual of it than the desire to keep her neck looking like a twenty-five year olds. Fat chance of that happening anyway. Yuna feels old tonight, much older than she had a few hours ago.
"Are you going to get in the oven with some herbs?" David peers at her over his reading glasses, kindle propped up in his lap. She snorts with laughter.
"No, I'm going to wake up tomorrow looking like Kate Moss."
David pulls a face.
"Please don't." He pulls at the duvet, making space for her, "Are you alright? You seem worried."
Yuna sighs, screwing the cap back on the tube and sliding in to bed beside him.
"Not worried. Just thinking about something Ilya told me." She bites her lip. Keeping secrets has never been a strong suit. If she was being generous with herself she'd say it's because she's a fixer- that she won't let something alone if there's something to be done about it.
This is not something that can be fixed, she reminds herself. But was it even a secret? It wouldn't be for long, not if the boys were going ahead with their plan.
"You know, when I first started asking Shane about this foundation I got the impression he was being kind of cagey about it. Like maybe he'd just gotten caught on the idea because it'll mean they can spend more time together."
"That doesn't sound like him."
"No. But when you're young and in love...well, you remember what that's like."
"Sure" said David, looking a little sentimental. Yuna smiled at him. Her husband was going soft in old age, she was sure of it.
"Anyway. Ilya seemed a bit more certain, and I asked him in the kitchen- only because it slipped my mind before- about what they were going to call it. And he said they would name it after his mom." She stopped, feeling a little jittery. In the moment she had felt herself go weirdly calm, trying to focus on saying the right thing, not making it about herself. Fixing, she thought flatly. God knows if she'd done an adequate job. It was only while watching Shane's car pull out of their driveway that the swell of emotion had come. And come, and come, and come. She bunched a fist full of blanket, distorting the paisley pattern until it became abstract blotches of colour,
"She killed herself. When he was twelve, David. He was a baby. And his face went all blank when I asked about it, I had no idea how to help him. I just can't stop thinking... I mean with this charity, it'll be public information. They'll have to do a conference for it, a press release: that was all I kept saying to Shane, it's no wonder he didn't want to talk to me. Then when Ilya brought up mental health-" She cringed, releasing the blanket from it's vice grip and putting her head in her hands, "I called it an angle. That's what this is going to be, isn't it? Everyone else saying their piece about angles and optics, while they have to shut up and smile and pretend to be what- business partners? Acquaintances?"
Her voice was breaking now. David looked anguished, like he wanted to say something, but the floodgates were open now and Yuna couldn't have stopped even if she tried.
"They've been something since before rookie season. Almost a decade. I never thought- I never even suspected. All that time I was talking about Ilya like he was just the asshole competition, right from the beginning. When he was a teenager in a foreign country and his mom had just-" she did the math in her head, and let out a sob, "-and Shane. He's my baby. And I made him feel like..."
Like he couldn't tell me. Like I'd stop loving him.
"Oh my darling" David wrapped his arms around her. She clung on tightly. They stayed like that for a long time.
"Have you been thinking like this all week?" He asked when Yuna finally disentangled herself. She just shrugged, feeling suddenly exhausted.
"You're new to this. We both are. I was worried about Shane, before. That his world was too small. But that's changed now, hasn't it? This is a good thing. It's difficult, but it's good, and whatever they've got in store for them I think they can both handle it. They've managed so far," he chuckled, still sounding a little disbelieving. "If anything, it'll be easier this time around, because we'll be there to handle it too."
He gave her a kiss on her temple.
"We'll keep looking after Shane. And we can look after Ilya too."