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The sun is low in the sky by the time David and Yuna gather themselves for the drive over to Shane’s place. David moves slowly around the house, putting their dinner contributions in a reusable grocery bag: beer, some salad makings, marinated chicken - breasts and thighs - to throw on Shane’s grill.
There’s no rush.
In the back of his mind, he’s been keeping track of the time, remembering his son’s request that they text before arriving. It’s been a calm day, for him and Yuna, but since Shane and Ilya left the previous evening, he’s been having flashes of - something - adrenaline, not quite panic - his body remembering the completely incomprehensible sight of his son and Ilya Rozanov kissing - kissing! - against Shane’s sliding door. Rozanov’s hand on Shane’s butt like it was completely familiar territory. Which, he now knows, it is. His son, his Shane, reaching for this young man like he’s done it hundreds, thousands of times before.
Which, David supposes, he has.
It was so clear, after laying eyes on them for just those few accidental, intrusive moments – so clear to David, who has been loving and observing and parenting Shane for twenty-six years, that Shane was more comfortable with this stranger than almost anyone else. Possibly more comfortable with him than anyone else. Including his parents.
The easy way Shane turned to Rozanov, the looseness of his shoulders, Shane’s hand on his jaw.
It isn’t something he has spent that much time thinking about: Shane’s love life. Or lack thereof. Yes, he and Yuna have occasionally discussed it. No – he could never quite imagine Shane being partnered, seriously, with some unknown young woman, bringing her home, sharing her with them … sharing his life with anyone, really. He had wondered. Yes, he knew about Rose. Yuna had been thrilled, if not a bit surprised, and then deflated when it had ended after just a few months.
David had felt some concern for Shane, but really, Shane had seemed fine. Better, actually, than he had in the previous months. He was always steady, but he seemed steadier. His smile came a bit easier, when David had him face to face. The sweetness that David knew was there bubbled up to the surface a little bit more clearly.
So David hadn’t been too upset about Rose.
He isn’t upset about Rozanov, either. He’s just … trying to integrate.
“I’m going to text the boys,” he tells his wife. “Okay? Then we can head out.”
Yuna is tidying the kitchen, wiping down the counter and grabbing her sweater. She is more settled, now, he thinks, that they’re going to be laying eyes on Shane again soon. The day has felt long, their conversations punctuated by the occasional disbelieving laugh, catching each other’s eye and communicating without words.
There are layers, David knows. Layers to this. Yuna had cried last night, sitting in their living room with David’s arm around her, wondering how they could have missed it. How, why, when had she become a mother whose son felt he had to hide from her? How had she not known, somehow? How much had they missed? What else?
They still have a lot of questions, and David isn’t sure if they’ll ever get the answers. He thinks that it’s probably okay if they don’t.
Because she is Yuna, she had wiped her eyes after a few minutes on the couch last night and steadied herself with several deep breaths before squeezing his hand.
“You’re a great mom,” he had told her, because it’s true and she needed to hear it. “Shane is an adult. We aren’t going to know these things unless he wants us to.”
“But he was a kid. Seventeen! David. His whole adult life, this …”
David had to smile at that, again, because it is so unbelievable, their entire family tilting on its axis, adjusting itself to a new reality where Ilya Rozanov has, in fact, been here all along.
A parallel life, he tries to imagine: this other young man, a mirror of Shane, playing hockey and winning the Stanley Cup, training and traveling and, what - meeting up with Shane when they were in the same city? At the same event? Navigating relationships, family, teammates, competition. Falling in love.
He grabs his phone and opens a new text. He carefully adds Shane, his wife, and the newest contact on his list: Ilya R.
David: Hey guys, we are leaving here shortly, bringing the dinner stuff. Want to get the grill started? See you in half an hour or so!
He hopes it’s implied that if they need more time, they should respond promptly. If they’re naked, for example. Or some such thing.
He stares at his phone for a long minute, waiting for a response that doesn’t come until they’re buckling themselves into the car.
Shane: Okay, sounds good. See you soon
They make the familiar drive in about fifteen minutes, David behind the wheel, Yuna looking out the window at the golden light of the early evening. He thinks she’s a bit anxious, and he feels it too - not worried, just uncertain, the newness of this like a thin film covering them, ready to expand or contract with their breath. Being with Shane, now, getting to know this part of him, his relationship, Shane as part of a unit … this is new. It’s also like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
That had been obvious, by the end of their meal the day before. It had been nothing short of surreal to watch Rozanov eat their pasta and simultaneously calm Shane down like it was second nature, bringing him out of his panic with a hand on his head and exactly the words Shane needed to hear.
Rozanov - Ilya - had walked into their house and stood there next to their son, shoulders squared, braced for something - like he was readying himself. For what exactly, David could only imagine. He didn’t know anything about Ilya’s family, but he could imagine other parents’ reactions to the sort of discovery he and Yuna had made yesterday. Other parents, different reactions.
This evening is their next chance to show the boys that the Hollander parents are ready.
He hears another buzz from his phone and Yuna grabs it, checking quickly.
“It’s Shane again,” she says, tapping to open the text. “He says they’re out back and to come on in when we’re there.”
David glances at her quickly, a wry smile quirking his lips up and she catches it, returning one of her own. He’s grateful for Shane’s communication. No need for any repeats of yesterday. He’s sure he will be a witness to their affection in the future, but catching them when they think they’re alone is something nobody in this family needs to experience again.
They pull into the drive and up to Shane’s house. It’s a beautiful evening, the air warm, the occasional light breeze blowing the scent of summer trees against their faces. David grabs the grocery bag as Yuna moves towards the house, knocking briefly and more out of habit before she pushes the door open. They can see Shane and Ilya back behind the house, Shane at the grill and Ilya doing something near the fireplace.
He watches Ilya approach Shane to stand behind him, putting his hands on his waist, murmuring something that makes Shane snort and turn his head, a smile on his face. Before those hands can move or they are more at risk of surprising their hosts, David calls out a loud, “Hello! We’re here.”
Shane and Ilya turn in unison and David observes Ilya’s pinkening cheeks as he and Yuna join them by the grill. He puts their dinner contributions down on the table and imagines that Ilya is also reliving their encounter from yesterday.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Shane says with a smile, turning back to the grill. “This is almost ready, we can put the stuff on soon.” He doesn’t make eye contact.
“Sounds great,” says Yuna at the same time Ilya says, “Would you like a drink?”
David pulls the beer from their bag. “These should still be cold, let me grab the bottle opener.”
He goes back inside to the kitchen, heading for the drawer where he knows Shane has an opener, and sees several things at once - a can of coke sitting by the sink, two pairs of athletic shoes that are not his son’s in the pile near the entryway, a bowl with a bunch of mini bags of chips on the counter.
Ilya is here, has been here, and the house feels different.
Back outside, Yuna is unpacking chicken and salad makings. David opens his beer and offers to do the same for Ilya, who is standing a few feet from Shane and holding the unopened bottle while watching Shane and his mother chat.
“Ah, thank you,” Ilya says, and they clink bottles.
“What did you guys get up to today?” David says, taking a sip, making conversation, trying to get back to where they had left things yesterday: comfortable, content.
“We went out on the lake,” Ilya says, looking pleased. “With kayaks. My first time.”
“How was it? Fun? Beautiful day for it.”
“Yes, I think I did very well,” he says with a smirk.
“He only went over a few times,” Shane says without looking up. “He learned how to do a wet exit today.”
“Was fun,” says Ilya, glancing towards Shane. “Canada is fun.”
David can see Yuna processing, looking between the two of them, a pleased expression on her face that he recognizes because he has known her for thirty years.
Shane puts the chicken and vegetables on the grill. Ilya moves to him and offers the untouched beer, which Shane takes with a soft “thanks.” David moves to open another bottle and passes it to Ilya with a smile.
The food doesn’t take long and soon they are sitting together to eat for the second time in twenty-four hours. Four people fit perfectly at this table. Yuna has restrained herself so far and hasn’t brought up the future - he knows she’s digging deep and holding back, but there has been no talk of plans, backup plans, careers. Just two parents and their son and his new boyfriend.
Well, not new. He doesn’t know exactly when their relationship shifted from “just lovers,” but he understood from the first few moments after their introduction that their feelings are not new. Their connection to each other is not new. As David watches them eat, his curiosity surges and he suddenly wants to know everything about this young man who fits by his son’s side so easily. He hadn’t had much of a chance yesterday, when Shane and Yuna were talking outside, to ask any questions.
“So will you get back to Russia this summer?” He addresses Ilya, remembering he has heard words of summers spent in Moscow, in various sports news blurbs and possibly from his own wife, over the years.
Shane tenses slightly but Ilya just shakes his head and continues to fork chicken into his mouth. “No, not this summer, I do not think there is much for me there now.” He swallows.
David thinks again how little he knows about Ilya, not the hockey player but – Ilya. The person.
“Will your family visit you in Boston?”
“Dad—"
“No, is okay. My parents … passed away.” Ilya looks from David to Yuna quickly, gauging their responses, nudging Shane with his knee under the table. “My mother when I was young, my father earlier this year.”
“We were so sorry to hear that,” Yuna says immediately, concern coloring her voice. “That must’ve been so hard.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Ilya doesn’t offer more, and David sees the color in his cheeks rising.
“He might stay here longer,” Shane offers, looking at Ilya, something subtle and quick passing between them. “Right? Maybe.”
Ilya smiles around a bite of food.
“Yes. I think so.” Shane looks pleased. Ilya runs his hand down Shane’s arm, a casual, affectionate gesture that makes Yuna smile into her salad.
“So much to see and do around here,” Ilya adds and Shane rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s boring. You love it. You even love sitting and looking at the fire.”
“I do,” Ilya agrees easily, looking at Shane. “I love it.”
They linger over dinner and afterwards Ilya brings out a bag of Oreos to share, informing them that this is his personal stash and Shane isn’t allowed any. Shane rolls his eyes again and scootches a little closer to Ilya on the patio chair. David watches his son lean in, his body slowly relaxing against Ilya’s as they sip beer and look at the fire. By the time the beers are finished and David has brought the dishes inside, loaded the dishwasher, recycled the bottles, Ilya’s arm is around Shane. He is still munching an Oreo and Shane seems half asleep, lacing their fingers together, murmuring something into Ilya’s ear.
Yuna stands by the back door looking out at them and then turns to David. “We should go,” she says quietly. The evening has taken on a quiet glow. The cottage is safe, a place where these boys can be themselves, together, and David is pleased that he and Yuna don’t seem to be disturbing it with their presence.
He moves toward Shane and squeezes his shoulder.
“Okay, Shane, we’re taking off,” he says, and his son stands to hug him goodbye. David turns to Ilya and before he thinks too hard, extends his arms for another hug. He can see an awkward moment of hesitation and then Ilya hugs him back, arms coming up and only slight tension palpable in his broad shoulders.
In another minute, he and Yuna are back in the car, heading home.
The road is dark. David keeps his eyes forward. Yuna puts the radio on, something soft, and leans her head back against the head rest. He waits.
“Did either of them tell you how long Ilya will be in town?”
“No. I’m not sure. Another week or two, maybe.”
“I meant to ask, but then…” she pauses, sounding uncharacteristically unsure.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure, either,” he says. “About asking.”
“We could have them over again, before he leaves,” she suggests.
“That would be great,” he agrees. “Shane seems … they seem - happy together.” He isn’t sure if happy is the word he’s looking for.
Happy, or maybe relieved. Open. Loving. Loved.
He knows their future will be hard, even as he doesn’t grasp exactly how it will play out. For now, David sets that aside, and remembers how his son unfolded over the course of the evening, the tension in his body absorbed by Ilya’s presence. The way they stood together at the door to say goodnight. Ilya’s hand on the small of Shane’s back. The feeling of leaving the house they had left so many times before, but this time, leaving two behind instead of one alone.
They’re quiet for another minute.
“Ilya Rozanov,” says Yuna on an exhale.
David chuckles. “I know.”
———
Shane watches his parents’ car back out and drive away, raising his hand to wave and turning to Ilya.
“So? Went well, yes?” Ilya’s hand slides from his back up to his shoulder, squeezes.
“Yeah, I think so.” Shane smiles and grabs his hand. “Come on, let’s go back in.”
They move slowly back to the living room and Shane stands for a moment, recalibrating. Ilya lets out a loud sigh and dramatically swan dives onto the sofa.
“God, Hollander. What a day.” He rolls onto his back. “Come here.”
Shane moves to stand over him, feeling a goofy smile on his face.
Ilya holds out his arms, wiggling his fingers, and Shane falls down on top of him. He can smell soap and beer and the smoke from the fire in Ilya’s t-shirt.
“Feeling better now?” He asks. “It’s over.”
“Was fine. No worries at all. They love me. I knew they would.”
It’s a joke and Shane knows this isn’t true, he knows Ilya was nervous. But he also recognizes a deep thread of calm in him now, since “I love you” - since their conversation about the future, since Shane had been honest.
It won’t be enough to carry them through everything without pain, Ilya’s confidence that Shane’s parents will accept them, his ability to anchor Shane with his hands and body and open, loving words.
But it’s enough for now.
Shane shoves his face into Ilya’s neck and takes a deep breath. He feels Ilya’s hands on his back, sliding down to grab his ass and squeeze. Ilya turns his head to kiss Shane’s ear.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go to bed.”