I’d never seen pink that was quite so… rosy. Think flamingo. Actually, think a whole flamboyance of flamingos in some kind of personal fight with strawberries and candy floss all in one place, and there was Eva’s newly painted room.
“I love it,” she said. She wasn’t squealing or smiling or dancing around in glee, but the way she stood in the middle of the rosy room, in awe even, made me all warm and glowy inside. When we’d picked out the colors, I wasn’t sure. I mean, I like pink, but this was… a lot. Galina had then put herself in charge, telling Eva that men knew nothing, and now she and Eva stood together in the center of the space, eyeing the walls thoughtfully.
“A space for posters,” Galina suggested.
Eva smiled then and looked over at me and Stan briefly. “Ten.”
“Ten posters,” Galina murmured, “Okay, wow, that’s a big space.”
Eva dipped her head and flushed the same color as her room. “No, can I have a poster of Ten?”
Stan huffed a laugh next to me. “And ones of goalie and winger,” he whispered, loud enough for Eva to hear.
“But you’re like… my pappa’s,” she finished after the pause. “And Ten’s so cute.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that. Ten was cute, and if I was a teenage girl, or hell, if Ten had been playing when I was a teenager, then I’d have had a poster of him on my wall as well. No argument. Of course it would be right next to my Stan poster, but who said you can’t have two up there?
“I’m getting much bigly posters for you,” Stan said and vanished, probably to call the Railers and get posters, jerseys, pucks, and an array of sticks all signed by Ten. I followed him to stop him before he bought out the entire shop of Ten-related merchandise, and found him on the phone.
“Three, much big ones,” I heard him say, and I took the phone off him quickly.
“Hello?”
“Erik, that you?” Ten asked. Seemed like my man had bypassed the team shop and gone directly to the source.
“Ten, don’t listen to Stan. One poster is good and maybe a jersey in her size.”
“I can do that. Jared has a whole supply I need to sign for the next auction. Does she want it in one of those glass cabinets? I can get her a display case for pucks as well. Would she like that? What about a Tennant Rowe stick. We have some of those, and she’d grow into it.”
Oh my God, Stan and Ten were as bad as each other. “One poster, and a jersey she can wear is good.” It seemed to be down to me to stop them from spoiling Eva, who had an entire closet of stuffed elephants after she’d casually mentioned she liked them. Four of them from Stan and six from Ten, in varying sizes. Ten was certainly taking his godparent duties seriously. Of course, the six elephants he’d bought were matched by a collection of remote-controlled cars for Pavel and a mystery box of books and teddies for Noah.
Pavel’s cars were still in their boxes. He seemed happiest with his books and watching hockey games, but he had thanked Ten with some enthusiasm. His bedroom used a much more sedate palette of greens and blues, along with clouds, that Galina had painted, and we’d erected a bed in there with a huge tent over it, so it was like a den.
Eva and Pavel had been here four weeks now. We’d settled into a routine, and we couldn’t overwhelm the kids with too much of everything at the same time. Stan and I had actually covered this concept of not spoiling them last night. Again.
I handed the phone back to Stan. “One poster. One jersey.” I warned him.
“Cross hearts to die,” he promised and took the phone into the study. God knew what he and Ten were planning.
“Erik, can you help move this cabinet?” Galina called, and steeling myself, I went back into the flamingo palace and felt my eyes water. I lifted the cabinet they wanted moved, and then stood back, ready for my next order.
“Right there,” Eva said and pointed to the space. She held out a photo, and Galina studied it for a moment before rolling her shoulders and tacking the photo to the wall where she could see it.
“Okay then.”
In a few deft strokes of chalk, she’d drawn the outline of a house, sketched in some trees, and added windows, a door, and made the merest suggestion of a yard. I sat on the edge of Eva’s bed, always fascinated when Galina began to draw, and Eva sat next to me.
“What is she drawing?” I asked. Although I could see it was a house, it had to be more than just a house
“My home in Leskovo, where Pavel was born.”
Galina began to fill in details, building layers with the different paints she had on a glass sheet. The structure, the clouds, trees, and the garden took shape, greens with splashes of red. It shouldn’t have worked on the pink wall, but it did. Eva leaned against me, and I put my arm over her shoulder.
“Tell me all about your home,” I asked her as we watched.
“It was old and warm, and Mama was always cooking. I remember she always smelled so nice,” she began, “and that she was very ill when Pavel was only two. I miss her.”
I squeezed a little, just to let her know I was there. We’d seen a counselor the previous week after a recommendation from Miss Rose at family services. Just Stan and I. We’d listened as they’d spoken about the children and their grief, both of us choking back emotion at what we needed to do. Both Eva and Pavel would benefit from help, and we would get everything they needed. From mental health support all the way up to a pink bedroom and books.
“And then we had a new pappa… and we didn’t like him much. I don’t think he liked us either. But we were sad when he died.”
Galina turned to face us. “Okay then, which window, Eva?”
Eva shrunk into my hold and gripped my free hand, holding on tight. “The top one, the left there.”
“This one?” Galina checked and pointed at the window. When Eva nodded, Galina loaded her brush with a dark color, and in the top left window, she drew a shape. I couldn’t make out what it was until she added some white, and then it made sense. Two people in the window in a close embrace—a hug—a man and a woman.
“That’s Mama and Pappa, like a picture we have of them in our old home,” Eva murmured, and then she began to cry. I held her for a long time. Stan came in and sat on the bed as well. Eva sat on his lap, burying her face in his chest. I wondered if she remembered her parents at all, or was everything she had of them only in photos?
Pavel stood in the doorway, stricken, and asked something in Russian. Stan extended an arm, and he clambered up to sit on my knee.
“What did he ask?” I needed to know.
Stan’s eyes were so bright. “He wants know, is it Eva’s turn for leaving him,” Stan said after swallowing a couple of times. “I’m say no.”
Galina slipped out of the room, and the four of us left stared at the painting with its purples and blues, which blended amazingly well into the pink walls, and at the couple in the window. Noah joined us, wanting in on the hug, and I held my little boy close, desperately wanting to promise him that I could stop time and spare him any pain of losing parents. One day he would know this kind of pain, but I hoped he would be a very old man by then.
Then the five of us sat in a huddle, and we didn’t move until Ten and Jared appeared at the bedroom door. It was actually Eva, who moved first, untangling herself from Stan’s hug and helping Pavel down, smoothing her top and smiling shyly at Ten.
“Hello,” she said and looked at the floor.
“Hello gorgeous girl,” Ten said, always the smooth one. “Your dads said you wanted some stuff for your room.” He hefted a box, and I noticed Jared had one as well. I caught Jared’s eye and saw him shake his head in exasperation. I’d bet anything that the boxes were packed with more than just one jersey. I wasn’t wrong. Jerseys, plural, pucks signed by Ten, and a couple from Jared, bags, cups, signs, and poking out of the box, a huge rolled poster. The second box was for Pavel and contained more of the same. Then there was the bag in the hall that Noah had clearly rummaged through, which held smaller versions of the new mascot, with various team numbers on the back, along with a selection of bobbleheads. I caught Noah trying to bury Adler’s figure in a plant pot, and as much as all of the team wanted to do that to Adler at times, I didn’t want to encourage it.
“And now we go skating,” Stan announced.
“We are?” This was the first I’d heard. I thought today was decorating, family time, and chilling on our day off. Clearly not.
We had the Railers’ practice arena to ourselves, but I noticed that the locker room had been set up for us, along with Ten and Jared, so I assumed Stan or Ten had organized this during that phone call.
“I love you.” I kissed the tip of Stan’s nose.
“Love you,” Stan said and then scooped up a squealing Noah. Our son had on his tiny skates and a jersey with the word Daddy on the back. The space was way too small to fit Lyamin-Gunnarsson or Gunnarsson-Lyamin, and Daddy covered us both. Ten offered a hand to Eva, and they headed out. That left me with Pavel, who was visibly shaking with excitement, his mouth stretched in a big grin.
I held out a hand, and he took it, but as soon as his blades touched ice he was away, not exactly gliding smoothly at first, but our little man had some skills on ice. I kept my eye on him, on Eva, who was showing Ten how she could skate backward, and on Noah, who was being carted around the ice on a small sled by Jared. Stan skated slowly toward me. I loved him so much it hurt. Seeing him with Noah, and now Eva and Pavel, being with him, it was all I ever wanted for the rest of my life. For all of it, the messy, the sad, the happy, and the love. I wanted us to be together forever. I wanted to marry my man. Seeing Ten and Jared sporting their rings, engaged, planning a wedding, I wanted that. Maybe not all the planning, but to be tied to Stan in a way that was forever? Yes, that was what I wanted. Now.
“I’m love family skating,” Stan murmured, and I gripped his hands.
“We should get the kids new jerseys, with our names on,” I began, then stopped. That wasn’t what I meant to say, even though it had sounded clever in my head. “Gunnarsson-Lyamin, or Lyamin-Gunnarsson,” I added.
“Is big words for little jerseys,” Stan murmured and appeared thoughtful, as if he was considering how he could fit all of that in a small space. But that wasn’t what I was trying to say, and trying to be cute was failing me. “Teeny tiny letters—"
“Marry me, Stan.”
His mouth fell open, his grip on my hand tightened, and I could see that he was lost for words. Then he pulled me close, bent me backward, and kissed me like we hadn’t kissed for years.
“Yes, yes, much Elvis things, and red with ruffles or blue,” he said, a mix of Russian in there as well. “We do now.” He pulled back and checked our surroundings, as if he was searching for a priest right there.
“We have to plan—”
“Vegas baby.” He snapped his fingers. “For much sin and valentine kisses, when game in Vegas.”
We were playing Vegas on or around February 14, which was only a week away. A Vegas wedding. The Team. Family. Stan.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “perfect.”