by R J Scott
“I’m paying peppermint homage to the King,” I told them, hurrying to them to shake their hands soundly. Adler snorted. I gave him a confused look.
“I’m allergic to desert dust,” Adler replied.
“Oh no, that is most bad. This city has much desert dust,” I said and clapped Adler on the shoulder. “Do not blow nose on lapels. They are scratchy and rental company is not for refunding cash when nose dribble is found.”
The guys all smiled tightly. I wondered if their bow ties were too itchy like Pavel said his was. I walked through the small gathering of my teammates and their beloveds, Erik at my side, thanking newcomers for flying out to join us and the team. Trent flitted around the chapel, tossing glitter into the air because it was lacking the wonderful queer touch that he felt glitter gave everything, such as his eyelids, his lips, his hair, and the shoulders of his plum-and-yellow suit.
“We’re so not doing red tuxes at our wedding,” I heard Tennant whisper to Jared.
“Can you not find red for your nuptials?” I asked. Ten’s green eyes flared. “I can recommend rental place in Carlisle where I find these.” I tugged on my sparkly lapels.
“Oh, wow, that’s awesome and all, but…uhm…Mads is allergic to red material, big guy,” Ten said with a faulty smile.
I looked at Jared. “Yes. Severe allergy to red material,” Mads quickly agreed.
“What a pity shame. So many allergies to things people have.” I sighed, while Erik mumbled something to Ten and led me to stand between the pews. Eva walked down the aisle throwing glitter on the thick carpeting. Pavel followed, his bow tie missing, hand in hand with Noah, both carrying a small pillow with our bands fastened to them. Then the best man and the wedding boys walked down. We had no handmaidens to march with Ten and the others down the aisle to the preacher, just my sister, who was the matron of honor. But this was not a regular boring wedding. It was a Vegas wedding, and so who cared if we didn’t follow all the rules?
With Erik on my arm, I walked down the glitter path. Trent stood and threw more on us as we passed, then sat and sniffled into a purple hankie. I patted Mama’s smooth cheek as we walked by. She too was crying into a hankie. Galina stood across from Tennant, the matron of honor and the best man, facing each other. The children had taken their seats by Mama and Mads in the front row. The rest of the team filled the other pews, all very glittery. I waved at my guests. They chuckled and waved back. Then the officiant appeared from behind two golden curtains.
He was a fine man, tall but pudgy, with a thick, black pompadour wig, sunglasses, and a tight white jumpsuit with gold wedding bells all over it. The bells were sequins and caught the flashing lights that were now rolling. I felt as if I were on stage with my idol. A grin broke out over my face that I couldn’t stop. Erik smiled up at me, his pretty eyes shiny with emotion as the preacher began to sing his part of the ceremony. He sang about how he was thrilled to be the voice of conviction that every relationship between two human beings is a celebration and public affirmation. Then he sang about silent, unspeakable memories and how two souls joined in love will share with each other in gladness and sorrows.
“Are you two ready to speak your vows?” Judge Elvis asked. We both nodded, turned to face each other, and linked our hands.
“Stan, I know we’re keeping this short because what more could we say to each other here that we haven’t said to each other in the past? I love you, our children, and our life, and I will honor our vows and our love for each other until death do us part. You’re my light, my life, and my soul mate.”
I kissed him.
“We’re not at that part yet,” Judge Elvis whispered, which made everyone in attendance giggle.
“But his lips are so pretty, and his words moved me,” I explained but leaned away from Erik for a bit. “My words are not so refined as yours, my beloved. I only know that in my heart my adoration for you beats like a steady drum. I shall make you happy all the days of my lives and search for tomorrow with you at my side. With all our children, we shall stay young and restless. I now will marry you and kiss you many time while we drink champagne.”
Again, everyone laughed. I smiled as well. My vows were wonderful. I could see how much Erik had enjoyed them. I’d watched hours of American daytime soap operas—which are famous for romancing housewives and lost twins appearing out of the fog—to hone my words into perfection.
Ten handed the rings to Judge Elvis, who I later learned was not really named Elvis. His name was His Honor Avery, and he was a real retired judge/minister who traveled the country making dream weddings for Elvis fans come true. Just like mine. I slid a band onto Erik’s finger, and he did the same for me. Judge Elvis blessed our rings, our union, and our new marriage.
“Now you can kiss your husband.” Judge Elvis laughed.
And so I did. I took Erik in my arms, bent him back into a big dip, and covered his mouth with mine, kissing him breathless as everyone clapped and threw more glitter.
We got our license signed, paid Judge Elvis His Honor Avery, and went back to the Venetian Hotel, where we all drank lots of bubbly, ate shrimp the size of water bottles, played blackjack, danced with a showgirl with feathers on her butt, and left the children with my sister and her husband. Mama had already taken root by a slot machine with a bucket of quarters and a bottle of champagne and could be heard yelling, “No whammies!” at the top of her lungs clear across the lobby.
I pulled Erik into our room. It was the newlywed suite, and it was sinfully luxurious. It had a view of the Strip and a big round bed that vibrated and moved. Our fingers were entwined, our bow ties in our pockets, and our rings shiny and new. I gently tugged my husband to the window, spun him to face me, and captured his glittery face between my hands. He looked up and into my soul.
“I love you so much right now,” I whispered, my fingertips resting on his jaw, the rub of his new gold whiskers lighting a fire in my belly.
“Just right now?” His hands lighted on my hips.
“Mm, no, not just right now. Always. Always and forever.”
I led his mouth to mine and kissed him deeply to seal the vows that we’d just made in front of Mama, our children, our teammates, God, and Elvis.
Epilogue
Erik
I didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified as we waited to hit the ice against Ottawa. The excitement of getting out there was all-consuming normally, but I was in the starting lineup, and right next to me was Ten. That was what scared me. Who thought it was a good idea to move me to the first line and to be Ten’s winger along with Lee Addison on his other side?
What if I fuck up?
What if I leave him exposed to a whole push of stampeding defensemen who decided he was fragile and vulnerable? Or worse, what if I hurt him? What if I slap shot a puck right into his head?
Not that he shouldn’t have been on the ice. He’d been cleared to play, had passed every test, was fit and ready, and visibly vibrating with excitement to get out.
“Watch him,” I mouthed to Arvy, our starting defenseman, there to keep people away from Ten. Well, that wasn’t his job completely, but we’d already talked about how to protect Ten, what not to do, what we should do, and I think he was on the same page as me. I moved from side to side on my skates, looking up at the big figure of Stan, who always led us onto the ice. What I wouldn’t give for one last Stan’ism about how Ten was fine and that he was ready to get back on the ice.
“Stop,” Ten snapped at me, and I blinked up at him.
“What?”
“And you,” he said and pointed right at Arvy, who pasted an innocent expression on his face.
“Me?” Arvy asked and tapped his chest with his glove.
“I’m cleared to skate. I’m okay.”
He wasn’t entirely okay. Yes, he’d been cleared to go back on the ice, and he was one hundred percent fit, but there was that lingering inability to get some of his words right. It didn’t happen often, only when he tried to use a lo
ng word, and only when he wasn’t skating. The docs said that might stay with him, but he would learn how to handle it. I waited for the vulnerability to show tonight, but as soon as he strapped on skates, he became before-the-accident-Ten.
“We’re not doing anything,” I lied.
Ten tapped his stick on my calf. “Play the game, okay?”
Cheers grew in volume around the arena. Ten’s first game back was on home ice, and eighteen thousand Railers fans were out there waiting to witness his return, and then the line began to move through the tunnel, and finally, Ten was on the ice, skating to the center, where our line would stand for the national anthem. The fans had already seen him in uniform tonight, in our warmups, but this? Everyone on their feet, a hundred Welcome Back, Ten signs, cheering, shouting, and I moved a little closer to Ten, bumping shoulders with him. I didn’t have to use words. I could see a tear on his face and the way he held himself, so strong and certain. He raised his stick in salute, and the cheers were impossibly louder. Stan skated around us, stopping in front of Ten, and they touched helmets before Stan skated backward to his net and stood silent for the anthem.
And then we played.
At first, I was nervous. It was me who turned over the puck. It was me who gave our rivals the first chance at shooting on Stan, an attempted goal that he stopped with ease.
I need to get my head in the game. Shake this off.
The Ottawa side was pushing hard, our line on the defensive, and I knew that wasn’t sitting right with Ten; he was pissed. I could see it in the way he threw himself onto the bench. Hell, it wasn’t sitting right with me either.
“What the fuck,” Ten snapped. He wasn’t talking to anyone, just to himself, his expression one of fixed determination. Ten needed to play. He needed to push forward, score goals—it was what he was made for. And what was I doing to help him? Nothing. All I was doing was fucking things up on his wing. This had to change. When we went over the boards the second time, it was different. It had to be, and I could feel the purpose in Ten, and Addison and I were there, and it was beautiful. Addison collected the puck on an Ottawa turnover, passed to me. I avoided a big D-man, pushing hard, finding Ten, shoveling the puck to him. He collected it outside the blue paint, one of the Ottawa D’s on his ass, and he passed it to an empty space, finding me. I could feel this goal; somehow I knew. Their biggest D checked me, but he was too late. The puck was off my stick, heading to Ten.
Ten corralled the puck with his skate, then steering one hand, using his body to keep off the D who crowded him, he redirected the puck on his backhand, shot hard. His angle was off, the puck hitting the pipes, and I skated hard to collect the rebound, but Ten was there already, dancing around the defense. He batted it out of midair, his stick low, on the backhand, and he tipped the puck in, right over the stick of the out-of-place goalie. The celebration for that goal was intense. We hugged so damn hard, and when he skated to the rest of the team for fist bumps, he was grinning from ear to ear. The crowd went mad, the shouting and clapping and whistling so loud, and hell, it seemed to last forever.
Ten was back, and he was on fire.
We won the game five goals to nothing. Stan with a shutout. Ten with two goals. Celebration was a given, and we piled into the locker rooms with smiles and laughter, everyone on a high. I found a space next to Stan, who was grinning so wide I thought it must’ve hurt.
“Ten is God,” he announced.
“He is.”
“Afraid of nothing, like good Russian skater.” We bumped elbows. “Except for bears,” Stan added and frowned. “All Russians must be big afraid of growly black bears. This is much good thing.”
That was my Stan, and I loved him for all his words and his kisses and his big Russian heart.
“You play like hockey hero tonight also,” Stan pointed out and leaned into me. “Noah, Eva, and Pavel will be much proud.”
“They’ll be proud of your shutout as well,” I murmured and kissed his cheek.
He turned his head and captured a quick kiss from me. “Love you.”
“I love you, too, big man.”
Stan
February in Pennsylvania could be very wintery. A big snowstorm had blown in earlier, leaving Hershey, Harrisburg, and all of the state covered with sixteen inches of snow. The game against Pittsburgh had been canceled so that meant a night at home with my family. My favorite kind of night.
We were all gathered in the playroom, a large area on the first floor that used to be a formal dining room. What need did we have of a formal dining room? We always ate in the big kitchen, warmed by the oven and the glow of Mama’s home cooking. The playroom was really just a room filled with toys and a small child’s table with matching chairs. There was a rocking chair in the corner, which was Mama’s. Tonight she was rocking and knitting, humming Kalinka, an old Russian folk song she always returned to when she was content. I loved that song as well and started singing it softly, getting smiles from Eva and Pavel, who were seated at the small table with me. We were doing homework. Noah was seated with us, but he was making scribbles on his paper. Eva was doing math problems, and Pavel was working on English. Professor Pete was doing amazing things with them both, and we were confident they would be able to go to American schools come fall.
“Little snowberry, snowberry, snowberry of mine,” I cooed to Noah. His eyes lit up, and I touched his button nose. Then I sang it in Russian again, and our little rabbit sang it back to me in my native tongue. “You are such smart children!”
“Stan, are you singing when you’re supposed to be studying?” Erik asked, walking into the room after loading the dishwasher and wiping down the table. We took turns. Mama cooked, so Mama shouldn’t have to clean up.
“I am waiting for you to flash me,” I said, wishing the tiny plastic chair I was sitting on was larger. My legs were splayed out to the sides and my back bowed as I tried to write answers to my test questions on my paper.
“You mean you want me to use the flash cards,” Erik said, with a chuckle. “I don’t think Mama wants anyone flashing.”
Mama smiled and rocked, her sweater for Pavel taking shape slowly. She might have it done by summertime.
“Yes, use the flash cards. Flash card me. I have studied most hard.” I sat back and folded my arms over my chest. Eva and Pavel wiggled in their seats, obviously bored with their lessons and looking for any diversion. “You listen to me, close with sharp ears,” I told the three children. “And see how smart your pappa is for citizenship test when he can take it in summer.”
Erik pulled a beanbag chair over to the table and fell back into it, making all the little ones laugh. When he was settled and had his phone, I cleared my throat and nodded at my beloved to begin.
“What is the supreme law of the land?” His sky-blue eyes flickered from his phone to me.
“The Constitution,” I replied quickly.
Erik bobbed his head. Everyone clapped, even Noah, although he wasn’t sure why he was clapping. He was just a happy bunny and liked to clap.
“Very good. And what does the Constitution do?” Erik asked. His cheeks were pink and his eyes bright. His curls were especially bouncy. Thinking of his curls made me want to run my fingers through them as he sucked on my— “Stan? What does the Constitution do?”
“Oh, sorry, my mind was picking wools. The Constitution sets up the government, defines the government, and protects basic rights of all Americans.”
“That’s right.” Erik smiled at me. I lowered my head in recognition of all the applause. “What is one reason colonists came to America?”
“There are many such as religious freedom, political liberty, economic opportunity, and to escape persecution.”
“Right again. You’ve really been studying hard. Uhm,” He flicked through the online questions. “Okay, how many justices are on the Supreme Court?”
“Nine.”
“Man, you’re hard to stump,” Erik said as I bowed to the clapping from my family. “Name the
U. S. war between the North and the South.”
“Too much easy. The Civil War. Is fought over slavery, which is most bad, little ones.” They all nodded, even Noah and Pavel, who, I am sure, did not quite understand the horrors of slavery. “Hit me for one more, and then we must wrap up homework and get baths.”
Pavel made a face. Noah drew a circle on the table with a purple crayon, and Eva giggled at the face her brother made. How wonderful it was that the only worry my sweet ones had now was how much a certain young man hated his bath or which color lip gloss to buy.
“Right, we’re going to watch the Elvis Aloha show,” Erik said as a reminder to the children.
“Elvis Aloha from Hawaii,” I gently corrected. My husband made a face at me that Noah found extremely amusing. “Hit me for one more question.”
“When was the Declaration of Independence adopted?”
“July 4th, 1776!”
“Yes!” Erik hooted with glee. I leaped to my feet to celebrate, but the chair stuck to my butt, and I couldn’t shake it free. The children and Mama roared with laughter as I wiggled my backside to try to shake the blue plastic chair off. Finally Erik, who was crying from laughing so hard, stood and grabbed the chair. With a firm yank, my butt popped free.
“I have free butt now!” I shouted and threw my arms into the air. The children all jumped up as well and began dancing and singing a new song, the Pappa Has a Free Butt song, which was quite clever, if I did say so myself, but I am biased. They ran at me, and I gathered them all into a bear hug, down on one knee, my arms filled with the wonderful hat trick of children that now filled my life.
“Come here. Family hugs are not family hugs without whole family,” I called to Erik and Mama. Mama wiggled between her grandchildren, kissing each head. Erik slid under my arm on the left, gathered Pavel to his side, and tipped his face up to smile at me. I couldn’t help myself. I pressed my lips to his, just for a tiny kiss, but the love I had for him was anything but small. It was huge, just like the hug and happy home we were all sharing.