38: Just the Tomatoes are Burnt

MILO

Green paint. Peeling green paint.

"He hasn't done any work since we left, has he?" I ask Rey. She shrugs.

"No, not any."

We headed back for an early dinner with the Svoboda's before they wished us luck with Dad. I had always only halfway missed Mrs Svoboda's cooking. She was good at it, mostly culture accurate dishes, but they packed quite the punch to the gut and I have a funky little feeling I'm going to be feeling that bread in the pit of my stomach for a couple days. It's delicious, I will not lie, but oof.

I pull in a sharp breath. "Here goes nothing, huh?"

"Yeah, here it goes," Rey grabs the door and pulls it open. It still creaks. "Dad!"

"Hey Rey!" He calls. "C'mere I think I burnt the soup but you gotta tell me if you think I did." I almost stop breathing, alarmed and met with a wave of deja vu that's so potent I swear I can feel it hit me physically.

"Can you come here?"

"No, m'busy." He calls back. "Just- give me a second, I've got... things in my hands."

Rey looks up at me. "We should just walk in there."

"Yeah, probably."

"Who's with you, Rey? Haven't heard that voice before."

Rey starts walking toward the kitchen but I haven't gotten over the entryway. Smaller. It's so much smaller. I run my fingers over the shelf on the side of the door, a fringe of dust, and... photos. My hand shakes as I reach for it, one of the last full family photos I know of.

Rey grabs my hand, pulling me gently away from the pictures of her in high school and Dad, the first time I've seen him since thirteen, and-

"Milo," she mumbles. "C'mon. More time to look later."

"I-I-" I peel my eyes away, looking up to see the door frame to the living room is still sort of coming away from the siding. She pulls me gently into the living room and it's like a fucking time capsule. He hasn't changed a single thing, that's still the same couch and the same-

My first goalie stick is still leaning in the corner. I swallow the knot in my throat.

"Dad," it catches my attention back, Reyna is pulling me through the door to the kitchen.

Then I'm caught, because that's sure as fucking hell my father. It's me. Staring me right in the face. Salt and pepper hair, aged up a little but... me.

"Uh-" I clear my throat. "Hi."

The spoon he was holding clatters into the pot of soup, hand flying to his mouth. For a moment, all we can do is stare. My sight catches on the battered up wedding band still around his finger, a pang going through my heart knowing mom hasn't worn hers since she left. I take in his almost military haircut, not a strand has changed position, only color. His eyes are tired, more exhausted than I've ever seen anyone's before now.

All I can do is stare. He's shorter than me. That was my thing as a kid, I wanted to be taller.

I guess I'm taller.

"Milo..." he mumbles, then reaches out, up, really, setting his hand on the side of my face.

I know anything I say will come out as stupid so I just smile, barely able to conceptualize what's going on.

He slips his hand around to the back of my neck and then yanks me down into the fiercest hug I've gotten all day. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't, I didn't know what I was saying, I know nothing can-can forgive what I did and I'll die sorry for it but I-"

"Shh," I mumble, dazed. "You're alright. It's over. It was ten years ago, it doesn't matter to me anymore."

He tightens his grip around me. "You look like your mother."

He's smaller than me by maybe an inch or so but we're built the same. All the way up.

Dad pulls back, cupping my face with his hands to give me a thorough inspection. "How's- how's Helen, I- please don't tell me there's a reason she's not here with..." he can't finish it and I watch his heart break further in real time.

"No, no," I respond quickly. "She's in Canada, she lives near me."

"Oh thank god." he lets out in one breath. "How is she?"

"Good," I say. "Great, actually, she works for the school and helps my friend out with his sister. It's... she's doing great."

He just nods. "Always knew she would be." My dad pulls in a long breath, wiping the tears out from under his eyes. "And you! You're so tall and healthy and, god," he runs his hands down my arms. "How... how is it in Canada? What are you doing up there? Why are you home all of a sudden? What's going on?"

I shrug. "I uh, I play pro hockey, and it's... it's good in Canada. I'm home because a couple things in my life changed a little recently and I finally felt... ready... almost, to be back here and all that."

"Pro hockey. I can't believe your mother let you do that."

"Ah," I pause. "Yeah, barely."

"But, that's," he runs his hand through his hair in utter disbelief. "Wow, that's... I'm so proud of you, oh my god, wow."

I smile at that. "Thanks."

"And, and how's, god, I'm so sorry, Miloš," he cups my cheek again. "I'm so sorry."

"S'okay."

"How is it? Do you have a lot of friends? Did- god, did Helen find good friends out there? Did- I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, I have a lot of friends," I respond. "And mom, well, uh, I mean, you know mom."

Another few tears drop from his eyes, he reaches up to swat them away. "I do, I do know your mother." He pulls in a breath, fending off more tears but he's basically out of control of them. "And you got so big! And grown up! And I, god, I never expected to see you again and part of me thought that if I did I'd see you at thirteen and that's just-" His chest inflates quickly, trying to keep breathing. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, Dad, you did burn the soup." Rey is leaning against the counter, spoon in her mouth, interrupting the conversation much to my relief. I don't know how to accept apologies or even discuss them in the proper way so she just saved my ass.

"Really?" he looks over at her. "Because I thought it was just one side."

"Let him try it, maybe he's got a different opinion." Rey hands me a spoon. "Go for it."

I glance down at the soup, then get myself a spoonful. I should've waited at least a few seconds because it burns the second it touches my tongue.

"Fuck, hot." I swear.

"Milo!" Dad scolds. "Oh, sorry, not my spot."

I've got my head tipped back, trying to breathe over the hot soup. "You're fine, Mom yells at me too for that." I splutter, then swallow. "It's burnt. So's my tongue."

"Really? Damn I was hoping it was just my spoonful." Dad takes another spoonful and then does what I just did, sticking it straight in his mouth before trying to pull the fire breathing dragon to get it to cool down. "I can't tell if it's just the potatoes or if-"

"It's the tomato." Rey says, taking another small spoonful. "I think you had the tomato on the skillet too long. It's twangy."

"Yeah," I point my spoon at her. "That's it."

"Damn," Dad mumbles, fiddling with his spoon. "If we just eat around them do you think it would work?"

"Yeah," I say. Rey nods with me.

"So are you two going to discuss what happened ten years ago or are you going to let it... sit." Rey looks between us. "To be honest I don't remember any of what actually happened."

"I don't really either, but, that's because of the amount of blunt force trauma to the head I've had since then." I joke. "I take a ringer to the bucket and I lose a few details every time."

"I can't believe your mother let you do that," Dad mumbles again, pulling bowls and a ladle out of the cabinets. Nothing is organized properly and I stare for a moment, noticing the ladles with the bowls. He should know I also keep my ladles in with my bowls when I remember to put them away. "She never liked you playing hockey in the first place. 'Bout gave her an aneurism when you wanted to be a goalie."

"Actually the most surprising thing Mom let me do was move out at 16 and play in a league where my home base was like four hours away." I let him hand me a bowl of soup, hoping that the burnt tomatoes somewhat dissolve the Svoboda's bread. "That was weird."

He frowns. "Yeah that does not sound remotely like what I know of her at all."

"I mean she moved to Flint within the year to keep a wandering eye on me but letting me go into Major Juniors? That was an odd moment. I mean I guess it was inevitable, I was drafted top ten and was one of the highest drafted goalies in years, so I doubt she would've been able to stop me, but, you know."

"How high were you drafted in the actual pros?" Rey asks, sitting down at the table.

"Uh," I take a spot across from her, nostalgia hitting me straight in the face. "Top of the second round. I was a double-bet draft. The Bruins wanted to keep me and my buddy Steph together because of the way we play as a goalie/defense duo, so they took him seventh overall and me 36th. I was bumped right up to pros because they needed backup roster-filler goalies and he was brought up halfway through the year for an injury." I take a spoonful of soup, ignoring the weird sour tomato.

"At least it's not American football." Rey comments.

"That shi-" I stop. "That stuff's crazy. They make us watch the Superbowl, or not make, but the Americans throw a party almost every year to watch the Superbowl and I don't ever have any idea what's going on and then the commercials and the half time show are the only interesting part. It takes like five hours. What sport could possibly take five hours? But Steph's tried to indoctrinate me into being a Patriots fan and Finnie is on the other side trying to get me to go for the Vikings and Greenie is a Raiders fan? I have no idea." I clear my throat. "All I know is that I go because the snacks are fantastic. They make these tiny little hotdogs in like barbecue sauce? Dunno, it's me and toothpicks for tiny sausages for four hours. Also the chips and dip are absolutely fantastic. I highly recommend making friends with Americans for the sole purpose of their off-brand cultural food. German sausage? Yes. Accurate in the slightest? No. Swedish people on the other hand? Don't make friends with them for their food. I've eaten nothing but white fish for three weeks."

"You came here from Sweden?" Dad seems confused. "Why?"

"I uh," I clear my throat. Is this acceptable territory? I have no idea. "I went to my boyfriend's sister's wedding."

"What?" He tips his head. "Sorry you said that really fast I didn't catch it."

"I was at a wedding."

"For who?"

"My uh," I glance at Reyna and she shrugs, giving me an 'it's probably fine' look. Probably is not cutting it but I decide to try my luck. "My boyfriend's sister. Point is!" I change the topic. "Point is that their food is very bland to some extent. Same energy as trying to live through war with that lack of flavor."

Rey asks a followup question to further the topic away from the boyfriend line I pulled. "So you've eaten just fish for weeks?"

"Mostly, fish and then I had elk at a couple points."

"They actually eat elk?"

"Apparently," I shrug. "It wasn't fantastic but it kinda tasted a little like veal in a way. I s'pose that's what I should've expected, they're like huge deer." I consider introducing the concept of beef on weck but I presume they will not understand the sheer extent to which I will travel the night of a game in Buffalo to get myself some. I get to Buffalo and I ignore the Sabres and go right for the sandwiches." I clear my throat. My head is slipping back into Czech rather easily for what I expected but it's still not perfect. A long sentence is somewhat triumphant in my head and that's not exactly what I need. I need long sentences to be normal.

My dad is still frowning. "You know I'm not going to freak out if you say you went with your boyfriend to the wedding, right? I'm okay with that."

"Oh thank god." I let out in a rush. "Yeah, I- I ah."

"How, uh," he clears his throat, then in a quick rush of words I don't really catch: "how long have you been with him?"

"What?"

"How long have you been with him?"

"Uh, about half a year now." I clear my throat. "He's on the team with me, probably not the best choice of boyfriend I could've made out of position, but I love him more than anything."

"That's... great, yeah,"

"Guys this is painful to watch." Reyna announces. "Milo show him some pictures or something, you went on a rant about this guy like an hour ago. Also Dad you don't need to be so scared of talking about this, you're okay."

We both stare at her for a couple seconds until I manage to get the courage to wiggle my phone out of my pocket, praying to god he decides not to scroll on my camera roll because there's a couple images in there that he should NOT see considering I haven't spoken to him in ten years and that the last time I talked to him he was a raging homophobe he should not be privy to seeing pictures of my boyfriend half-stripped. Because ew. I mean technically we're both legal adults by a significant margin and we can have those... specific... types of images of each other free reign all things consenting (though I have no idea what it means for international commerce because the laws Canada to Czechia to Sweden have to be different). He just shouldn't see. For the love of god.

"Here's, yeah," I slide it across the table, making sure to keep it face up so I know if he's preparing to swipe or not. "That's him and I at the wedding, his name's HÃ¥kon, he's the sweetest thing."

"Wow he's tall." Dad mumbles. "I thought you were tall and now he's taller? Impressive."

"Yeah," I'm watching the phone closely. "He's 199cm."

Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow, oh my god, does he fit anywhere? Doorframes? Cars? I can't imagine flying and you, with hockey, you have to fly a lot don't you?"

"Yeah," I blush. "He's inconveniently tall for a lot of things. But our flights are private with the team so we have a different plane and so it's normally not uncomfortable. My team's on the tall side too, he's one of the biggest but we've got another two guys and the EMT all around 198cm." Six foot six. I had to memorize imperial as well as normal measurements when I came to Canada and that was never easy to get back and forth between. Czech and english? Sure. 6'6 and 198cm? No.

"Oh-" Dad looks up at me, then back down at the phone. I pull it back over toward me and hit the answer button.

"Hey Steph."

"Yo." He responds, clearly chewing on something. "If you were me, and you were to lose a set of keys, where would you have put them?"

"I dunno check your coat pockets."

"S'July."

"And? You live in Canada."

"I haven't worn a jacket since June." He pauses. "Oh fuck wait you're in the Czech Republic aren't you, uh," he clears his throat over whatever he was eating. "How's that going?"

"You should check the top of the fridge, and it's going well."

"Why would I put my keys on the fr-" he stops. "Ah shit yeah they're right here. Well, you said? So you're not like getting kidnapped so that's good."

I look between my dad and sister and hold up a finger, telling them to pause for a minute. "Yeah, no I'm actually at dinner with my dad and Rey right now-"

"Fuck do you need to go do that? I can hang up, I've got the keys."

"No no you're good, you can say hi." I look up at the two of them, setting my phone down on the table and hitting speaker. "Dad, Rey, this is Steph, he's my best friend."

"Hi guys, sorry for interrupting dinner." He clears his throat on the other side.

Rey blinks for a second, then looks up at me. "Neither of us speak very good english, I'll tell you that now."

"Oh, okay, yeah, he says hi."

"Who?" my dad is confused. Fuck, because I introduced him in english.

"This is my best friend, the one I've known since 16. Steph."

"Ah," My dad nods. "I don't speak english very well."

"S'okay." I respond, then turn back down to Steph. "Alright, bud, you find your keys alright? I'm gonna have to go pretty soon if that's cool."

"Yeah no that's fine," he yawns. "Hey and Czech still sounds stupid, thought you should know my opinion stands."

"Rude, your accent sounds stupid."

"New England accents are normal!"

"Learn how to keep the Rs at the ends of words and maybe then we can chat about linguistics."

"Haha." he says, flatly. "Where's HÃ¥k?"

"Sweden?"

"Oh, shit, right, I dunno why I keep assuming he's tagging along with you, anyway, I should probably go, August is trying to call me on the same line, enjoy dinner and call me back when you get the chance to, I want details."

"Right on."

"Mhmm, kay, bye."

"Bye." I say and he drops the line. "He lost his keys."

"And he asked you?" Rey raises her eyebrows. "Why would you know?"

"I have no idea, but we do this to each other a lot so it's kinda muscle memory."

"Cute."

"So okay, wait," my dad interrupts. "That's your... best friend... right, and then the tall one is your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, here," I pull out another photo, me and Steph and HÃ¥kon all together to maybe help with the situation. "Steph's the shortest, I'm in the middle, then HÃ¥kon is the tall one."

"Yeah," he nods. "Okay, so Steph is the little one and your boyfriend is the one missing teeth."

"Well Steph's missing teeth too but they're just chipped really badly. Out of the three of us I'm the only one with all my teeth in tact."

"Very hockey of you."

***

i know this is three hours late but that's not important what's important is that i hate studying american government because all the stuff we can fix to make the country better is physically not possible thanks to the constitution. :) universal healthcare? can't make it federal because it's not interstate commerce and it violates several little thingies here and there and would take a whole amendment to add it to our existing tax distribution (i think) disgusting. but do keep in mind im learning government virtually so this might not be accurate.

also like i know the constitution could use a good strong edit but i have no idea the first thing about political theory so i can't do it myself. like i'd love to fix it but also i need to do like a lifetime of work in political theory to come up with accurate and non-damaging edits that wont alter the careful balance of powers between the states and the branches of government. also the executive branch is far too powerful.

in this essay-

i'm kidding but if you seriously want the essay i'm like .03 seconds away from sitting down and grinding through a whole novel on 101 things wrong with the united states and how to fix them.

-sincerely your friendly neighborhood politically frustrated author

-rabid