“Noah, is good yams. See? Mm-Mm good.” I took a spoonful of the mashed yams and gagged. “Okay, is not good. I make eggs.”
“Bah.” He slapped his tray with his spoon.
“Yes, eggs good for big boy.”
I pushed back from the kitchen table and went to the fridge to take out the eggs. The house was quiet this morning, but that was because it was only five o’clock and Erik was sleeping off a game-winning goal followed by a good fuck last night. He was in my bed. I found great joy in waking up with him beside me, or sprawled over me, his curls flattened from sleep or badly knotted from sex. We were in the same room now; I’d long given up the pretense of going back to my own room. I looked out at the starry sky. Worry nibbled at my heart. So much could go wrong…
“Bah. Dah. Blibbity.”
“Ah yes, I think music good too.”
I smiled as I cracked egg after egg into a large frying pan. The boy talked nonstop but said nothing anyone could understand. Adler said that was me rubbing off on him. As the eggs began to cook, I reached over to turn on the fancy Bose radio on the counter. Elvis filled the kitchen just as the sun began to peek through the trees. Daylight was earlier and earlier now that April was here. It was good to be rid of the cold of winter. Maybe we could clean up the yard and get some fencing put up. Maybe a dog! Yes. Oh, a dog. Big one, like a wolfhound that would rip the face off anyone who tried to climb over the fence to touch my son. Erik’s son, I mean.
“Eggs is soon,” I told the boy, then sat down in front of him and picked up a stuffed teddy bear from the floor by a sodden ear. “Why eat bear ear?” I asked the lad. He made grabby hands for the teddy. Elvis started singing a song about wanting to be someone’s teddy bear, so I made the blue bear with the wet ear dance for Noah. He squealed in joy. I continued with the dancing and then sang along.
“I didn’t know breakfast came with a floor show,” Erik called from the doorway, smiling widely while looking beyond beautiful in low-riding sleep pants, his new tattoo on his bicep, and little else. He’d gone yesterday to have Noah’s name on his skin, but then he’d added my name, all twisted with a tiny blue-and-gray Pokémon character—Cranados, or so Ten reminded me. He said it reminded him of me, a rock, immoveable in my net. His belly had tiny suck marks on it. I loved seeing my love bites on his pale skin. It made my balls heavy with want. He was so handsome, so hot, and now, finally, so mine.
“Show is only for Noah,” I replied as he went over to kiss his son on the head then grab a taste of my mouth.
“Ugh. You taste like unsweetened yams.” Erik made a face that got a giggle from Noah.
“Most sorry. I get coffee. You kiss again.”
That was what happened. A hot coffee kiss until the eggs in the pan were past needing attention. Erik scraped the mess out and started over, tending to the food while I sipped coffee and made Blue Bear dance.
“What got you up so early?” Erik asked, placing a plate filled with fluffy eggs and dark wheat toast in front of me. Noah got loud until his eggs were served. The spoon went flying and he used his hands.
“What if they keep Galina because not like to marry Arvy? What if they won’t let Mama leave? What if they know we are gay men and put in prison?”
“Stan, everything will be fine. They both have all the proper papers. The Railers lawyers went over visas and student papers for Galina to study here with fine tooth combs.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Fine combs, but still…”
“They’ll be fine.”
“Oh, yes, I know. Is all good. Still…” I glanced at the wide windows looking out at our backyard. The sky was still dark, but soon it would be bright pink and purple. And somewhere under that sky, on the other side of the world, were my sister and mother, hopefully getting into a plane to come to America.
“Stan, your mother is coming. There is no way she’s not going to be here to get to know Noah.”
“Yes, yes, I know. She wants to be babushka to him much bad.”
“Yep.” He nodded, sending several golden curls on his brow bouncing. “I think it’s amazing how all it took to lure her here was knowing there was a baby in our house. Your house.”
“No, no fix. Is our house.” I reached over to lay my hand over his. His gaze touched our hands, then came back to me. “Will always be our house. When Mama here, free from Russia and bad gay hate there, we make home right. No more lie about us. Say we live here as couple. Just…not big out-coming. Quiet. Just be. Yes?”
“Yes.” He slipped his fingers between mine. His eyes glowed like fiery emeralds.
“BAH!” Scrambled eggs slapped Erik in the face. I snorted. His green eyes went wide. Then a sweet smile pulled up the corners of his coffee-kissed lips. Soon my family would be complete. By midnight, life would be all I had dreamed it would be.
But just to make sure, I would stop by the Russian Orthodox church on the way to the arena for morning skate, and pray. I didn’t think God would ignore my pleas because I shared coffee kisses with a man.
Amy was with Noah, and Erik had driven us to the rink. I checked my watch. Why had Galina not contacted me at the airport as I had asked? Had there been trouble?
“Stan. Give me that watch.”
I looked over at Erik after we pulled into a parking spot by the players’ entrance. “No. I need for time looks.”
“Looking at it every five seconds is just going to make the time drag.” He turned off the engine of the car we shared. I had bought it for him but told him that I had purchased it for me. See how clever I am? He would never drive it if it was a gift for him. His pride was huge. Which was good, but not always. I reminded him often about pride going before a fall.
I tugged down the sleeve of my dress shirt and soft gray suit jacket. “I keep but no look.”
He ran a hand over my head, his touch tender and loving. “It’ll be fine. Have faith. You prayed, right?”
“Yes, right. God knows. Is in his hands now.” I nodded.
We left the Caddy—a big blue SUV, not a pink one—and went inside. Pete stopped us, and we talked about the few remaining games of the season. The playoffs were on the horizon, and the Railers were tied with Pittsburgh for first place. Philadelphia was one point behind the two leaders. And the team under them only lacked a point from being in second. Our division was tighter than a homecoming dress, as Adler says.
The dressing room was packed with men, all talking and in good spirits. It made me feel brighter inside. Not totally sunny but maybe partly cloudy.
“Hey, it’s Van Helsing!” Adler shouted, then threw a big grin at Max van Hellren entering the room. Max was a solid defenseman who had played on almost every team during his tenure in the league. He was a huge man, with reddish-brown hair and a thick beard that he kept neatly trimmed.
His golden-brown eyes were sharp as a raptor’s, but usually friendly, unless you were trying to make a run at me. Then the “Wrath of Hell” fell on opposing players. Max had made a big splash on the team, filling in for Arvy, who was now about ready to start skating with a no-contact jersey during practice. I hoped Max stayed. He brought grit and gruff humor.
“I’m going to slap the stupid out of you, Lockhart,” Max shouted over the guffaws.
“You’ll have to catch me first, Gramps,” Adler yelled back.
This was how it had been since the first day Max had entered the Railers dressing room. Adler had yelled, “Hey, it’s Van Halen!” at Max back then, and Max had threatened to slap him shitless, or silly, or into the next week. It was tradition now.
Erik and I exchanged soft looks as we dressed. Like Tennant and Jared, we played down our relationship at work. Even more so because no one knew we were a couple aside from a few close friends. We had no plans to make a big thing out of us. We just wanted to be.
After gearing up, I went to the ice to work with my coach. Stepping into the corridor, I bumped into a beautiful black man with a dog on a leash.
“Am sorry,” I said to him, then crouched down to pet the dog. It was a tiny one with kinky black fur. It wagged its tail and licked my face. “Such good dog! Why is dog here?”
“I’m Ben, the manager of the Crossroads Shelter over on Grayson Street. The team invited us to come out during the first and second periods and bring a shelter animal in need of a home.”
“This boy needs home? I need big dog. Like wolfhound. Will this dog be wolfhound?”
“Nope, that’s as big as he gets,” Ben replied with a killer smile.
“Cute,” Max said around his mouth guard as he came up beside me. I glanced up from the dog. Was our grinder talking about the dog or Ben? It was hard to tell. Both men were staring at each other. Then Max was gone, heading to the ice.
“We look for dog soon. Come to shelter. Make yard fence first.”
Ben nodded dully, mumbled something, handed me a business card, then disappeared into the bowels of the arena, his happy dog trotting along beside him.
“So we’re getting a dog now?” Erik asked as he jogged up behind me, his skates making a dull thudding sound as the guards hit the rubber mat.
“Yes, big dog. Eat face off people who come into yard. Keep Noah safe.” I nodded as if that was the end of the discussion. The Czar had spoken.
“Yeah, we’ll talk about the big face-eating dog,” he said, then hustled ahead of me. So much for the Czar having last say. My house was a democracy now. Fitting as this was America.
I found Coach Madsen on the ice and skated to him, my cell phone in my catcher.
“If sister call or text, come tell me. Much please and thank you.”
Coach Madsen plucked the phone from my big mitt and slid it into the inner pocket of his suit coat.
“I’ll make a beeline for you if this so much as twitches.” He patted his breast.
“Is good friend make beeline.” I cuffed him on the shoulder. “What is beeline?”
He rolled his arm a bit after I tapped him. “It means I’ll come straight to you. Like a bee flies.”
“But bee no fly straight. Bee go from flower to flower, sucking sweet, in funky curl lines.” I drew circles in the air with my finger.
Coach Madsen made that face. It was the face people make at me often when I point out that English sayings are not sensible sometimes.
“Okay, right, that’s true.”
“So, why is saying beeline if go straight? Why not say cowline? Cow go straight.”
“I don’t know why it’s not a cowline, Stan, it’s a beeline.”
“Also bird fly straight. As crow flies. Maybe say birdline.” I nodded. Coach stared up at me. I waited for him to say something.
“Fine, I’ll make a birdline to you if this so much as twitches.”
“Ah, good. Making sense. Thanks. I make saves now.”
“You do that.”
I skated to my pipes. Then I touched them. Stroked them. Whispered to them in sweet mother tongue. They hummed back, icy cold to the touch but warm to my ears.
“Moya lyubov k tebe gluboka I verna.” “My love for you is deep and true,” I told them as the team made laps around the ice to get the blood flowing.
“Didn’t you say that to me last night?” Erik said, coming to a short stop and spraying me with ice.
“Yes. What is point?”
“You’re cheating on your pipes with me,” he teased, gave me a saucy wink, then skated off to catch Tennant, which no one could but they all tried.
I chuckled. What a silly man. Still, I talked extra-long to my pipes that morning in case they got jealous.
My pipes knew I was true to them and they treated me well. Through scrimmages where no one scored to an important game with Florida where also no one scored. The middle Rowe brother, Jamie, tried, but I was tight in the head. That was what Ten had said. Tight in the head.
After the game, the team and Jamie were meeting somewhere to eat and drink beer. Erik and I were not going. He was taking me to the airport to pick up my sister and my mother. Usually after a game, I’m ravenous, but tonight I was unable to eat or even think of food.
One quick text from Galina several hours ago. Ten hours to be exact. They had gotten onto the plane with no issues. Mama had even stopped to talk hockey with one of the men who checks baggage. That was why I had shut out Florida and Jamie Rowe. My breast was filled with so much happiness.
“You’re smiling like Santa is about to land on your rooftop,” Erik commented as we waited inside the terminal. It was a busy airport in Harrisburg, with many gates. Not as big as others I had been in, but still a hustling place.
“Knowing Mama is safe is making me Santa happy.”
Erik rubbed a hand over my back as I bounced up and down trying to see. Not that I had to do so. I easily saw over all the heads moving past, but I couldn’t stop myself. I spotted Galina. Her dark head and beautiful gray eyes. She waved madly. I waved back and began muscling my way through the travelers coming and going. I had to move a fat man aside to see my mother.
She looked overwhelmed and scared. A thin, petite woman in a worn red coat, she stood out among the Americans dressed in the latest fashions. Galina pointed at me. Mama’s loving gray eyes landed on me. She started crying. I gathered her to me and wept like Noah, long and hard, clinging to my mother. I murmured to her in Russian. She called me her baby boy over and over as she peppered my face with kisses. I reached for Galina and tugged her to my side. Mama under my left arm, Galina on my right.
Looking over my family, I saw Erik standing alone, smiling, dragging his hand under his eye.
I pulled away from my mother and sister, took Mama by the hand—such a tiny hand and so cold with uncertainty—and led her to Erik.
I slipped an arm around his waist. The first time I had ever engaged in such a public display of affection. To some it was nothing, but to us…it was everything.
“Mama, this is Erik. The man I love.” I said that. In the airport. Tears threatened again.
She took his face in her work-rough hands and kissed his brow. “Noah,” she said. The only word she knew in English, and it was his son’s name. Mama prattled off a long line of questions, all in Russian. Erik looked at me.
“I will teach her good English. Like mine only gooder.”
The ride home was filled with talking. Mostly Galina and Mama, but also me. I tried to keep Erik in the chatter, but the two women were discussing Arvy now. Mama was not happy that Galina had married outside of church. Galina was not happy that Mama was being old fashioned. Things were getting heated in the back until we pulled up to my house.
“Stanislav,” Mama whispered in Russian, “this house is too fine for me.”
“Never, Mama, never.” I rushed to open her door and take her hand. Amy was awake, sitting with Noah, who was sound asleep in his crib upstairs. I took Mama through every room of my house, making the nursery last. Erik followed. Galina was tiffy, and went to see Arvy because she knew it would make Mama sputter.
“This house is so big. I’ll need a map to find the kitchen,” Mama said with good humor as we snuck into the nursery. Her kidding stopped when Erik scooped up his son and placed him in her waiting arms.
“Vash vnuk,” he said, his Russian accent terrible but the words “your grandson” beautiful. We had practiced for weeks those two words, Erik insisting he be able to tell her that he considered her his son’s other grandmother.
Mama’s eyes grew wet with tears. She padded over to the heavy oak rocker by the window, sat down, and with Noah’s curls resting on her shoulder, began to sing “Bayu Bayushki Bayu”, the same song she had sung to my sister and me, and the one that I sang to Noah when I put him down for bed.
“I’m still not sure about songs where wolves come and drag little kids into the forest because they slept too close to the edge of the bed,” Erik whispered, leaning in to me as we watched Mama and Noah rocking.
“Life is hard in Russia. Child is teached early.”
“Hmmm.”
I pressed a kiss to his curls. “I am happiest man ever.”
“Life is good?”
Mama smiled up at us.
“Life is wonderful good. Is good for you?”
“It’s wonderful good.”