Page 14

ALEXEI

M y family are here tonight. I get changed fast so I don’t leave them waiting outside in the cold.

As I’m coming out of the locker room, I spot Stef and Alice leaving.

They’re chatting and laughing and I think about catching Stef laughing at Alice’s dancing in the stands and how much of a fire it lit in the pit of my stomach.

I’m suddenly shy, but before I can head out, Alice looks up and spots me, waving me over.

“Good game Captain,” she beams.

“Thanks, good… um… trumpeting?”

“Thank you.”

Did I get that right?

“It’s not a hockey game without a trumpet,” she says.

“Right.”

I glance at Stef and he laughs awkwardly.

“Aloyshka?”

Shit.

I turn around to find Papa, Babushka and Dasha standing by the main doors, watching us.

“Papa, hey, this is my roommate, Stefanos.”

Papa looks him over before shaking his hand.

My heart sinks as I catch that look on his face.

I know that look, it’s disapproval. Papa has a way of making snap judgements.

He calls it trusting his instincts, but I don’t think it’s just that.

There’s a hint of prejudice in there too.

I wonder what he sees in Stef’s appearance to bring that look out.

Is his hair too long? I know how he feels about men with long hair.

There’s this Russian tennis player he loves, but every time he watches him play, he shouts at the TV for him to get a haircut.

When the guy shaved his head to do military service a few years back, I thought Papa was going to throw a fucking parade.

I kiss my babushka on the cheek and ruffle Dasha’s hair.

Dasha’s looking at Alice like the sun shines out of her ass.

“Hey, you play the trumpet right?”

“Yep.”

“Do you play anything?” She asks Stef.

“Violin.”

“Woah, cool.”

“I thought your roommate is Tom?” Papa says, ignoring Stef completely now.

“I told you, Tom moved out.”

There’s an awkward silence I don’t know how to break.

“Well, we’d better get going, it was nice meeting you,” Alice says. “Good game Alexei.”

I watch her and Stef leave, kinda wishing I was going with them. But then Dasha punches me in the arm and tells me I was awesome out there.

“Makes a change,” she says. “Seeing you win.”

“Shut up you.” I ruffle her hair and she tries to duck, too late.

We go eat at the same restaurant as always.

Papa’s uncharacteristically quiet as he eats.

Even when the owner slaps him on the back after I tell him we kicked Quinnipiac’s asses.

He just nods politely, but doesn’t seem pumped like I thought he would be.

Usually he’s cracking jokes and giving me a play-by-play of the game.

Is it Stef? What was it about him he hated so much from a five second conversation?

This restaurant has a lot of traditional Eastern European dishes on the menu. I order Mischa’s favorite Ukrainian dish, halu?ki (noodles, cabbage and onions), and pass up on the holodets (cold meat jelly) Papa orders.

“Your babulya used to make this when you were a kid.” Papa says when he sees me turn my nose up at it. “You’re too American. I don’t know how this happens, we never take you to McDonald’s, we always cook good food for you at home.”

I laugh, “Papa, don’t you think I’d buy McDonald’s with my allowance?”

Getting an allowance isn’t a common thing back in Russia, but it was one thing we managed to wear him down on, so long as we helped out at the store every now and then and kept the apartment clean.

He widens his eyes. “If I know this, you won’t get any allowance.”

Me and Dasha share a glance and burst out laughing. Papa’s lips twitch, but he stops himself from smiling. “You’re very funny ha ha, you think I’m silly, old Russian, but at least this food they don’t spit in.”

When I glance at my babushka, she’s grinning into her food.

By the end of the meal, I’m glad I dragged my tired ass out for dinner.

Spending time with them reminds me there’s more to life than hockey.

But as we’re leaving each other at the entrance to the subway, I remember why hockey is so important.

It’s because of them. Because I want to take care of them.

Dasha puts her arms around my waist and squeezes. “Don’t leave me with them,” she whines. “All they do is talk about the old country. Like, if Siberia’s so great, why don’t you just move back then huh?”

I laugh. “They miss home, how would you feel if you left Brooklyn?”

“Like I won the lottery, obviously.”

“You’d miss it, trust me.”

“You only moved to Jersey, stop being so dramatic. There’s literally a bridge and a subway between us.”

We stop at the top of the stairs leading down into the subway. Babushka squeezes me tightly. The familiar smell of her perfume makes me want to keep hold of her and ask her to take me home with her and make me some cocoa.

Papa hugs me, slapping me on the back.

“Keep up the good work, we’re proud of you.”

I think about telling them they don’t have to come to every game, but that would be like me telling them I don’t want them there. Or at least, that’s how they’d take it.

He pulls me aside, letting Dasha and Babushka go on ahead. In Russian, he says. “Talk to me son, who is this new roommate, how do you know him?”

My heart sinks. He really is pissed about Stef. “He’s friends with one of my teammate’s sisters, why?”

He frowns, rubbing his chin. “Be careful, You don’t need friends who aren’t focused on hockey.”

I bite my tongue and nod. “We don’t have to be friends,” I say, the words like poison as they pass my lips. But it’s easier to pacify him. “I just need a roommate.”

“You need money?”

“No, Papa, I’m fine, it just makes more sense to have a roommate, I live in a two-bed apartment."

He squints at me, but eventually nods his assent. “Okay. You tell me if you need money.”

“I will.”

Babushka calls him, telling him they’re gonna miss their train.

I turn to Papa and give him a hug, smelling his familiar aftershave and the cigarettes he pretends he doesn’t smoke. “Love you Papa.”

He pulls away with a smile and ruffles my hair. “You too. Be good. Don’t do something I won’t do.” He chuckles at himself, and I snort.

When I get back to the apartment, I hesitate before letting myself in.

I can’t hear if Stef’s home or not, but he probably is.

He doesn’t strike me as someone who stays out late drinking or partying.

I can’t decide if I want him to be behind that door or not.

Yeah, seeing him at the game, smiling and laughing was nice.

But it made me feel something I don’t want to feel.

And Papa’s reaction to him only brought it home hard.

He would not approve of me feeling this way about guys.

Stef’s in his room when I let myself in. His door’s closed and his tiny shoes are sitting by the door. I think about knocking and asking if he wants to order a pizza or something, but I chicken out at the last minute and microwave a burrito instead, taking it into my room.

I login to Bookgeeks and hope horror boy’s online. Just to have an honest - or kinda honest - conversation with someone. Someone who doesn't know me and can't judge me. A conversation that doesn’t have to come with consequences.

When I login, I have a message waiting for me.

RedRum237: I noticed you haven’t been active in the MM romance group where we met? Don’t you read that stuff anymore?

Fuck. What do I say to that? Yeah, I think I’m good with the whole gay thing. Think I’ll just leave it where it is and do absolutely nothing about it. Be a virgin forever. Why not?

Kelsier38: I haven’t really had time to read anything recently. But I guess I’ve been avoiding that stuff specifically, yeah.

I watch him typing something back, my hands sweating over the keyboard.

RedRum237: Why?

It took him that long to type that?

Because I’m a chicken-shit virgin who’s too scared and too freaked out by the idea of actually having sex IRL to do anything about it. Instead, I type:

Kelsier38: I don’t know.

There’s a pause before he replies, and I think he’s logged off before he starts typing again.

RedRum237: Have you spoken to anyone else online?

Kelsier38: You mean, like the way we ‘spoke’?

RedRum237: Yeah

Kelsier38: No.

RedRum237: Why not?

Kelsier38: I don’t know

RedRum237: Come on.

That cute little fucker always pushes me.

Kelsier38: I guess I never found anyone I liked talking to as much as you.

I hit send, my face on fire, and slump back in my chair.

RedRum237: Oh

Butterflies start flapping around in my stomach and I remember why I was crazy enough to agree to meet him back then.

Kelsier38: Sorry, I know you just broke up with someone

RedRum237: He cheated on me, I don’t want to waste any more time thinking about him

I have to refrain from growling at the computer.

Kelsier38: He’s a piece of shit who didn’t deserve you

RedRum237: That’s what my friend said

Kelsier38: Then your friend is right. You do know he didn’t deserve you, right?

RedRum237: I don’t know. Sometimes.

What? How can this person, who I know for a fact is a good person, not know they deserve better than a cheating, lying scumbag?

Kelsier38: I’m telling you, you do deserve better than that

RedRum237: You don’t even know me. I could be awful

Kelsier38: I know you well enough to know you are definitely not awful

RedRum237: You know what my chest looks like, that’s different

Kelsier38: Ouch

RedRum237: Sorry. See, I’m an asshole

Kelsier38: You are not an asshole. And you have a nice chest

RedRum237: Not too skinny?

Kelsier38: No. Though…

My hands sweat as I type out the next line.

Kelsier38: Maybe you could give me a reminder?

There’s a long pause and I regret sending that last message. The guy’s pouring his heart out to me over his cheating ex-boyfriend and I’m sleazing up on him, asking for shirtless pics.

But then an image is loading, and my breath’s so loud, it drowns out all my thoughts.