by Ok\u014d (\u7e54\u5de5 )<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It turns out 2013 isn’t the New York Rangers’ year for the Stanley Cup either. They make it to the playoffs as a wildcard, and lose the first round of the playoffs in six games. Kolya is exhausted, and bone-weary, and his ankles and knee are killing him, and some part of him is faintly relieved, because he\u2019s not playing his best, none of them are, and he knows full well that it hurts less to be eliminated in the first round than in the final playoff games.<\/span><\/p>\n And that’s it: It’s late April, and the season is over. Everyone cleans out their stalls, and splits to the four winds, going home to family and friends all over the world, to spend the summer in California or Canada or Finland, wherever they have friends, family, trainers, summer homes.<\/span><\/p>\n Valya and Sergei are going back to Russia, and ask Kolya if he’ll come with them, visit Moscow or Novgorod. Kolya doesn’t know why they always ask: he’s never said yes, not in six years. He moved to America in 2006, and he hasn’t been back to Russia except for Worlds or the Olympics since then, not once. It’s obvious they don’t understand, but they’re both married to beautiful Russian women, with adorable Russian-speaking children. There’s no way they could understand how much it hurts Kolya to go back to the country that raised him thinking he was broken.<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya usually stays in New York, takes in-person intensive summer classes to rack up college credits while he’s not traveling with the team. Sometimes he visits other American cities, flies to Phoenix or San Francisco or Atlanta just to see what they’re like. This summer his mama and papa are in New York for the first time, and he’s looking forward to getting to see them a little more than he does in the season, spending time on the beach, maybe going to Coney Island with them a few times, taking his mama on the roller coaster she pretends to hate, but secretly enjoys.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCome to Minnesota,\u201d Nick says one day in late May, after Kolya’s semester has finally ended. Kolya is finally graduating this spring, but he’s not really planning on doing anything special. Going to graduation would just be a press nightmare, even if PR has asked him about it a few times.<\/span><\/p>\n Nick and Kolya have taken to working out in Nick’s home gym, spotting each other and keeping up the pace without a trainer. It’s nice to avoid the press, avoid pictures on Twitter and articles on Deadspin speculating about their workout routines, and it’s also enough of an excuse for Kolya to go over nearly daily without too many questions. Being in a gay relationship is mostly unremarkable in New York City, sure, but not in hockey. And it’s really not okay in Russia. <\/span><\/p>\n Kolya pauses mid-benchpress as he processes Nick’s words. <\/span><\/p>\n “I mean,” Nick says, “only if you want.” He grabs the bar from Kolya and racks it, and steps around to sit on the bench between Kolya’s legs. “It’s just–” He looks conflicted. “I mean, I’ve met your parents already, I just thought–” <\/span><\/p>\n “When?” Kolya asks. Nick thinks he’s so direct, but the way he’s talking around this means he really wants Kolya to do it. That’s enough reason on its own. “I can book tickets.” <\/span><\/p>\n “Um,” Nick says. “Isabelle already booked us tickets?” <\/span><\/p>\n “Okay,” Kolya says easily, and sits up, rubbing at his face with the towel around his neck. “I’ll book same flight if I can.”<\/span><\/p>\n “No, I mean,” Nick says, “she booked three tickets.”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya looks over, and can’t help a grin at the sheepish look on Nick’s face. <\/span><\/p>\n “Your sister is a menace,” Kolya says. “She does this to your family, too, yes?” <\/span><\/p>\n Nick nods.<\/span><\/p>\n “She tells them she’s already got the tickets, can’t exchange them,” he says. “I mean, she does that so they can’t feel bad about me paying for them. When I book them, Jason gets all weird about it.” <\/span><\/p>\n Jason is Nick’s brother-in-law, Kolya remembers. Isabelle seems not to be that fond of him. He doesn’t come up as often as his kids, Abigail and Lila, doesn’t Skype with Nick and Isabelle the way their sisters and nieces do.<\/span><\/p>\n “And I won’t get weird about you buying a plane ticket?” Kolya teases, and Nick flushes down his neck. “I can think of one way pay you back,” Kolya says, and licks his lips. Nick flushes, and they all but fall over each other on their way to the bedroom. Maybe blowjobs and athletic sex weren’t on the workout plan for today, but Kolya thinks they can make an exception.<\/span><\/p>\n “When we leave?” Kolya asks when he comes back to himself, petting Nick’s hair absently. Nick is playing with his phone, always more alert after sex despite Kolya’s best efforts. <\/span><\/p>\n “Um,” Nick says, “day after tomorrow.” He shoots such a guilty look at Kolya that Kolya can’t help it. He bursts out laughing. <\/span><\/p>\n “Long notice,” he teases. “Such long notice, Nikashenka.”<\/span><\/p>\n Nick looks down, flushing.<\/span><\/p>\n “I didn’t want it to be awkward if you said no,” he mumbles. <\/span><\/p>\n “Why I say no?” Kolya asks. He doesn’t think he’s given Nick reason to doubt him, but this thing between them is still fairly new, only a few months old.<\/span><\/p>\n Nick shrugs, and puts his phone down.<\/span><\/p>\n “It’s just –” he puts his head on Kolya’s chest, laces their fingers together the way he does when he wants reassurance. “It’s not like New York. It’s a really small town, and we’ll have to be careful, you know?” He sighs. “Even at home, because Jason and Mandy and the kids drop in all the time.” He shrugs. “Four year olds don’t exactly lie well. It’s — I know we wanted this summer to be less hiding.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Can’t really be less hiding until after hockey,” Kolya reminds him. <\/span><\/p>\n It’s sweet that Nick is worried about this, but they’ve talked about their plans, and everything relies on the both of them staying closeted until after they retire from the NHL. Nick might be able to come out and still compete internationally, if You Can Play had his back, but Kolya doesn’t have that option, not with Russia the way it is. Kolya knows he\u2019s good enough to make the Olympic team, the Worlds team, but he\u2019s not good enough to have a guaranteed spot. If he\u2019s outed, he\u2019ll never play for Russia again, and no one will stick their neck out for him.<\/span><\/p>\n “I know,” Nick says. “You don’t have to come, I just –” he nuzzles Kolya’s chest, and sighs. “I want you to meet my family.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHave met them,\u201d Kolya points out, because Nick\u2019s family has flown out for games, and Kolya has said hello in passing, same as he\u2019s said hello to Marc\u2019s family, to Tim or Dan\u2019s.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNot the same,\u201d Nick says. \u201cDon\u2019t be stupid.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMeet your uncle, too?” Kolya asks.<\/span><\/p>\n “Yeah,” Nick admits, “I — is it shitty if I admit I kind of want you there for that, too?”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya cards a hand through Nick’s hair. Nick’s uncle Jordan is a sore spot, sometimes. He’s the man who paid for Nick’s education at Shattuck and hockey gear growing up, but also the one who pushed Nick to impossible standards in exchange for necessities. He’s a retired NHL player who blew out his hip and put his dreams on a kid’s shoulders, and he’s an opiate addict who made Nick’s little sisters, Isabelle and Emma, grow up far too quickly when he moved home and overdosed.<\/span><\/p>\n And Jordan is family, which means everything to Nick, and that’s what really matters.<\/span><\/p>\n “No,” Kolya says. “That’s okay.”<\/span><\/p>\n Nick relaxes a little under his hand, so Kolya guesses he said the right thing. Nick feels like a minefield sometimes, and for all that Nick considers himself too blunt sometimes, Kolya misses being in Russia, where people tell you what they mean without dancing around it for hours, days, weeks. But he’s told Nick that, too, and Kolya knows Nick is trying.<\/span><\/p>\n “How long you want to stay?” Kolya asks. “Not whole summer?” He doesn\u2019t want to leave his parents alone all summer, though they have friends in Brighton Beach now, and his mother has doctors she can communicate with just fine, ones who speak Russian or have staff who do.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo, I don’t know,” Nick says, “a week or two? Not a month. We can play it by ear.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Hm,” Kolya agrees. “We skate, or just work out?”<\/span><\/p>\n Either would be fine for that length of time, but Kolya will miss the ice. <\/span><\/p>\n “We can skate,” Nick said, “there’s a rink an hour away, I usually book time there when I’m home.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Good,” Kolya says, “I pack hockey gear, what else?”<\/span><\/p>\n “Workboots,” Nick says, “work jeans, long-sleeve shirts.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Okay,” Kolya says. He probably has something that will work. Nick must hear it because he pushes himself up, and raises an eyebrow.<\/span><\/p>\n “We’re going shopping,” he says. “Em’s fianc\u00e9 came to the farm in dress shoes two years ago and I don’t think they’re ever going to let him hear the end of it.”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya frowns. “I have jeans,” he protests. There’s nothing wrong with his jeans, even if his mother tells him he looks like a thug in them.<\/span><\/p>\n “You have clubbing jeans,” Nick points out. “With holes in them.”<\/span><\/p>\n “They’re jeans,” Kolya says. Nick seems to think designer denim is tantamount to murder, which Kolya really doesn’t understand. Nick dresses like a catalog model, like he’s Canadian, bland and boring and almost untouchable.<\/span><\/p>\n “Trust me,” Nick says, “they’re really not jeans. We’re going shopping or I’ll never hear the end of it.”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya tugs at Nick’s hair, but doesn’t protest too much. He’d like to make a good impression, and if that means buying clothes, well, Kolya can do that.<\/span><\/p>\n * * *<\/span><\/p>\n “Ooooh,” Isabelle says two days later when they’ve settled into their seats on the plane, “flying first class is the best. Do I get a complimentary cocktail?”<\/span><\/p>\n “No,” Nick says, just as Kolya shrugs. It’s an Air Canada flight, and Isabelle is over eighteen.<\/span><\/p>\n “Dude,” Nick says, “no getting my baby sister hammered before we take her to see my parents, I want them <\/span>not<\/span><\/i> to think she’s living in sin in the scary city.”<\/span><\/p>\n Then he winces, obviously replaying his words and hearing the echo of his and Kolya’s argument last fall.<\/span><\/p>\n “Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean–“<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya puts a hand on his knee, knowing the contact will calm Nick.<\/span><\/p>\n “It’s okay,” he says, “I know what you mean. We all know one drink won’t get Izzy hammered. Let her enjoy the flight.” And Kolya winks at Isabelle.<\/span><\/p>\n “You two are terrible,” Nick grumbles, but he doesn’t sound like he really minds, so Kolya gets two vodka tonics and passes one across the aisle to Isabelle.<\/span><\/p>\n “You’ll spoil her,” Nick says.<\/span><\/p>\n “Someone has to,” Isabelle shoots back. “You know mom’s going to make me fly economy on the way back.”<\/span><\/p>\n Nick winces, because Isabelle is nearly six foot, and economy is hell on her knees. Kolya shrugs.<\/span><\/p>\n “Become fancy opera star,” he says. “Then you can fly how you want.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Ugh,” Isabelle says. “Kolya, you’re supposed to be on my side!”<\/span><\/p>\n “I am,” Kolya says, gesturing at her drink. “Stop whining, not attractive.”<\/span><\/p>\n “You’re the worst,” Isabelle says, and kicks at him across the aisle. She’s smiling, though, and tucks her feet under the seat in front of her when a stewardess frowns at them.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI know,” Kolya agrees. “Watch your movie,” Kolya says, and stretches his legs out, tangling one ankle with Nick’s under the seats in front of them.<\/span><\/p>\n <b>You’re so married, it’s gross.<\/b> Isabelle texts him.<\/span><\/p>\n “You’re just jealous,” Kolya says, but he’s glad she texted instead of saying anything out loud on a public flight, so he texts back a hug emoji just to see her wrinkle her nose because she hates its little grabby hands.<\/span><\/p>\n Nick falls asleep on the flight, dropping into a doze against Kolya’s shoulder the same way he does on the bus, on charter flights. Kolya watches a movie with half his attention elsewhere. He’s not entirely sure what Nick has told his family about them, other than the need for secrecy. Kolya knows from Isabelle that Nick hasn’t brought a boyfriend home before, just roommates at Shattuck who needed a break from boarding school food, and even that was seven or eight years ago.<\/span><\/p>\n When they land at Duluth, there’s no doubt where Nick’s family is waiting. Kolya has said hello to Nick’s mother over Skype a time or two, but she looks taller in person, broad-shouldered and broad-hipped with close-cropped light brown hair and thin-framed glasses. Her husband is Kolya’s height, and looks like an older Nicholas, blond hair going white at the temples, features that echo his son’s. He also looks like he lifts hay bales recreationally. <\/span><\/p>\n Kolya’s a professional hockey player, and he’s not accustomed to finding other men intimidating off the ice. Nick’s father’s glare is definitely doing the trick.<\/span><\/p>\n “Mr Larsson,” Kolya says, holding out a hand for a swift, firm handshake. “Mrs Larsson,\u201d he says, turning, and Nick’s mother pulls him into a hug.<\/span><\/p>\n “None of that, now,” she says, “call me Michelle. And we’re so glad to meet you, Nikolai.” She pushes him away, holds him at arm’s length. “It’s been forever since Nick’s brought a friend home,” she says, “and he says you’re a city boy, too.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Mom,” Nick says, obviously embarrassed.<\/span><\/p>\n “None of that, Nicholas,” she says again, still looking at Kolya. “You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ll get you into the swing of things soon enough. Now,” she says, “Isabelle, Nicholas, take your father to the baggage claim and get the bags while Nikolai and I make sure Officer Stevens doesn’t try to give us a ticket again. That man never does know when to quit,” she says, leading Kolya out to a large four-door pickup truck that’s idling at the curb. “Lord knows he has to do his job,” she continues, “but he needn’t make it so hard on the rest of us, that’s all I’m saying.”<\/span><\/p>\n She keeps up a steady stream of chatter the whole time, until Nick and Isabelle and their father emerge into the bright sunlight with two gear bags and three suitcases.<\/span><\/p>\n “That’s all?” Michelle asks. “Well, I suppose Nick never did pack much, and you must have learned to pack down, Nikolai, what with flying halfway around the world like you do.”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya’s stomach sinks at the implication that he travels to Russia as often as his other Russian teammates. <\/span><\/p>\n “I don’t go back much,” he says, wondering how to frame this. “My parents are in New York now.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Nick said they moved,” Michelle says, slipping into the back seat, and letting her husband get in the driver’s seat. “And that’s just marvelous, but don’t you have other family back home?”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya shrugs. Russia hasn’t been his home for years, even when his parents were still there. With them in the US, Russia is even more a part of his past.<\/span><\/p>\n “Not much,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a pity,\u201d Michelle says, \u201cyou must miss them. Do you have many aunts and uncles back home?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya does, but they\u2019re not in touch. His father’s family cut ties when he married Ksenia Nikolaevna Bukharin. She was only a distant cousin of the famous dissident, generations removed from trouble, but still close enough to be a problem for anyone who wanted to keep their heads down in the <\/span>Kudryavtsev family, which already had its share of ghosts<\/span>.<\/span><\/p>\n Marrying Ksenia and bringing her back to Chelyabinsk was Kolya’s father’s one great act of rebellion, and it doomed him to a lifetime of civil service without promotions, and New Years’ celebrations with only Kolya\u2019s mother\u2019s family, and then no one else at all.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMy mother is\u2014\u201c Kolya pauses, wondering how to cut off this line of friendly inquiry. “Only daughter.”<\/span><\/p>\n Nick glances at him, but he doesn\u2019t say anything. Kolya tells himself he hardly remembers his uncle Gennadi, his mother’s much older brother, a laughing man who disappeared when Kolya was seven years old.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMy,” Michelle says, and if she can tell Kolya doesn’t want to talk about his family, she doesn’t bat an eye. \u201cWell,\u201d she continues, \u201cmy family’s been on this farm for more than a hundred years, now, since they immigrated from Sweden in the 1880s. Mandy and Jason live in the old farmhouse with their girls, but we built the new one when my brother Jordy was signed to the NHL, back in the late 80s. You know he played?” she asks, as if Kolya could miss that. “He was so supportive of Nicky, it was just wonderful.”<\/span><\/p>\n Supportive is only one potential word for it, but Kolya makes the appropriate noises. It really seems like Nick’s mother can carry both sides of a conversation, and the drive passes in a haze of words. Kolya has reason to be glad for the nights in his first year with the Rangers when he and Nick sat together in bar booths and Nick’s Minnesota accent came out, because Michelle’s vowels are long enough that he has to pay attention.<\/span><\/p>\n The scenery makes Kolya think of scenes from his American literature classes: bucolic, he thinks, and pastoral. It’s a far cry from anything he’s ever seen before, so different from Manhattan’s asphalt and skyscrapers, from Brooklyn’s row houses, from Chelyabinsk’s run-down infrastructure.<\/span><\/p>\n “Mom,” Nick says, when they finally pull off an unmarked road in front of a gleamingly white farmhouse with a huge red barn and pull their own bags out of the back of the truck, “I’m pretty beat. Can we just–” He waves a hand.<\/span><\/p>\n “Sure thing,” she says. “Nick, you know where your room is. Nikolai, if you’ll follow me?”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya catches Nick’s eye, and Nick looks almost panicked at the implications of those words. Kolya smiles in forced reassurance, and follows Nick’s mother up the stairs to what is obviously a guest room, clean and impersonal.<\/span><\/p>\n “I hope the bed is long enough,” she frets. “Isabelle said you were tall, but, well. Flying must be so hard. No wonder you don’t go back to Russia often.”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya nods. He knows Nick said they’d have to pretend to just be friends while they were around Nick’s nieces, but Kolya hadn’t expected to be put in a guest room. He’d been looking forward to waking up with Nick every morning while he was out here, sleeping soundly to the sound of Nick’s breathing beside him.<\/span><\/p>\n “Now,” Michelle says, gesturing at a door propped partway ajar, “there’s a bath through there, and we’ll have dinner at six-thirty. You just rest up, flying is horrible.”<\/span><\/p>\n And then she’s gone. Kolya sets his bags down, unpacks his single suitcase into the empty dresser on auto-pilot, washes his face and arms to get some of the plane-feeling off his skin, and sits on the edge of the bed, wondering what to do next.<\/span><\/p>\n Nick slips in some time later, shuts the door behind them, and climbs into Kolya’s lap, bullying him back on the bed with quick kisses and his greater mass. His shoulders are broad and reassuring under Kolya’s hands. <\/span><\/p>\n “Hi,” he says, voice rushed, “I’m sorry, I’ll get it sorted out. You don’t have to stay in here the whole time.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Good,” Kolya says, “I want to be with you.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Me too,” Nick admits, and sags against Kolya. “God, I thought they’d be better about this, they’ve known since I was nineteen.”<\/span><\/p>\n But Kolya thinks this might be the difference between your son telling you he’s gay and showing you his boyfriend. It took the better part of this past winter for his father to even be in the same room as Nick without drinking himself into a vodka-induced haze in retaliation; putting Kolya in a guest room is just a different manifestation of the same discomfort. It’s a lot nicer on the surface, but Kolya doesn’t have to like it.<\/span><\/p>\n “Mmm,” Kolya says, and presses a kiss to the side of Nick’s mouth. “Long time with no one, maybe they forget.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Well, they can un-forget,” Nick says fiercely, and kisses Kolya back with determination, like he can change the world with sheer force of will.<\/span><\/p>\n The sound of a shutter click makes them both freeze, Kolya’s hands halfway up the sides of Nick’s shirt.<\/span><\/p>\n “Dammit,” an unfamiliar voice says, “I owe Izzy twenty bucks, I thought you’d still be on your best behavior, what with mom sticking Nikolai in here and all.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Nick climbs to his feet and holds out his hand to the young woman standing in the doorway. She’s shorter than Nick and Isabelle, with brown hair and brown eyes, glasses like her mother’s, but the resemblance is unmistakable.<\/span><\/p>\n “Phone.\u201d Nick says, voice hard. “Now.” \u00a0Kolya can hear the suppressed panic, but the woman doesn’t seem to register it.<\/span><\/p>\n “I’m not gonna Instagram it,” Emma says, but she hands over her phone without complaint. “God, Izzy said you were paranoid, but this is nuts.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Phones get stolen,” Nick says, and deletes the photo with a few swift taps. “Just — god,” he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m being a dick. Emma, this is Kolya.”<\/span><\/p>\n Kolya stands, glad the sound of the photo being taken killed his incipient arousal.<\/span><\/p>\n “Nice to meet you,” he says, and Emma ignores his outstretched hand and just pulls him in for a hug. She pushes him out to arm’s length just like her mother did, and looks him up and down.<\/span><\/p>\n “Okay,” she says, “you’re not as tall as Iz said, but I guess you’ll do.” She makes a face, then says, quickly, “I know this is ridiculous, because you’re like twice my size, but if you hurt my big brother I’ll find a way to fuck you up. Uncle Jordy might have a bum hip, but Nicky’s still his favorite, I can get him to help.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n “If I hurt him,” Kolya says seriously, meeting her dark brown gaze, “I’ll help.”<\/span><\/p>\n Emma laughs. “I think you might,” she says. “Okay, I like you more than I liked Andrew, we’re good.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Did you come up here for something,” Nick says, and he sounds like he’s in a bad mood. Kolya puts a hand at the small of his back, just resting there in reassurance.<\/span><\/p>\n “Dinner time soon,” Emma says. “Izzy and I flipped for it. She figured you didn’t want dad walking in on you.”<\/span><\/p>\n “Thank you,” Kolya says, because that’s not the kind of impression he wanted to make on Nick’s father on the first day. \u00a0He pushes Nick toward his sister. “Go, go.”<\/span><\/p>\n “So mom’s really nervous to meet you,” Emma says softly. “She always talks up a storm when she’s on edge.”<\/span><\/p>\n Nick goes silent when he’s worried, unless he’s angry. Kolya hadn’t considered that Michelle might be nervous, that her constant stream of patter might not be her default conversational state.<\/span><\/p>\n “And your father?” Kolya asks, because Charles Larsson’s expression on the drive was not what he’d call welcoming.<\/span><\/p>\n “Eh,” Emma says with a shrug, “you’re a city kid. He’ll get over it.” She shoots him a grin. “Zane’s in his good books, now,” she says, and Kolya remembers that’s her fianc\u00e9, “and he showed up in patent leather loafers the first time he came here.”<\/span><\/p>\n