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The girls bathroom of Nadia’s high school was an awful place to die, she decided.
The walls were half tiled with gross, yellow ceramic that was probably white at one point in time, while the rest of the wall was a pitiful attempt at a cheerful pink. The paint was peeling and the wall was always a little damp. The mirrors were stained with plaque and soap, and the sinks were always slimy. Each of the stall doors creaked and groaned when jostled, and the locks were simultaneously sticky and rusty.
The third stall was the cleanest, which really wasn’t saying much.
It’s where Nadia sat now, her jeans around her thighs, underwear stained with a viscous red. Her purple backpack was by her feet, open and disorganized as the teen dug through it in a desperate attempt to find a pad.
She knew what was happening, Yuna, Rose, Svetlana, and Jackie had been taking her for regular “girl days” since she was old enough to remember, and probably even before. Auntie Rose had been the first to mention the concept when Nadia was ten.
“I know it’s sometimes weird, living in a house with all boys. If you ever have any questions, you can come to any of us. Any time.”
Aunt Sveta, Aunt Jackie, and Grandma were quick to agree with that sentiment.
So when her sixth grade P.E. slash health teacher introduced the concept of menstruation, Nadia called Aunt Sveta.
The Russian woman was patient when answering her questions, and soothing when she expressed her worries.
“Shane and Ilyusha are good men. They will understand when it happens. You can always go to them. But us girls are here for you too.”
The next day, Aunt Jackie picked her up for a spontaneous lunch outing and shopping trip.
“Your dads love you so much. But I imagine asking them for pads or tampons is mortifying. You and I can go take on the menstrual product aisle together, so you know what you’re looking for, yeah?”
Nadia couldn’t argue with that.
She had arrived home with a bag of pads and tampons of varying strengths for “when the time comes”, and some expensive chocolate, which Aunt Jackie insisted was necessary, even if her period hadn’t come yet.
“Chocolate never hurts.”
Nadia didn’t argue.
So now, two years later and three days before her fourteenth birthday, Nadia logically knew what was going on. Knew she wasn’t dying.
But knowing and feeling are two different things.
The thirteen year old had had weird rings around her vision all day, and a dull ache had started insisting at the front of her head. It had been difficult to concentrate since she arrived at school. There was a firm, constricting ache in her abdomen, which had been growing in intensity since lunch time. Nadia held out, mostly because of drama class at the end of the day. She also had a math test, but that was less important.
A shaky exhale blew past her lips. Where the hell were her pads?
Nadia kept digging, furiously pushing her blonde curls out of her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She pulled her water bottle out of her bag, the object slipping from her hand and landing on the ground with a metallic thud.
Nadia held her breath, slowly picking up the bottle. Her head was pounding.
A soft voice sounded from the other side of the stall.
“Are… you okay?”
Nadia felt the tears that had been pressing at the back of her eyes well at her waterline. “Um, I need a pad,” she responded quietly, gaze fixed on the blood stain in her underwear.
“Oh!” There was some rustling, before a hand slipped under the door, a pink and purple wrapped object in the fingers. “Is that okay? It’s for a lighter flow, it should be enough to get you home. Dismissal is in like, five minutes.”
Nadia went to reach for the pad, belatedly realizing the water bottle was in her hand. She winced as she bonked the stranger’s kind hand with the heavy metal. “Shit, sorry,” she rushed.
The person on the other side laughed, her hand steady. Nadia let her gaze fall to her shoes as she slipped her water bottle back into her bag. The girl was wearing black Mary Janes and colourful striped socks. Nadia liked them.
Trying again, she reached out, grabbing the wrapped pad.
“Thank you,” she uttered, voice thick with tears. “What’s your name?”
The girl on the other side of the door stood up properly. “It’s no problem. My name is Margot. What’s yours?”
“Nadia.”
“I hope you feel better, Nadia. Get home safe, okay?” The Mary Janes turned and walked towards the exit.
“Okay.” Nadia was helpless but to agree. After a moment, the reverence of the meeting faded. She sniffled before unwrapping the pad and sticking it to her underwear. She closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for the haziness in her eyesight to dissipate. The Hollander-Rozanova wiped, stomach lurching at the hot, sticky blood on the toilet paper. She could feel it leaving her body unceremoniously. Standing quickly, the teen pulled up her pants, zipped them up, grabbed her bag and rushed to the sink.
Nadia’s head ached something terribly, her abdomen protesting at the movement. Nadia washed her hands, thinking distantly of Lady Macbeth. She felt like her, trying to rinse her sins. Except instead of murder, Nadia’s sin was growing up.
Brown eyes met themselves in the dirty mirror. Nadia sniffled, willing away the puffiness of her teary eyes. She hated how obvious it was when she cried; it always gave her away. Nadia hoped whoever was picking her up today wouldn’t pay much attention. It was a futile desire.
The bell rang as Nadia dried her hands, the bathroom buzzing to life. The door opened and no less than a dozen girls flooded the bathroom. She quickly slipped past them, spilling into the busy hallway. Nadia barely resisted the urge to cover her ears, the noise sharp against her aching head. Her vision pulsed, the auras in her eyes becoming more prominent.
Ducking her head, the teen made her way through the crowd, lamenting the cramps in her abdomen. She pushed open the door and out into the drop off zone. She rubbed her eyes, looking around the street before her eyes landed on a familiar license plate. She quickly rushed to the car, forcing air into her lungs as she reached the black SUV.
Luka smiled as Nadia opened the car door.
“Hey! How was school?” He asked cheerfully, adjusting the air conditioning as Nadia slipped into the seat. She blinked, setting her bag by her feet.
“Why isn’t Papa or Dad here?” She asked, glancing at Luka before looking away and subtly ducking her head to hide her tears. She winced at the pressure growing in her head.
Luka snorted, taking a moment to look at his younger sister. “Hello to you too. Dad and Papa were both called into the rink around two. Something for the Centaurs, it was a little last minute, I think both assistant coaches were out for practice.”
Nadia nodded slightly, resting her head against the cool glass of the window. “Do you know when they’ll be home?” She asked, voice coming out more strained than she intended.
Luka’s face softened as he put the car in drive, pulling onto the road. “Before dinner. Do you want to nap when we get home?”
Nadia considered his offer, taking a slow breath as nausea slowly built in her gut. She paused, exhaling slowly.
“Can you call Aunt Sveta?” She asked quietly.
Luka frowned, giving a small shake of his head as he turned onto a new street. “I’m pretty sure she and Auntie Rose are traveling today, for that new movie?”
Nadia huffed, scrunching her nose as another cramp announced itself. She tried to hold back her wince.
Luka glanced over at her. “Did you— uh, did you try Grandma? Or Aunt Jackie?” He asked awkwardly, noticing the girl shifting.
The thirteen year old’s cheeks flushed. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “I just want to go home,” she whispered.
The older Hollander-Rozanov nodded. “Okay. Almost there.”
~
By the time Luka pulled into the driveway, Nadia felt like a zombie. She was nauseous and aching, her head was spinning and her vision was filled with auras. Opening the door, she embraced the cold air like an old friend. Standing on shaky legs, she slipped out of the car, grabbing her backpack and making her way into the house.
Luka lingered for a moment, glancing at the passenger seat. His eyes widened when he saw a small but prominent pool of blood. He swallowed nervously, opening the center console and taking the pack of disinfectant wipes that Shane insisted on having in both vehicles. Luka was grateful for it on more than one occasion. He took one from the container, carefully wiping the blood. He grabbed another wipe and finished it, intending to throw away the wipes before Nadia could find out. He’d do what he could to make her more comfortable.
Inside, Nadia rubbed her eyes, dropping her bag by the front door. She crouched down to untie her shoes, wincing when the change in position caused her uterus to protest. She sniffled, tears welling in her eyes. She hastily untied each shoe, peeling them off and tossing them aside, uncaring of the nagging her dad would give her.
Nadia stood, one hand pressing firm against her abdomen as she walked to the couch. She made it to the living room, collapsing on the couch and forcing herself to take a deep breath before vomit crawled up her throat. She curled into herself, lying on her side as she sniffled.
No one had mentioned unbearable pain as a symptom of menstruation. Nadia felt a little cheated.
The thirteen year old closed her eyes, savouring the lull in her vision spinning. She inhaled through her nose, willing the pain to manage itself. When it didn’t, tears escaped her closed eyes, rolling across the bridge of her nose.
Faintly, Nadia heard the door open and close as Luka made his way into the house. She knew her brother wouldn’t bother her, but the knowledge that someone else, and a man at that, knew she was in so much pain made humiliation burn across her face. Most people could handle some period cramps. Nadia never thought herself of having a low pain tolerance, but she’d been proven wrong before.
The air conditioning hummed through the house as summer became autumn. Nadia found herself grateful for the cold air on her heated skin. She listened for a moment, hearing Luka move around in the kitchen. Slowly, Nadia faded into a light, uncomfortable sleep.
~
When Ilya and Shane arrived home two hours and twenty-seven minutes later, Luka was standing at the kitchen island, sketching absentmindedly in a notebook, glancing up every few seconds to the couch. Upon hearing the door open, his gaze landed on his dads. The twenty-one year old let out a breath.
Ilya toed off his shoes, hanging his keys.
“Lukasha? You look tense,” he commented, brows furrowed slightly in concern.
Shane took his shoes off, close behind Ilya. He approached his eldest with his husband, glancing towards the living room. “Is everything okay?” He asked gently.
“Nadia got her period,” Luka said in a whisper, eyes focused on his paper. “I think it’s bad for her. She didn’t talk much when I picked her up. She bled a lot too, I think. She was sitting in the car for only ten minutes and there was a lot more blood than I expected. She’s been napping on the couch. I’m a little worried.”
Shane nodded a little, taking Luka’s arm and carefully pulling him into a secure hug. “You did a good job watching over her. Thank you, buddy,” he murmured to his son, swaying them slightly.
Ilya hummed, smiling softly when he met Luka’s eyes over Shane’s shoulder. “Dad is right, solnyshko. We have got it from her. Has she been sleeping since you got home?”
Luka nodded, pulling back from Shane after a moment. He rolled his neck, feeling a lot more regulated. He kept his eyes fixed on Ilya’s cross. “Okay. Do you want me to order dinner? One of her favourites? Might help.”
Shane nodded, gently smoothing his hand over Luka’s head. “That sounds perfect. Thank you, honey.”
Luka nodded, turning and walking down the hallway to get his phone.
Ilya looked at Shane, smiling nervously. “We can do this, right?”
Shane took a steadying breath. “We can. I’ll go grab her some pyjamas.”
The Russian nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to Shane’s cheek before walking to the living room. He rounded the couch, frowning when his eyes landed on his little girl. Nadia was still in a fitful sleep, brows furrowed. She was still curled on her side, breaths escaping her lips unsteadily.
Ilya kneeled beside the couch, gently tracing the side of Nadia’s face. She was flushed and sweaty, her eyes blearily blinking open at the gentle touch. A sniffle filled the silence between them.
“Papa?” She whispered. The question earned her a small, concerned smile.
“Hi, Nadenka. I heard you are not feeling well.”
The teen grimaced, shaking her head a little. She shifted on the couch.
“Got my period,” she whispered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “An’ a migraine, I think. It’s gone, but I still have cramps.”
Ilya made a sympathetic noise, gently smoothing her hair back from her face. “Is terrible, malyshka. I’m sorry.”
At that moment, Shane walked into the living room with a clean, soft pair of pyjamas. He sat at Nadia’s feet, gently resting a hand on her ankle.
“Hi, baby,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”
Nadia met his eyes, looking down at the clean pyjamas in his lap. She shifted uncomfortably. “Bad,” she mumbled. “I think I’m too dizzy to get up.”
Ilya hummed, carefully taking her hand. “We’ll go slow. Together, da?”
The girl managed a small nod, gripping Ilya’s hand. She moved with him, leaning against Shane’s steadying arm until she was sitting. She looked around the room, relieved by the lack of auras in her vision. She let go of Shane and Ilya, carefully standing.
Shane made a small noise of sympathy as Nadia stood, her pants soaked in blood. Because of her position, all of it seeped into her jeans and not the couch. Small mercies, Shane figured. He gently took her elbow.
“Nadia, honey, you might want to shower. Do you have everything you need?”
Nadia furrowed her brows, extending her neck to look behind her. Her face paled as she saw the blood. She quickly took her pyjamas from Shane’s lap, rushing down the hall without a word. The bathroom door slammed shut. Shane exhaled slowly.
“I don’t think we can do this.”
Ilya stood up, sitting next to Shane on the couch. “Should we call reinforcements?”
Shane rubbed his temple. “I think Svetlana and Rose are still on the plane.”
Ilya considered this before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He opened his contacts, clicking on their saviour’s name.
Yuna answered the phone after three rings. Ilya put her on speaker.
“Ilya? How are you, honey?”
Tension leaked from both Shane and Ilya’s bodies. The Canadian exhaled slowly, resting his chin on Ilya’s shoulder, loosely holding his husband’s arm.
“Yuna, our little girl is a woman. We are panicking” Shane lightly smacked his arm.
“Ilya.” Then, “she got her period, mom. It’s worse than it’s supposed to be.”
Yuna’s laugh was fond. “They usually are, boys. How is she?”
Shane exhaled slowly. “Not good. She’s really embarrassed. Luka said she’s been in a lot of pain. She bled a lot, like a lot for three hours. She’s in the shower right now. What do we do when she gets out?”
“If she ever gets out. Might drown herself in embarrassment.”
“Ilya.” That was Shane’s warning voice. Ilya promptly shut up.
Yuna hummed pensively. “Have you two ever talked to her about this? I know the other ladies and I have, but have you two? As her parents?”
Shane sat up a little straighter. “No. She’s usually so comfortable, I figured she’d ask if she thought it was our place.”
“Shane, honey, she’s thirteen. Everything’s uncomfortable at this age. I get where you’re coming from, I do. But she probably thinks you’re disgusted or weirded out.”
Ilya immediately shook his head. “We do not think so. Not at all.”
Yuna’s tone was soothing. “I know that. She knows it too, she probably just doesn’t feel it. Take care of her tonight, make sure she gets some sleep. Let her skip school tomorrow. Jackie and I can come over, if she feels up to it. But I think she really just needs some time with you two.”
Shane nodded a little. “Okay. Okay. Thank you, mom. I love you.”
“I love you,” Ilya echoed, taking Shane’s hand.
Yuna’s smile was audible through the phone. “I love you both. Give Nadia my best, and say hi to the boys for me, okay?”
Shane made a noise of agreement, bidding a final goodbye before hanging up on Ilya’s phone. He sighed heavily, bending over and cradling his head in his hands. Ilya set his phone on the table, gently rubbing Shane’s back.
“We’re good here,” he murmured, accent thick.
Shane inhaled shakily. “We failed her,” he whispered.
Ilya shook his head, gently pulling Shane into his body. He cradled his head to his chest, gently playing with his hair. “No. We made mistake,” he corrected. “But we can fix it. Together. We will have conversation and take care of her. She is a teenager. Learning to handle scary feelings. We got her. I got you. You got me. We’re okay.”
Shane gave a small nod against Ilya’s collarbone. His next breath was more steady. The Canadian brought his arms around his husband’s waist, hugging him loosely. They sat quietly, both taking deliberate, slow breaths. At some point, the front door opened and closed, Luka’s voice quietly announcing his quest to pick up their dinner.
Shortly after, soft footsteps padded down the hallway. Ilya looked over the couch, smiling at Nadia from where his chin rested on Shane’s head. The teen stood anxiously at the precipice of the open living room and kitchen. She was wearing one of Shane’s old Centaur crewnecks and some soft pyjama shorts. Moments like these reminded Ilya how young thirteen really was.
Shane pulled away from Ilya, turning to Nadia. He offered a soft smile.
“Hi, baby. Are you feeling better?”
Nadia’s face fell. Tears quickly raced down her cheeks. Ilya and Shane stood simultaneously, approaching their daughter with soothing words and gentle shushing. Ilya took her hand.
“Hey, hey,” Shane cooed, bending down a little, cupping her face and tilting it up. “Shhh, honey, you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped through her cries. “I just feel so bad. Everything hurts and there’s blood; it smells so gross, I didn’t mean to bleed everywhere—”
Ilya shushed her, gently guiding both Nadia and Shane to the couch. He sat down, tugging their daughter to sit between them as Shane lowered himself. The blond man kissed her forehead, shaking his head as he squeezed her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he assured gently. “You were scared. Is very normal. Dad and I are sorry— we should have talked to you about this.”
Shane nodded in agreement, shifting closer to Nadia and carefully guiding her head to his chest. She went willingly, sniffling into his shirt.
“Papa’s right, Nadia. We’re really sorry. We never meant to make you feel like we were grossed out or uncomfortable. It’s a very normal thing. We just figured you didn’t want to talk about it to us.”
Nadia held Ilya’s hand a little tighter. “I dunno. I didn’t think it would be this awful. I had a migraine and I was so nauseous, there’s so much blood. My health teacher didn’t say it would be this much.”
Ilya nodded a little in understanding. “You might have a heavier flow.” Nadia’s cheeks flushed as she pressed her face into Shane’s shoulder. “Papa, this is so embarrassing.”
The Russian shook his head. “Is not. Our baby girl is becoming a woman! This is very exciting, really. Very natural. I am sorry it’s been so hard. If it gets worse, we will see doctor, da?”
Nadia sniffled, nodding a little against Shane’s shoulder. “Okay.”
Shane pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Do you have everything you need? When did it start?”
Nadia shrugged a little, moving her face from where she buried it against Shane. Ilya shifted closer, sandwiching the girl between them.
“Been in pain all day really. Aunt Jackie bought me a bunch of pads a couple years ago. Just in case, so I’m good for now. I started bleeding during drama class. I went to the bathroom, and I thought I put something in my bag… I guess I didn’t. I was freaking out a little bit.” Nadia paused, her cheeks turning rosy.
“Then this girl helped me. She handed me a pad from under the stall. She was really nice, her name was Margot.”
Ilya raised a brow at Nadia’s blush. He was well-versed in the language of his daughter, and this was not a blush born of embarrassment.
“Margot, huh?”
Nadia hid her face against Shane again. The elder could feel her nose scrunch in distaste. “Oh my god, Papa, ew. Not like that, that’s gross. She was just being nice.”
Shane’s chest was warm with laughter. Ilya grinned. “Uh huh.”
Nadia lifted her head, scowling at Ilya. “Papa. Guhross. Seriously.”
Ilya lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.”
Shane interrupted, running a hand through Nadia’s messy blonde curls. “How are your cramps now?”
Nadia shrugged a little. “Not really bad. Like, medium. Little less than medium.”
Shane hummed, gently easing Nadia up off him, similar to how he would transfer her as a sleeping baby. “I’m going to get a heating pad, okay?” He gently guided her to Ilya, who accepted her with strong arms. Nadia didn’t protest as she curled against her papa’s chest.
“‘Kay,” she whispered. Ilya pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Shane gave one more warm smile before standing up and walking to the kitchen. Nadia tilted her head back to look at Ilya.
Ilya looked down at her, smiling fondly. “Hi, little one.”
Nadia sniffed. “I’m thirteen.”
Ilya shrugged. “Still little to me. Always my little one.”
Nadia didn’t argue.
“Will you braid my hair?” She asked quietly, tilting her head back down to listen to Ilya’s heartbeat. She brought her hand up, gently playing with his cross pendant.
Ilya’s chest warmed at the request. He hummed, reaching for a soft cushion. He tossed it on the floor at his feet. “Da. Did you brush your hair?”
Nadia nodded a little, slowly slipping off the couch and onto the cushion. She shifted a little, finding a comfortable kneeling position between Ilya’s legs. She leaned back against the couch, letting out a content breath.
Ilya gently combed his fingers through her hair, tilting her head into position. He checked his wrist, finding one hair tie there. “One or two, sweetheart?” He asked, voice quiet in the room.
Nadia hummed. “Two, Papochka, thank you.”
Ilya nodded, reaching to the small side table. He opened the drawer, pushing some things around before producing a second hair tie. He slid it over his wrist, using the tip of his finger to loosely part her hair down the center. It was tricky, given that his hands were big and calloused, but he managed.
Ilya gently directed one section over her shoulder, starting on the other side. He gathered a small section of her bangs, dividing the section into three and beginning to plait the strands.
Braiding Nadia’s hair had become a sacred ritual. When Shane and Ilya found out they were having a girl, Ilya immediately began researching how to do hair. Rose was a helpful model, sitting and letting Ilya practice fishtail braids, Dutch braids, and whatever else he felt the need to practice. He struggled, trying and failing for hours to figure it out. Rose was a good sport, giving him gentle pointers despite his insistence on figuring it out alone.
It took a while, but he got it.
When Nadia’s hair was long enough to start doing something with, around the age of three, Ilya tried and failed to put her hair in a ponytail. Shane came in during the screaming and did it with ease.
In Ilya’s attempt to master the braid, any other hairstyle faded into irrelevance. Shane, thankfully, was able to do most ponytails, half-up half-down dos, buns, curl maintenance. He typically did Nadia’s hair.
But when it came to braids, it was Ilya’s job and Ilya’s job alone.
When Nadia started asking for specific styles, she typically decided on braids. It was one of the only times they could get the toddler still.
Ilya adored sitting with his little girl.
When Nadia was younger, he’d listen as she rambled aimlessly about a toy or newest development in her long term imaginary game. Even after all the conversations he had, Ilya didn’t quite understand it.
That made it so much better.
As Nadia grew older, the requests for hair braiding grew sparser. She had learned how to braid her own hair when away at summer camp, and Ilya definitely did not cry over this development. He didn’t.
Now, as a teenager, Ilya found Nadia didn’t really come to him or Shane for much. She still spoke to them and hung out with them, but she was becoming independent. Ilya was simultaneously proud and devastated.
The last time Ilya had been able to braid Nadia’s hair was when she was ten.
Sitting here now, in their living room as the sun went down, Ilya was reminded of how much he loved these moments. It was different from when Nadia was little, much quieter, but the love was still there. Still vibrant.
Ilya tied off his finished Dutch braid. He gently rubbed Nadia’s shoulder. “Still okay?” He asked in a whisper.
Nadia nodded from her spot on the ground. Ilya didn’t need any words.
He began braiding the second half of her head as Shane re-entered the living room. He smiled, eyes soft as he took in the scene. He crossed to the couch, kneeling in front of Nadia. She must’ve been pretty relaxed, as Shane cupped her face in his hand and softly called her name to bring her focus to him.
“Heating pad,” he murmured, carefully taking her hands and handing her the hot sack. She gave an appreciative hum, bringing it to her abdomen. She exhaled slowly, holding it over her cramping areas. Shane smiled, pressing his lips to her forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. He moved away after a moment, standing slowly and sitting next to Ilya on the couch.
Ilya glanced at him, smiling warmly. He turned his focus back to the braid, fingers working deftly through Nadia’s blonde hair. Shane watched, the room settling into a comfortable warmth.
Ilya finished the braid, tying it off with the second hair tie.
“All done, malyshka,” he murmured.
Nadia hummed, resting her head against Ilya’s knee. “Little longer,” she responded in a whisper.
Shane’s voice was soft. “As long as you need. We’re right here.”
Ilya smoothed his hand over her head. “Always.”