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Ilya wakes to his phone vibrating. He glares at the offending object before ignoring it. It starts again a moment later and his father’s name is lit up. He declines it again. When it lights up a third time, buzzing he answers it in anger.
“What?” He spats out before he can think.
“Ilya, where are you? It’s late.” Ilya rubbed his eyes, sleep still heavy on him.
“What?” He’s confused now.
“Your practice ended two hours ago, where are you? Your mama will worry.” Ilya freezes, takes a deep breath.
“Father, what are you talking about?”
“I know you and Alexei had a fight yesterday, but it is no excuse to be late.”
“Father,” he starts.
“Your mama will worry. You’ll worry mama and papa. Come home Ilyushka.” Ilya is ready to throw up, he hasn’t been called that by his father since childhood. Early childhood. He tries to think, tries not to cry. Instead he places the phone on speaker, curling up a little.
“Sorry, papa. Is mama with you?” He read to play along, he’s furiously texting Alexei.
“She was just leaving to get you when I fell asleep. I was up late, needed a nap.”
“Oh papa, mama is coming here?” It’s a painful ask.
“Yes, your mama was worried. You’re too little to be out this late.” He’s swallows hard, looking around his bedroom.
“I am sorry.”
“Stay where you are for her to get you.” He’s instructed despite the fact his father was just scolding him for being late.
“Okay, papa.” He feels eight years old again, his father angrily calling the rink to yell before showing up to yell more.
“Alexei left the rink number. Did you do good at practice?” His father hadn’t asked him that in a very long time.
“Yes papa, I did very good. I tried very hard, promise.” It wasn’t a lie. He had tried very hard at practice.
“Good. Very good. Mama says you’ve been doing very well. We don’t see each other enough, you are always out when you are not supposed to be.”
“I know Papa. I’m sorry.” He wants to cry, he picks at his comforter.
“Just, you worry your mama.”
“I do not mean to.”
“You never mean to do anything, Ilyushka. You just do it.” He remembers his father calling him Ilyushka exactly one time since his mother died. It had been after Ilya was hurt on the ice. He had said it after he believed Ilya was already asleep in bed.
“I know.”
“Is mama there yet?”
“No, no mama is not here yet.”
“She left a while ago. I’m sure she’s fine.” His father sounds like he’s reassuring himself. Ilya hates to hang up on the man who believes he’s about eight or nine years old.
“Papa, I need to call Alexei.”
“Oh. Okay, yes, of course.”
“Papa?” He asks in a moment of bravery.
“Yes?”
“I love you.” He doesn’t say it often, his father doesn’t say it either. This could be the last time he can say it.
“I love you too. See you and mama very soon.” The call ends and Ilya is left reeling. He wants his mama, his wants that version of his papa. Hot tears are down his face and he’s calling Alexei furious.
“What? What do you want?” He asks.
“Why aren’t you with father?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Father fucking called me! Where are you! He thinks mama is coming to get me from practice! What do I pay you for!” He’s shouting, red hot anger over taking. “He thinks mama is still alive! He thinks we are little! Where are you!”
“I have better things to do than listen to you snivel.” Alexei informs him.
“Yes! You do! Go see papa!”
“Oh, he’s papa now?”
“Fuck you.” Ilya shoots at him.
“I’ll go check him you whiney bitch.” He hangs up faster than he thought possible.
Three weeks later is phone is ringing again in the middle of the night. He groans, he left it on the nightstand, he can’t find it in the dark.
“Answer your fucking phone.” Marley practically growls.
“Hello?” He answers.
“Ilya. Ilya where are you?” Ilya is sitting up now.
“Father?”
“The number on the fridge said your name. Where are you?”
“I am at hockey. With Sasha.”
“Oh was Sasha’s number. I am sorry for being worried Ilya. Did mama say you could go?”
“Yes, mama said I could come.”
“Oh. I did not know, I am sorry for bothering you. I will you see you at dinner?” He’s holding his phone gently, trying to picture when his father treated him so nicely.
“Yes papa.”
“Be good. I love you Ilyushka.”
“I love you too papa.” He hangs up and squeezes his eyes as tight as he can. Calling Alexei.
“I’ll take your number off the fucking fridge if you’re going to call every time he does.”
“I pay you to be with him, so be with him.” He hisses, ending the call before Alexei can respond.
“Family shit?” Marley almost gives him a heart attack.
“Yes.” There is no reason to lie to the man.
“That shit is the worst.” Marley rolls back over.
“Yes,” Ilya agrees meekly, “the worst.”
His phone is ringing and he scrambles to answer, Sveta is looking at him like he’s crazy. Maybe he is.
“Who?”
“Hello father.” He has him on speaker, curling in on himself while laying his head on Sveta’s lap. She looks understanding.
“It is late, where are you Ilyushka?” His dad asks and she has her mouth parted in surprise.
“I am sleeping over at Svetlana’s house.” She runs her fingers in his hair.
“It’s late, you do not like the dark. I can send your mama for you.”
“No. No. I’m okay.”
“You do not sound okay.” His father sounds concerned for him.
“It is dark, that is all papa.” The sun is shining in her apartment, he feels her squeeze him.
“Is Sveta still awake?” He feels her brush over his eyebrows.
“No.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Ah, don’t lie to papa. How about a story?” He closes his eyes, he can feel tears burn behind his eyelids.
“Yes please.” He feels Sveta run his hands in his hair as they both listen to his father speak. She keeps kissing the side of his head in reassurance.
“Are you sleepy now Ilyushka?”
“Yes papa. Barely awake.”
“Be good for Gregori. Mama will get you in the morning.”
“I love you.” Ilya whispers.
“I love you too.” The call ends and when Ilya looks up at Sveta’s eyes a sob escapes his mouth.
“Oh Ilya. Ilyusha.” She’s kissing his face and head in an attempt to provide any comfort.
“He doesn’t know where I am. Who I am. Who he is.” He tells her.
“How long?”
“He thought mama tied my bow tie at the Olympics.” It’s a confession, one he had been hiding from her.
“You did not tell me.” She says it plainly.
“Did not want anyone to know.” She adjusts him, so he has to look at her.
“I am not anyone.” She’s right, of course. That bothers him a little, that she’s right.
“I don’t really remember him even liking me, but he must have. How he talks to me, he had to like me right?”
“He had to at one point.” She agrees.
“It is sometimes nice to feel like he liked me.” He confesses.
“You’re allowed to miss him.”
“But I don’t Sveta. I don’t. I want to. I don’t remember him ever talking to me like this! He’s nice! He loves me and loves mama and loves Alexei!” Ilya can feel tears coming back.
“It can change people,” a soft trace of his face, “but it’s okay to want that.”
“I never had it.”
“I know.” She kisses his head again before pausing. “Next time we see Alexei I’m going to kill him.” Ilya finally starts laughing at that.
“Shit. I need to call him. Yell at him.”
“Let me yell.” She offers and Ilya does.