Page 21 of True North
JT’s head snapped up from his plate. “Huh?”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “Sorry, are we boring you?”
“I mean, yeah,” JT said, and hastily dodged the balled-up napkin Tyler threw at him.
“Boys,” their dad said mildly.
“That’s how stupid your opinions are,” Kendall said. “JT can’t even be bothered to pay attention.” Then they were off again, carrying on at loud volume and to much hilarity from JT’s parents and grandmother, and he was left in peace to mull over his consuming thoughts.
When dinner was over, they all drifted out onto the deck to drink more wine and enjoy the long midsummer evening. JT stood alone at the railing for a few minutes, watching the dogs gambol around in the yard. He wondered what Misha was doing.
His mom joined him and slung an arm around his waist, startling him from his thoughts. “What’s on your mind?”
He wrapped his own arm around her shoulders. He had been taller than her for more than a decade, but he was still surprised at times by how small she was because in his childhood memories she was larger than life. “Nothing much. Just a little tired from training today, I guess.”
“Hmm.” She gazed up at his face intently. “You, tired from skating? I can hardly believe it.”
“Hey, it’s hard work!” JT protested.
She laughed. “I don’t doubt that. You’ll talk to us if something’s going on, won’t you?”
“Of course,” JT said, lying through his teeth. Hehadtold them about Misha. Just… not that Misha was living with him now. Minor details. “Everything’s good. Having a good summer.”
“All right,” she said, in the mild tone of letting him off the hook but only for the time being, and whistled for the dogs. They came running across the grass, barking happily, and turned into a wiggling, furry mass around JT’s knees.
All in all, it was a good night, or at least not a bad one. He rarely had a bad night with his family. He drove home not long after sunset, keeping a sharp eye out for deer and thinking with warm anticipation about going home to a house that wasn’t empty. Maybe Misha would even greet him at the door.
He had been single for too long. That was the problem. Or maybe not for long enough, and he was still missing Marcus and thinking about Marcus, trying to prove to Marcus that he wasn’t a self-centered asshole after all, and projecting those feelings onto Misha. He would get over it soon.
He sat in his truck for a few minutes after he pulled into the driveway, listening to the engine tick. A lamp was on in the den. He could picture Misha wrapped up in the same blanket as before and maybe asleep.
JT exhaled hard and climbed out of the truck.
Misha didn’t greet him at the door. That was fine. It would probably be strange if he did. They weren’t even friends.
JT hung his keys on the hook and took his wallet from his pocket to lay it on the console table. He sat on the bench to untie his shoes. A soft scuffing noise interrupted his well-worn homecoming ritual, and when he glanced up, Misha was standing in the mudroom doorway, watching him silently.
“Hi,” JT said, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face.
Misha’s answering smile was small but very sweet. “Hi, JT.” His eyes shifted up and to the side, a tic that was becoming familiar: he was trying to think of a word. “Good meal? With family?”
JT was grinning so hard he probably looked nuts. That was way more English than he’d thought Misha knew. Maybe things were starting to come back to him. “Yeah. It was great. What have you been up to?”
Misha’s brow furrowed. “Up?”
“Oh, uh.” JT tried to think of a simple way to rephrase that didn’t rely on idioms, then gave up and pulled out his phone. “What did you do this evening?”
“Eat,” Misha said. “TV.” He wrinkled his nose. JT supposed there was only so much TV one could watch in a single day, and Misha had probably hit his limit.
“Okay, uh.” JT usually read for a while before going to sleep, but that seemed rude when he didn’t have anything in the house for Misha to read. “Want to play cards?”
JT’s family was big on card games, and he had passed many evenings that way growing up. Having only two players limited his options. He decided on gin rummy: a classic, with enough strategy involved to present a challenge. They sat at the kitchen table and JT dealt out their hands. He expected to have some trouble explaining the rules to Misha, but after only a few translated lines from the phone, Misha began nodding impatiently and said, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
JT grinned. This might be a lot of fun.
Misha turned out to be something of a card sharp. He stared impassively at his hand and creamed JT without mercy three rounds in a row. “Jesus Christ,” JT said after the third time, starting to get a little annoyed because he hated losing. Misha only smirked at him and dealt the next round.
JT won that time and wanted to go best of seven, but it was getting late, and staying up past his bedtime because he wanted to beat Misha at cards was stupid. He could let it go. He didn’t have to be competitive about this. Psychotically competitive, Kendall liked to say.