Archive of Our Own

the dinner party

Shane Hollander’s mother being beautiful came as no surprise. That Svetlana was meeting Shane Hollander’s mother was slightly harder to adjust to.

It was for Ilya’s birthday. Svetlana refused to call it a party, got mad as hell whenever Ilya tried to, hated to see what had happened to her dear friend. It was a dinner. Ilya was having a birthday dinner, with his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s parents and two teammates and a nice couple from down the street, and Svetlana.

“That sounds like a lot of couples,” Svetlana had said, when Ilya called her up to invite her. “Should I bring a date?”

“Don’t you dare,” Ilya said.

“But I’ll feel left out.”

“I’ll ban wags, my teammates will come alone,” he said. “Problem solved.”

“That would be very rude,” Svetlana said, but she was smiling, relieved that even if Ilya was hosting a dinner, he at least wasn’t following proper etiquette.

She was the only invitee who had to fly in for the evening, which could make her feel special or sad depending on how she thought about it. It did mean more time with Ilya. He would pick her up at the airport and she would stay in their guest room. It wasn’t actually his birthday, he would be in Winnipeg when he turned thirty later that week, so she would be allowed to monopolize his attention a little without it being a major infringement on his relationship. To at least try to monopolize it.

He swept her up in a crushing hug at the airport, and she laughed into his shoulder. She wondered if people who saw them would think they were a couple, the way everyone had used to think they were a couple, but then Ilya pulled away, sooner than she expected, not long enough to give that impression. Anyway, everyone in Ottawa probably recognized him, and he and Shane were out, now. The pride of the city, had been the headline on one of the positive local spin articles. Apparently it had made Shane cringe. Svetlana only knew about it because Ilya had sent her a picture after he got it framed.

Ilya squeezed her shoulder, fraternal. “It’s so fucking good to see you,” he said. She wondered if he had anyone in his day to day life he could speak Russian to. She knew Shane was learning, but there was a long way between basic vocabulary and in depth conversation. She and Ilya knew that.

“You look so well,” she said, honestly, even though he was paler than he had been when he lived in the US. She was almost used to it. She pinched his cheek for good measure, and he took her bags.

“I think I am the most handsome man in this city,” he said, as he began leading her out of the airport.

“And now I am its most beautiful woman,” she said, and she would remember saying that and revise it when she met Shane Hollander’s mother that evening.

It was a boring city, and she had thought that before Ilya moved there. She kept a ranking in her head of every NHL team location and Ottawa was near the bottom. Ilya had always acted like her living in Boston was a happy coincidence, had apparently never stopped to think how much of a factor he might have played in her moving there. If he had had to leave, she wished it would have been for somewhere she actually enjoyed visiting.

She showered the plane air off her in the Hollander-Rozanov guest en suite bathroom, using more of the Hollander-Rozanov guest body wash than she needed in a vindictive move she did not understand at all. It was two hours to the dinner but she didn’t want to get into what she’d worn on the plane right after showering and didn’t want to wear three outfits in one day primarily because of what it might make Shane Hollander think of her, so she put on the dress she’d brought for the main event. Then she went to find Ilya.

He was in the kitchen, on his own, stretching out his left leg with his foot on the counter. Ilya had access to some of the best professionals in the world, and the best equipment, but he loved all these makeshift solutions, like a teenager who just got home from practice with the school team. It gave her great comfort, to recognize this part of him. “Hello,” she said, and he grunted a greeting before dropping his leg and turning to face her.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“I will be overdressed, I know,” Svetlana said. It wasn’t all that fancy by her standards, and it covered her tits and her knees, but it was presumably Ottawa fancy.

“Best dressed,” Ilya corrected, and she smiled at him.

“Only until the strippers arrive,” she said, and then widened her eyes. “Oh, no, I ruined the surprise.”

“Funny joke,” Ilya said.

“You said party!” she said. “You say party, I think strippers. Am I wrong?”

He shook his head. “You better not have any stunts planned.”

“Are three bags of coke a stunt?” she asked. “You used to have higher standards for stunts, I think.”

He fake lunged toward her, and she laughed. “No coke, no coke,” she promised. “But I am going to dose everyone’s fancy wine.”

And then he did lunge for her, digging his hands into her sides as she tried to kick him away. She pulled at his hair so he pulled at hers, right at the nape of her neck, and the laughter was manic and pained. Too much, the way Svetlana liked it. The way she wasn’t entirely sure if Ilya still liked it.

And then a far softer, “Oh,” from behind them. Svetlana turned as best she could to see Shane, standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

Ilya pulled away, posture perfect, hands behind his back instead of on Svetlana. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have fun with Shane; it was that this was what was fun for him, acting like a school boy who had gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“She is mad at me for calling it party,” Ilya said, switching to English a lot more easily than she remembered him being capable of. It was only an inch away from saying she had started it.

“It is a dinner, this cannot count, it is so sad if it counts,” Svetlana said, and then regretted it. She could make fun of Ilya for things like that; making fun of Shane always felt cruel.

Shane just cocked his head, like they were being silly. “Well, yeah, it’s a dinner party,” he said, and making fun of Shane always felt cruel, so Svetlana didn’t. Wouldn’t have had an audience, anyway, because Ilya was reacting differently to Shane’s proclamation, looking at him like Shane had just done a clever trick.

The dinner was being catered, so they had to leave the kitchen shortly after and give it over to Ottawa’s finest chef. Svetlana’s new bit was prefacing everything she encountered there with ‘Ottawa’s finest’. They moved to the front room, where the fancy wine was out, where Ottawa’s finest guests would gather until the starters were served.

The neighbor couple were young and just beginning to have evenings away from their baby child, who Ilya asked them a lot of questions about. The teammates, Cameron and Isler, were too caught up in how hot she was to properly talk about hockey to her, which was a shame, because Isler was an interesting defender. Shane’s parents were a good looking couple dressed quietly wealthy, and the way they hugged Ilya made Svetlana for a moment want to cry. It had been sweet of Ilya to ban wags, but Svetlana still wished she had brought a date. She was relieved when the first course was served.

The birthday boy sat at the head of the table, Shane to his left and Svetlana to his right. She suspected that was just because she was the only one there who didn’t know anyone other than Ilya, but she still enjoyed the pride of place.

At her other side was Yuna Hollander, who smelled like expensive perfume, something classic. After Svetlana she was the closest to overdressed, a silk blouse tucked in a cotton skirt, very feminine and fine, contrasted, in a way Svetlana found funny but also made her stomach twist, with the heavy digital watch on her wrist, three time zones showing. Svetlana kept wanting to ask her for the time, but she didn’t know how to make it sound normal. Anyway she could read the watch from where she was sitting. It showed seconds too, climbing steadily up, and Svetlana had to try not to stare.

They talked, of course. Yuna turned to her and said, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Svetlana.” She said it very kindly, and Svetlana couldn’t tell how genuine it was. Yuna seemed like the kind of person who would just say those things.

“You too,” Svetlana said, and was surprised to find she meant it. It wasn’t like she had had any curiosity in her head about Shane Hollander’s parents. But Yuna was beautiful, and Svetlana liked her perfume, so she was glad to meet her. “You have been very good to my Ilya.”

Yuna smiled. “He is very easy to be good to,” she said, and Svetlana had to hold back a laugh, because for a long long time that couldn’t have been anything but a joke.

“You live here too, right?” she asked. “In Ottawa.”

“Yes,” Yuna said. “Nearly my whole life. I love it. Ilya wishes you’d visit more often.”

It caught in Svetlana's throat a little, this person she’d never met before who felt comfortable speaking for Ilya. “I don’t do well in places like this,” Svetlana said, trying to skirt around her disdain.

Yuna nodded. “We have a problem with young people leaving for bigger cities. Part of why it’s so nice to have Ilya around. Shane, soon, too.”

Svetlana frowned. “I don’t think it’s from being young, that I don’t do well,” she said. “I can’t imagine growing out of it.”

Yuna had looked at her, protracted, and then smiled. Svetlana suddenly felt very young after all. She said, “Maybe I just don’t know enough about this place. Maybe if I knew what you liked about it I’d like it too.”

That had thrown Yuna off, and then her husband was calling her attention to a conversation too far from Svetlana for her to hear. Svetlana and Yuna did not talk again, but Svetlana liked listening to her, especially when she was talking to Shane. All this advice she had for him, like she could live his life better than he could. It made Svetlana a little sad, so she didn’t know why she was also enjoying it. She just remembered Ilya telling her about how impossibly perfect Shane’s family was, happy and without any conflict or pathos. She was relieved to know that wasn’t true, even if everyone else, including them, apparently thought it was.

They got through dinner, and then had a breathing period before dessert. Svetlana squeezed Ilya’s wrist. “I am going to have a cigarette. Would you like to come outside and smell it?”

Ilya turned big hopeful eyes to Shane, who nodded – giving permission. Jesus Christ. Svetlana got up and Ilya followed, slipping out of the room after each other the way they had slipped out of so many rooms, but it felt different. The Hollander-Rozanov house had a big deck, wide and friendly and open, Ottawa’s finest, not the kind of place they usually crept off to. She lit up leaning against the railing, and Ilya leaned beside her.

“I’m really glad you came,” he said. “I wanted you here, but I know it’s not your scene.”

Not our scene, she bit her tongue against saying. “I’ve enjoyed it,” she said.

He nodded. “They’re all good people.” He said it like he was reassuring her, needed to prove to her he had a good life. She believed him.

“Yuna is so nice,” she said.

“She’s drunk, is what she is,” Ilya said.

Svetlana frowned. “No,” she said. “She’s only had two glasses of wine.”

Ilya’s gaze darted to her. “How many has David had?”

“He’s on beer, not wine,” Svetlana said. “He’s had three.”

Ilya nodded. “And Cameron?”

Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “Leave me alone,” she said.

Ilya grinned. “Freak.”

She snuffed the cigarette halfway through, went with Ilya back inside. Ilya knew Yuna pretty well, so Svetlana was curious why he’d have thought she was drunk, and sitting right next to her it didn’t take much study to figure it out. Yuna gave her dessert to her husband. She was flushed red and quieter than she had been when she first arrived, quieter than she was in Ilya’s stories. After those final plates were cleared the group migrated to the living room, and Svetlana watched Yuna slip away through the side door onto the deck, and she followed.

Yuna was white knuckling the railing and holding her wine glass to her cheek, eyes closed.

“Hot flash?” Svetlana said, lilting it like a question only out of politeness.

Yuna’s eyes flew open, staring at Svetlana like she’d never seen her before.

“Sorry,” Svetlana said, smiling wide to make it clear she wasn’t.

“Yes, a hot flash,” Yuna said. She sounded almost apologetic, or mad. She sounded like an athlete resentful of an injury. “It’s been coming on all night. I’m really showing my age, I just needed some air.”

“Is your heart beating very fast?” Svetlana asked. “I know that can happen. During hot flashes.”

“Yes, it is,” Yuna said.

Svetlana wanted to ask if she could feel her pulse, maybe right by the digital watch, but she knew that would be too much.

Yuna took in a deep breath, like she was steadying herself. “Ilya said you work in cars, right?” Yuna said. “Luxury cars.”

“Yes, I sell them,” Svetlana said. “Most of Ilya’s he got from me.”

“That’s nice,” Yuna said. “You two are so alike.”

Svetlana almost teared up. It had been a long while since someone had said anything like that about them, when it used to be so common.

It was natural, for the dynamic to evolve in a friendship this old. They were different people now. That wasn’t true. Ilya was a different person. But he did not love her any less, and they still knew each other so well, trusted each other and enjoyed each other. So it was very greedy of her to feel sad about the state of their friendship, to miss the few things they’d lost. It wasn’t even just the sex, although it had been nice to have someone so reliable like that. She had liked that they had had something people struggled to understand. Nobody had ever known what to make of them, the way they came together and broke apart, five times every night. Now what they had was very recognizable. It was the normal way of being old friends, good friends. There was still all the love, just a lot less of the intimacy.

And she hadn’t changed but the ways he was different made her feel differently about herself, too. By the standards of their old circles she was very responsible, she had her shit together. She was used to Ilya being the difficult one; way more likely to take it too far on a night out, way more likely to crash after a high, generally less able to handle his emotions. In this house she felt like the problem child.

Maybe that was why she had followed Yuna out here. If anyone could handle a problem child.

“What can be done for a hot flash?” Svetlana asked. “Would you like me to – get ice, or something?”

Yuna sighed. “No, you just wait for it to pass,” she said. “Any minute now.” She propped her wrist on the railing, and they both looked down at her watch, watched the seconds climb up. Svetlana was glad she hadn’t brought a date.

the wedding

The next time Svetlana came to Ottawa it was for Ilya’s wedding, and she booked a room in a hotel. Not the hotel where they were getting married, because something about that was a little much for her. It was the one neurosis she would allow herself, and otherwise she would be perfectly happy this whole weekend.

She was incredibly happy for Ilya. Marriage didn’t mean much to her, and she hadn’t known it to mean much to him either, but he wouldn’t be in a position for it without all this other good stuff in his life, a home and someone he loved and a family. And even putting that aside, it would have been impossible to not be happy for Ilya when confronted with his own happiness.

He was obviously busy, she would not get much time with him, but she did see him the morning before the ceremony. He was already done up in his tux, very handsome, and she genuinely worried he might get a headache from smiling so much.

“Who would have thought,” she said, as she fiddled with his collar, even though of course it was perfect without her ministrations. It just felt like tradition. Something old, blue, borrowed.

“Nobody,” Ilya said. “That’s why there are so many guests. Nobody would believe it otherwise.”

She laughed. “You never just wanted to elope?”

Ilya shrugged. “Maybe we’ll do that too,” he said.

“Be honest,” she said. “How many of these guests do you find annoying?”

Ilya shook his head, upsetting his perfectly styled curls. This was one of the ways they had changed. She didn’t mind touching his collar, she would not touch his hair. “Today I love everyone, today nobody is annoying,” he said, and then squinted at her. “But the people you’re sitting with are actually cool, not people I ever find annoying on any day. I made sure.”

Svetlana would be perfectly happy the whole weekend, but she could not stomach talking to Ilya Rozanov about seating arrangements. “Am I near Yuna?”

He frowned. “No. She’s with Shane’s family.”

“Oh,” Svetlana said. Of course.

“What is with this crush you’ve got on Yuna?” he asked. He was joking, not suspicious at all. He no longer lived in a world where extra marital affairs could be easily entertained.

“I think it would be funny to be your step mom in law,” Svetlana said, to toe the line.

But this new Ilya was so insulated from the possibility of Svetlana fucking a married woman that he just laughed. He said, “You have a lot in common with her. You’re probably the two smartest people I know. And so fearless. And hockey sickos.”

“And hot,” Svetlana said, and Ilya pulled a face! Apparently Ilya could not acknowledge that Yuna was hot. This family shtick was getting out of hand. But Svetlana would be perfectly happy the whole weekend.

Svetlana didn’t have to wait long to see Yuna that day, met her milling in the hotel lobby before the ceremony, without her husband.

“Oh, Svetlana,” she said, wide eyed like she hadn’t known Svetlana would be there. Or like something else, maybe.

“Hello,” Svetlana said, and it almost came out as a laugh. She was instantly giddy.

“You look so...” Yuna said. And then, in a more together tone: “You look very beautiful.”

Svetlana felt warm all through herself, felt like giggling. “Thank you,” she said. “You are very beautiful too.”

Yuna’s brow twitched, maybe at how Svetlana had changed the sentiment. “That’s kind,” she said. “It’s hard to find an age appropriate dress that isn’t just boring.”

“Age appropriate,” Svetlana repeated, like she hadn’t heard the term before. She looked at Yuna’s dress, the color of champagne and very elegant, with folded fabric gathered around her hips. She was wearing a gold bracelet and no clunky digital watch, which Svetlana found disappointing. “It will be good for dancing. It will look good. It has movement.”

Yuna swished her dress around her legs a little, like she was testing Svetlana’s theory. Svetlana watched, almost missed Yuna’s follow up: “Is your dress good for dancing?”

Svetlana looked down at what she was wearing. A couple of months ago she had sent Ilya pictures of two different white dresses and asked which he liked best. He had responded, the strapless one, you will steal the show, I will marry you instead by accident, but it had taken him five hours and by then she’d already bought the one she was wearing now. Black, pretty, sort of plain.

“Yes, that is very important to me,” Svetlana said.

Yuna took a step closer, like she was about to share a secret. “Pockets are important to me,” she said, and patted her hips. “I always misplace purses. This dress has pockets.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Svetlana said, somehow genuinely impressed. “Is your watch in there?”

Yuna cocked her head, smiling slightly, sounding bemused. “No, my phone, some business cards, a small planner. There’ll be some people here it would be good to talk to.”

Svetlana’s eyes widened. The mother of the groom, networking. It was charming. Her son getting married wasn’t enough of a busy day for her. Svetlana wondered what would be enough, for Yuna Hollander. “Anyone who you think needs a new car?”

Yuna laughed, loud and delighted, like she loved getting to laugh. “I’ll let you know,” she said, and then somebody – maybe one of the people it would be good to talk to – approached Yuna, and Svetlana excused herself.

She watched Yuna at the ceremony, a one-quarter view of her face, dabbing at her eyes, her husband’s arm solid around her. And she watched her dance after the ceremony, with Shane and Ilya and then her husband, but they did not talk again until later in the night. Svetlana was in line for the women’s bathroom, which was long enough that a few people, including Svetlana, were standing in the lobby, but then Yuna was beside her. “There’s a nicer one upstairs,” Yuna said. “I’ll show you. Mother of the groom privileges.”

Her hand was on Svetlana’s back, not low, not as low as Svetlana would like, but warm and firm and easy to follow. Svetlana followed. It was innocent as they walked through the lobby to the elevator, but she felt like they were making a show of themselves, like everyone must be staring at them, wondering.

This hotel’s main market was weddings, it was chiefly designed for weddings, and Yuna led her to somewhere she needed a key card to access but wasn’t a bedroom. It was probably where Shane had gotten ready, Svetlana thought, and the place was a mess. That was sweet, how frantic it must have been, for him to end up with his hair the same as always and a neat tuxedo.

Yuna didn’t just point to the bathroom door, she led Svetlana into it and gestured at the cubicles as though Svetlana might otherwise miss them. Whoever had designed the bathroom had done so as though it would be somewhere people hung out, with two wicker chairs and vases of real flowers. Svetlana plucked the head off one and put it in her hair before entering the cubicle.

She was surprised when she exited that Yuna was still there, hip against the counter. Her finger was feeling over one of the flowers, the same kind that Svetlana had put in her hair. As Svetlana washed her hands, she asked, “You need to use it too?”

“Oh, no,” Yuna said. “I just – wanted to take a break. Just a few moments.”

Svetlana nodded and didn’t say anything until she’d finished washing and drying her hands. She hopped onto the counter, pulling herself back enough that she could lean against the mirror. Yuna turned to face her, stood in front of her.

Svetlana looked down from Yuna’s face to what was visible of her chest above the elegant dress’s neckline, and then back up. Her chest was patterned with light, fine lines, and Svetlana imagined her skin thin, so that if she pressed a hand up against it she would feel the bone easily. “Hot flash?” she asked, even though she knew it wasn’t.

“No,” Yuna said, soft.

Svetlana spread her legs as much as she could in the dress, and Yuna took a step closer. She was still a few inches too far away from the counter to be described as between Svetlana’s legs, but it felt that way. Svetlana could smell her, a little sweat and that perfume she’d worn at Ilya’s birthday. Svetlana wondered how long Yuna had been wearing it, if it had been years or even decades. Svetlana always changed her mind about perfumes. She always wanted to try the new releases.

“Have you been enjoying the day?” Svetlana asked.

Yuna frowned. “I mean, I’m so happy for them, obviously,” she said.

“Obviously,” Svetlana said.

“When they got engaged we had them over for dinner,” Yuna said. “I think that was a little nicer.”

Svetlana’s eyes travelled across Yuna’s face, so thoughtful, so intelligent. “I wouldn’t have thought you liked things small,” she said.

“Well, I don’t,” Yuna said. “I never have. But I suppose if you’re used to – going all out, you also know when it’s not necessary. When it gets in the way.”

“Oh,” Svetlana said, quiet. Nothing would get in their way here, she thought. This room was small.

“It’s funny,” Yuna said. “You seem so young to me, but you’re their age, and I was younger than them when I got married.”

“I am really an old maid,” Svetlana said, nodding.

“No, no,” Yuna said, alarmed. “That’s not what I meant at all. You are young, you’ve so much time, I’m just realizing—I was too.”

Two years ago Svetlana had gotten an abortion. The father was a decent guy so she’d told him, and he’d been supportive, but he’d also said if she wanted to keep it he’d marry her. She had, without meaning to, laughed, but in that bathroom with Yuna she thought about it seriously for the first time. She could have married him and had the child and in twenty years she would have been like Yuna. A good mother with a beautiful house, a wife who kept everything on the tracks. It was not such a bad life. Yuna had made the most of it, anyway.

Yuna seemed shocked by what she had said, like she hadn’t meant it to come out so blunt. Svetlana gave her a way out.

“I think I prefer being an old maid,” Svetlana said, “Than being young and having so much time.”

Yuna’s hand found its way to just above Svetlana’s knee. Svetlana did not look down at it even though she really, really wanted to. She thought Yuna might take it away if she did. They had to be able to pretend it wasn’t happening, and then they could keep doing it. If someone saw them maybe it would just look friendly. Maternal. Svetlana assumed that was what Yuna was telling herself.

“So you don’t want to get married?” Yuna asked, and Svetlana couldn’t interpret the tone at all, except that it made her want to answer honestly. Yuna’s thumb was moving over the thin fabric of her dress, the tiniest movements, more like it was shifting its weight from side to side.

“No,” she said. “Not like this, anyway.” She gestured at the door so Yuna knew she meant everything outside it. She and Ilya had used to joke about getting hitched in Vegas. Ilya loved Vegas. Whenever one of them hated a song, the other said it would be the first dance at their wedding. Ilya and Shane’s first dance was treated very, very seriously. There was nothing tongue in cheek about anything at this wedding at all. Svetlana regretted not wearing white.

“You know,” Yuna said. “I asked Ilya who’d walk him down the aisle, if they were doing that, and he said you.”

It was clearly meant to make Svetlana happy, but she did not want to give Ilya away. For Yuna’s sake she smiled, and then she changed the subject. “I was right about your dress,” she said. “You looked very good dancing.”

Yuna looked down, squeezed Svetlana’s knee. “Sometimes it feels like you’re messing with me,” she said.

“Why?” Svetlana asked, frowning.

“Because you’re so—young, and beautiful.”

“And you are middle aged and beautiful,” Svetlana said. “It happens.”

Yuna’s cheeks were flushed. Svetlana was getting wet. It would be too much, standing up, she would have to return to the little cubicle and clean herself.

“I should get back,” Yuna said. “We should get back. We’ve been gone a while.”

“How do you know?” Svetlana asked. “You don’t have your watch.”

Yuna reached up and cupped a hand on Svetlana’s cheek. Probably that was all it was supposed to be, probably Svetlana was supposed to leave it like that, but her eyes clenched shut and she turned into the touch, her lips at the base of Yuna’s thumb.

“God,” Yuna said, and pulled away jerkily. “Okay, we should go.”

And this time Svetlana did not protest, because Yuna was using that tone of hers Svetlana liked, like if people just did what she said there would be peace and love on planet earth forever.

the hotel

Svetlana flew down to Nashville to watch Ilya lose in game seven of the finals. Later she would see that she had made it to the broadcast, her tear-stained face, one of the few fans there in Ottawa gear. It had been a brutal game, both teams banged up and frustrated and wanting it over as much as they wanted to win. It wasn’t her favorite kind of hockey, but she still got swallowed up in it. Things could become so simple, each player on either team reduced to their fundamentals, nothing fancy, nothing clever, nothing new. Ilya usually made hockey look fun, and Shane made it look artful, but even they had taken on the personas of bare knuckled boxers.

She knew Yuna and her husband were there, but she did not see them at the game. She saw them at the dinner after, with Ilya and Shane, who Svetlana couldn’t believe had still shown up. But, she supposed, this was their family. Maybe her presence was stranger.

They ate in the hotel restaurant because they were all staying in the same place. Shane and Ilya left early, no dessert no digestif no port, to do whatever they did to comfort each other in private. Certainly it would be nothing Svetlana recognized.

Yuna’s husband – David – was quiet for a lot of dinner, too, but Yuna and Svetlana couldn’t stop talking about the game. They tried, because it was clearly not what Ilya or Shane wanted to hear, but when Ilya and Shane left they took Svetlana and Yuna’s restraint with them.

“The shot selection was fucking abysmal,” Svetlana said, as soon as they disappeared out of the restaurant. “Nashville’s too, but they’re a volume scoring team, they have been all season.”

Yuna nodded. “Maybe we should have seen it coming,” she said. “Ottawa’s offense is built on finesse, it doesn’t last as well in a long post season.”

Svetlana had seen it coming, but she didn’t see the point in saying that. She’d still thought there was a chance. She’d still cried, after all.

The conversation took them from the restaurant to the lobby, where they gathered around a low table, David and Svetlana on whiskey, Yuna on wine. Svetlana – who could talk to anyone, who could make anyone feel like they were her best friend – should have felt bad for how disengaged David was, should have made an effort to include him, but, well. Surely he was Yuna’s responsibility, and Yuna wasn’t trying either.

Then David, who had been looking at his phone, said, “Oh, hun, the Worthys’ are selling their house.”

Yuna frowned, leaned into look at her husband’s phone, and Svetlana took her own out. She didn’t mind; usually after a game she’d be monitoring the reactions and analysis on social media, but she’d been too wrapped up in Yuna. Svetlana would root for whatever team Ilya captained, but she had no real loyalties and her feed was pretty unbiased. A lot of talk about Ottawa’s lack of depth – too much responsibility on its first line, too much responsibility on Shane and Ilya at this stage in their career. Maybe that was why this was making Svetlana so sad. Ilya was getting older. He was still brilliant, so dominant, but any year now that could change. Maybe this had been his last chance. She clutched at the O in the Ottawa embroidered on her jacket.

“There’s a new angle of the hit Flynn took,” Svetlana said, and Yuna sat up straight the way Svetlana had known she would.

David laughed. “Okay, that’s my cue,” he said. “I’m gonna get to bed. You both prepare a report on every single thing that went wrong this series for the morning.”

“Will do,” Yuna said, smiling as he kissed her forehead. She watched him walk away, and when she turned back she looked distracted.

“What?” Svetlana asked.

Yuna shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “He’s gutted for our boys. But I don’t get why it doesn’t mean more to him than that, I don’t know why he doesn’t care more. I mean, he used to play hockey. He was really good!”

Svetlana shrugged. “He is a happy man,” she said, and when Yuna looked like she didn’t get it, elaborated: “I don’t think happy people care this much about anything.”

Yuna looked stricken. This probably only seemed like a common occurrence to Svetlana. “I’m happy,” Yuna said.

“Okay,” Svetlana said. “My mistake.”

She tracked every movement as Yuna took a sip from her wine. She usually took big mouthfuls, so fearless, but since they had moved to the lobby it had been little sips.

“Did you want to play?” Svetlana asked. “When you were a girl.”

Yuna took a while to answer. “Yes,” she said. “You did too, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Svetlana said. And she had, when she was young. She’d broken her collarbone when she was eleven and her mom had forbade it from then on. Sometimes Svetlana wished she had a scar from that.

“It’s obviously not the same,” Yuna said. “But I do feel like I get to – right some of those wrongs, with Shane being who he is.”

“Your son is not like most hockey players,” Svetlana said. “He is much nicer.”

“Yes,” Yuna said, smiling.

“Were you worried, ever?” Svetlana asked. “About what he might become. In this world.”

Yuna tilted her head. “Did you worry about Ilya?”

“Not for that,” Svetlana said. “He has always been who he is.”

“You too,” Yuna said. “Right?”

“I don’t know,” Svetlana said. “When I am around you I feel a little different, like I could be different.”

Yuna’s eyes closed. Her hand was resting on the arm of her seat, and Svetlana reached out, pressed the tips of her fingers against her. A very small touch, to match Yuna’s sips.

“I’m from a different world,” Yuna said. “This isn’t… What’s happening here?”

“What you think is happening,” Svetlana said. “You should trust yourself.”

“Svetlana,” Yuna said, and shook her head with a small smile, a little more together, or at least better at faking it. “You’re obviously very... I’ve gotten carried away.”

“Getting carried away is nice,” Svetlana said. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“It is when...” Yuna was having a hard time finishing sentences, which wasn’t like her. Like the little sips weren’t like her. “I’m happily married.”

Svetlana nodded. “You will be happily married tomorrow,” she said. “No matter what happens tonight.”

Yuna shook her head and Svetlana slipped further along the leather of her seat to get closer. It was hard not being able to touch Yuna right now. It would make things plainer, simpler. But there were still people around.

“You were very young when you got married,” Svetlana said. “You had your whole life ahead of you. Right?”

Yuna looked a little pained, and Svetlana would feel guilty, but, well.

“How many times have you had something in your life worth keeping secret?” Svetlana asked.

Yuna swallowed, breathed deep. Keeping herself in check. “I’m not sure I ever have, not really.”

“That’s a little sad, isn’t it?”

“I...”

“It would be one night,” Svetlana said. “I have never been needy.”

Yuna’s chest was moving fast. Hot flash, Svetlana thought. She wanted to press her drink against Yuna’s cheek. “Okay,” Yuna said, and Svetlana fought to keep her own chest steady, stood up.

It felt strange, bringing Yuna to her room without having touched her, kissed her. In the elevator their hands hung an inch apart, and it felt like they had dunked them in a bowl of hot static. Svetlana's palm was twitching, and she wasn’t sure she’d known palms could. The walk down the corridor to her room felt like a drunken stumble, or like they were on a ship. It felt unnatural to not lean on Yuna for support. She was proud of herself for not fumbling with her key card, and then they were inside.

It was like stepping into another world, another reality, everything melting away. She stepped up to Yuna and when Yuna didn’t flinch she kissed her. She tasted like wine and stale makeup, like a real woman.

Svetlana deepened the kiss quicker than she normally would, pushed her tongue into Yuna’s mouth almost immediately, and her hands were in Yuna’s hair and then on her breasts, heavy and warm, but Yuna was wearing a very structured blouse and Svetlana couldn’t feel her nipples so she moved to the buttons. Yuna’s hands reached up, pressed Svetlana’s hands down, flat over Yuna’s sternum. Svetlana could feel Yuna’s heartbeat, the way she had wanted to the first time they met.

“It’s okay,” Yuna said, her voice new to Svetlana’s ears, breathy, soft. “We can slow down.”

Svetlana flushed, embarrassed, acting like a virgin, or at least someone who hadn’t gotten laid in a long while. She’d had good sex five days ago. Surely this should have felt stranger to Yuna than it did to Svetlana. But there were ways it was unfamiliar for her too – fucking a woman she hadn’t just met while mostly sober. Svetlana didn’t date women, it was too intense, less manageable, and when she wasn’t dating she was drunk.

“Will you take your clothes off?” Svetlana asked, almost whiny.

Yuna cupped her cheek like she had at the wedding. “Yes,” she said. “Will you help me?”

Svetlana nodded and started on Yuna’s buttons again, steadier, slower. She leaned in slightly, looked up at Yuna, and at Yuna’s nod kissed at the skin that the blouse revealed. It was soft, delicate. Svetlana had spent a lot of time thinking about this place, the space above Yuna’s breasts, maybe because it was one of the few parts of Yuna’s body she’d actually seen bare. She undid the next button, and the next, and saw the sensible strap of Yuna’s lavender bra, wireless, full coverage, and she wanted to touch and suck but she kept at the buttons. Yuna’s hands were under her hair, on her neck, which was sweaty. Her thumbs were rubbing behind Svetlana’s ears. Then Svetlana dropped down further, and Yuna’s hands rested on top of her head. Svetlana undid the blouse’s last button, and leaned back a little to watch Yuna shrug it off. She had strong arms, and a pouch of a stomach resting on the waistband of her jeans that Svetlana wanted to press her face into, to bite. Instead she focused on her jeans, undoing the button and the zip, which hadn’t been all the way done up, like these jeans didn’t fit quite right, and Svetlana had to use a bit of force to drag them past Yuna’s hips. Then they fell to her ankles, and Svetlana was on her knees. Yuna was wearing sensible underwear that matched her bra. Svetlana wondered if it had crossed her mind at all, that she might end up here tonight, in Svetlana’s room. Svetlana had been thinking about it as much as the playoffs since she’d made the reservation. She was braless, and wearing a thong.

Yuna stepped out of her sandals and pushed her underwear down herself, then stood upright, her feet hip width apart, like a statue of a hero. Svetlana looked up at her again, and Yuna nodded again. Svetlana reached in, slow, and with two fingers spread Yuna open. She was beautiful, hair neatly clipped, clit big and visible, folds like frills. She was just also drier than Svetlana expected, didn’t glint in the hotel light. She gently ran a finger over her to confirm, and yes. Not bone dry, but not wet.

“Is there something you want?” Svetlana asked, looking up at her.

“I want this,” Yuna said, reaching down to touch a finger to Svetlana’s lower lip. Svetlana ran her eyes over Yuna’s face, making sure it was true.

“I don’t get as wet,” Yuna said, a little bitten off, frustrated. Not able to go big the way she usually did. “It’s menopause too.”

“Oh,” Svetlana said, contemplating. She got very wet, she was already very wet, she sometimes made her partners’ fingers prune. She put her hand in her own underwear, swished around, pulled out and swiped across Yuna. Yuna laughed and Svetlana laughed too, even as she spat on her fingers. “I’ll be gentle,” she said.

“Thank you,” Yuna said. “And – penetration hurts.”

“Alright,” Svetlana said, killing half of her fantasies. It was okay; she wouldn’t be able to get through a tenth of them. “I will just touch, just rub. Lick.”

Yuna closed her eyes and Svetlana got up close. That nearly painful urgency rose in her again, to abandon all measure and dignity, and this time she didn’t think Yuna would stop her. She licked once, broad, over everything, and then again. Here Yuna did not smell of her nice perfume. It was an awkward angle, Svetlana had to hunch down and crane her neck up, but it was worth it to have Yuna over her like this. Soon she would make Yuna’s legs shake; soon Yuna would have to sit on the edge of the bed. But for now she stayed on her knees, head tilted up like a worshiper, and tasted Yuna. She was careful with her clit, pushed all the spit to the front of her mouth before sucking on it, gentle, and Yuna let out this broken, shocked noise, her hands on Svetlana’s shoulders, like she was hunched over her. Svetlana kept at it; if she had to be gentle she would be unrelenting, no break, no breather.

And soon Yuna was stumbling back for the edge of the bed, like Svetlana had imagined, and Svetlana tried to follow with her mouth but had to cover the last couple of feet between her and the bed on her own, crawling toward Yuna’s pussy. It was a better angle, and Yuna could spread her legs out, and Svetlana hitched her arms around them to lift them up a little. Svetlana went back to licking, circling her tongue around Yuna’s hole without pressing in, tracing her folds, before finding her clit again. She put the tip of her little finger up against it, so she was sucking on Yuna and herself at the same time, and she exaggerated the sounds, wet and hollow. Yuna’s own sounds rose in response, reedy and shocked, like she still hadn’t adjusted to what was happening. For some reason Svetlana found that painfully hot, and she dropped one of Yuna’s legs, pulled it toward her, between her own, and started humping against Yuna’s shin. Svetlana was still fully dressed, and even if she hadn’t been the angle would have been wrong, but it was something, and it was Yuna, and it made her moan.

“I’m going to come,” Yuna said, still sounding shocked, but it didn’t happen for another couple minutes, her thigh on Svetlana’s shoulder pressing against her ear, knocking her head sideways, and maybe it was that change in angle that finally pushed her over the edge. Svetlana kissed her clit, and her pussy, and then stood up, her hands on her hips, a statue of a hero. Yuna had fallen back on the bed – still in her bra, fuck, what a waste – and when she opened her eyes and saw Svetlana she laughed.

“Come here,” she said. Svetlana kneed onto the bed, her legs either side of Yuna’s, looking down at her. It was only then that Svetlana realized how perfectly composed, how held together, Yuna normally was. She looked like a different person now, like Svetlana mightn’t recognize her if she only had a glance, softer and looser. It changed the shape of her face. Svetlana leaned in and kissed her, which she hadn’t done enough of. She wondered what her mouth tasted like to Yuna. Eventually Yuna broke contact, turning her cheek to Svetlana’s mouth and heaving in breaths.

Svetlana sat upright again. She always liked pulling a woman’s tits out over her bra, but Yuna’s was too high-cupped and reinforced for that. Instead she pulled the straps down Yuna’s shoulders, and Yuna pulled her arms out from them, and arched her back so Svetlana could drag it down to her waist. Then Svetlana bent down and latched on.

They were heavy, soft, the skin delicate, stretch marks on the underside. Svetlana pulled off again and asked, “Can I be rougher here, than I was down there?”

“Yes,” Yuna said, sounding more together than she had earlier, sounding affectionate, and Svetlana got back to it. She sucked hard, her mouth wide open enough, taking in enough, that she could lick too. Whatever nipple she was sucking at she was fingering the other, flicking over it again and again. She was humping against Yuna’s hip without even noticing, and Yuna was stroking up her back and then down, slow, steady, firm, the other hand feeling out the hollow of Svetlana's cheek.

“Okay,” Yuna said, eventually, pulling her off her breast.

Svetlana swallowed, her chin wet, maybe wetter than it had been from eating Yuna out. She looked at Yuna, her expression still soft but not broken open. “Were you into that?” Svetlana asked, suddenly shy.

“I was into how much you were into it,” Yuna said, and Svetlana pulled a face. She was usually better at knowing what her partner wanted. She kept making rookie mistakes. Yuna laughed. “I liked it, I just don’t have especially sensitive nipples, or anything. But it was nice.”

Svetlana nodded. “Well, you have very nice tits.”

Yuna laughed again and sat upright, her collarbones stark against her skin as she leaned her weight on her hands behind her. Svetlana wanted to fill the cups they made with spit, but that was a lot for a first time. Only time. “Now I want to undress you,” Yuna said, and Svetlana stuck her arms in the air.

Yuna’s head fell forward, landed on top of Svetlana’s breasts, and rested there for a few moments. Then she pulled away, smiling, and slipped her hands beneath Svetlana’s Ottawa t-shirt, perfectly placed to feel Svetlana’s resulting full-bodied shiver. Rookie. Yuna smoothed her hands up, raised her eyebrows when she found Svetlana’s chest bare but said nothing, and lifted the t-shirt off her. Svetlana fell sideways onto the bed, got on her back, and lifted her hips. She smiled big at Yuna, who smiled less big back. Yuna undid her belt buckle and fly, and pulled her jeans down her legs. Then she squeezed her ankles and asked, "Socks on or off?"

Svetlana's voice shook, for some reason, when she said, "Off." She pointed her toes and Yuna slid the socks off, kissing the arches of her feet. 

Svetlana's panties were soaked through, and once her legs were back on the bed she spread them, but Yuna didn’t even look there. She lay herself beside Svetlana and put her hand on her jaw, pulling her head to the side to kiss her. The angle, the position, meant they couldn’t really do anything but kiss, that Svetlana couldn’t move against Yuna or feel her up. She was making low, sad sounds in the back of her throat by the time Yuna pulled away, licked her jaw, nosed down her neck. She kissed over Svetlana’s collarbone, the collarbone she had broken on the ice when she was eleven, the one that should have had a scar.

Then she was at her stomach, smoothing her hand in firm circles over it, watching the way it shook under her touch. Finally the touch dipped lower, to Svetlana’s curls. Yuna scratched them lightly.

“You’re okay with penetration?” she asked. “Can I get inside you?”

It was only then Svetlana thought to wonder how much experience Yuna had with women. She wasn’t acting like this was her first time, or at least in some ways she wasn’t. “Yes,” Svetlana said. “Whatever you want.” It was a little ambiguous, whether she meant Yuna could get inside her and anything else she wanted, or that Yuna could get inside her with whatever she wanted.

Yuna’s eyes were on Svetlana’s face as her fingers felt lower, slipped between her folds.

“If this is how wet you get menopause is gonna hit you like a ton of bricks,” she said, and Svetlana laughed, accidentally tightening her thighs around Yuna’s hand, and she was still laughing when Yuna slipped a finger inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Svetlana said, loud, and Yuna’s free hand snaked behind her neck, up around her face, and covered her mouth. A little late, but still hot. Yuna added a second finger quick, and at least with this Svetlana wasn’t suddenly coming across like a newbie, at least this she knew how to take. She tilted her hips up, sliding Yuna deeper. Yuna’s hand dropped from her mouth, reached across to her shoulder, and pulled. Svetlana followed her guidance, arching up after her hand, a little confused until Yuna’s hips knocked into hers and Svetlana realized what she wanted. She got on her side so Yuna was pressed up behind her. Her hand dragged from Svetlana’s shoulder to her tit, squeezed. “They’re so cute,” she said. “So pretty. Fit so perfectly.”

“You have long fingers,” Svetlana said, eyes closed.

“Nah, you have small tits,” Yuna said, and Svetlana laughed a little again, or would have, if Yuna didn’t punctuate it with her thumb reaching up and glancing over Svetlana’s clit, the first touch to it all night. What came out instead was more of a choked breath. There was a pause, and then the thumb was back, firmer than a lot of people knew to be.

“You’re good at this,” Svetlana said. “You must be good at everything. You could do anything, and you’re fucking me in my hotel room.” You could do anything, and you married young and had a kid. Svetlana wondered if Yuna heard that too.

Yuna kissed her shoulder, then shushed her, gentle, and Svetlana nodded. They went quiet, the only sound Svetlana’s pussy, and as Yuna got quicker and deeper and Svetlana got wetter she started wondering if people would be able to hear it through the walls. She came when she noticed the heavy inhuman pressure against the crease of her thigh, the strap of Yuna’s watch, counting the seconds of Svetlana’s orgasm.

Svetlana gulped down breaths then turned around, pushed Yuna onto her back and straddled her. Yuna let her kiss her, but not deeply, and only for maybe a minute. She pulled away and said, “I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t come again. I probably won’t come again for a month.”

Svetlana sat back on her haunches, looking down at Yuna. That was menopause again, she supposed. It should have been kind of sad but it was very, very hot. Yuna got one orgasm a month and Svetlana had gotten to give it to her.

“Okay,” she said, and spread her knees out from where they’d been pressing down on Yuna’s bra, still around her waist. Svetlana held out the straps and Yuna slipped her hands through, shimmied it up her body. Gentle, Svetlana fit the cups around her breasts, centered it. Then she swung off Yuna, hopped off the bed, and bounded to the pile of Yuna’s clothes in the middle of the room. She gathered them up and brought them to Yuna, dropping them on her lap. Yuna tugged at a coil of her hair, lightly, in thanks. Svetlana wanted desperately to dress her, and was surprised that she couldn’t articulate it or reach for it. Probably it would be too much, anyway. Probably they should start to come down from this. They switched places, Yuna standing up and Svetlana settling back in the bed, up against the headboard. At least she could watch.

“Have you ever used a strap?” she asked.

“Jesus Christ,” Yuna said, turning to her with wide eyes, and then laughed when Svetlana laughed. Her tone turned chiding. “You said one night. You’re not needy, remember?”

Vaguely. “I’m just making conversation,” Svetlana said. “Giving you ideas for the next beautiful young woman you meet.”

“There’s a little more to you than that,” Yuna said, soft. “Lucky for me, I don’t think I’ll meet anyone like you again.”

It could have hurt, the way many things between them could have hurt, but it didn’t. Svetlana smiled. “Would it be very bad if people found out?” she asked.

Yuna tensed, paused as she pulled on her jeans, the final item of clothing before she was fully dressed.

“I will not tell anyone,” Svetlana said. “I’m just wondering.”

“Yes, it would be bad,” Yuna said, and then turned to her, eyebrows creasing up. “Oh, I’m sorry, Svetlana.”

Svetlana laughed. “It would not be bad for me.”

“No, but I’m asking you to lie to Ilya, I just realized. I know how close you two are.”

Svetlana sank lower in her bed. “Not so close these days,” she said. Most of the people she fucked he didn’t know about, now.

“Well then I’m sorry for that,” Yuna said, and she sounded like she was.

Svetlana shook her head. “It’s good, I am happy for him,” she said. “He is another happy man.”

“Maybe not tonight,” Yuna said, with a tut, and Svetlana smiled. She liked how quickly Yuna could always get back to hockey.

Still. “No, I think even tonight,” she said.

Yuna looked at her, contemplating, then shook her head. “I better get back, it’s late,” she said.

Svetlana nodded, twisted her hands in the bedding. “What time is it?” she asked, her mouth a little dry.

Yuna checked her watch, and Svetlana felt safe. “It’s just gone past two,” Yuna said. She didn’t sound that worried. Svetlana wondered what she’d tell her husband. She finally made to leave.

“Can I ask you something?” Svetlana asked, suddenly feeling like this would be the last time they ever saw each other. It probably wouldn’t be, but probably they would be more cautious with each other going forward. It might be their last time together with any privacy.

“Of course,” Yuna said, so kind, stopping at the door.

“Do you think I should live a life like yours, or something different?”

Yuna swallowed, like the question hurt. She moved to open the door then stopped herself again. Not a coward. “I’m a happy person,” she said.

“Okay,” Svetlana said, like the first time Yuna had told her this.

“Something different,” Yuna said, and slipped out.