Week 4 of @shanesummerfest
Week 4 prompt: the cottageđĄ 1,559 words
Content warning: minor character death
âMr. Hollander, good to see you!â
Shane steps out of his Land Rover and goes to shake the hand of his project manager, Louis Leblanc. The sun is high, already warming up the Canadian Shield, and the sound of cicadas fills the air.
âYour drive was good?â
Shane looks at the estate before them, the gleaming glass windows and the black Douglas fir paneling, charred in the Yakisugi method to make the wood resistant to insects and rot. Shane had asked them to design the house so that it was part of the landscape, and itâs reflected in the split levels and slanted rooflines that blend in with the tree lines and Lake Muskoka behind it. This is his dream house, the one heâd wanted to build since before the MLH. His cottage. His fortress.
âVery good, thank you,â Shane says.
âWonderful. So today weâre just doing a final walk through before the closing next month. Weâll test all the appliances, make sure everythingâs to your standard, see if any repairs are neededâŠâ Leblanc keeps talking, but its hard for Shane to focus on the words; heâs awestruck by the structure before him.
The front door is unlocked with keys, and Leblanc flips the light switch, even though itâs daylight. âWeâre going to test 50 light switches today,â he jokes. Shane takes in the small entryway, a little cozy corner thatâs been carved out, but even it has a window view.
Elena is the first one through the door, squeezing past Shane as he unlocks it. "Hello, cottage!" she sings, patting the walls affectionately. At three, she's a mess, a tornado of wispy blond curls and glasses and permanently stained clothes.
Hana walks in calmy behind Shane clutching her new stuffed leopard. She's whispering quietly to her toy, introducing it to the space. "This is where we go in the summer. You can sleep in mine and Elena's room." She bears a striking physical resemblance to Yuna, but she's sensitive and shy like Shane was at six, too.
Shane drops the keys into the dish near the door and toes off his sneakers.
"Hannushka! Lenochka! Shoes off!" Ilya calls as he enters last. He sets down the grocery bag he's carrying and shrugs off his jacket. When he goes to hang it on one of the wall hooks, he looks like he's been struck. "Oh."
Shane follows his gaze. Hanging on one of the hooks is a pink leash. They'd probably left it here the last time. They'd had to carry her everywhere then, so it had slipped their minds to take it with them.
"Honey," Shane whispers, wrapping his arms around Ilya from behind and hugging him tightly.
"I'm okay. I'm okay," Ilya croaks.
"S'hard, to be here without her," Shane murmurs, his own eyes swimming with unshed tears. In his suitcase is a small vial with some of Anya's ashes. He wants to sprinkle some around the yard, and on the dock, but heâll need a few days to work up the nerve.
"Yes. She loved it here," Ilya says, wiping his face and sniffling. He squeezes Shane's forearm and looks up at the ceiling for a few seconds, fiddling with his cross, then clears his throat. "Girls, what do you want for lunch?" Ilya calls out, disappearing towards the kitchen.
Shane kisses his fingertips and then touches the leash reverently. "We're home, sweet girl."
Leblanc leads him through the small kitchen. "The cooktops are induction, so you'll want to make sure to get a set of ceramic cookware. We've installed both a convection and a conduction oven, per your request. You like to cook, I take it?"
Shane shrugs. "Not so much, now. But maybe someday, when I have more time."
Leblanc demonstrates how to work all the appliances. "Well, you're all set to cook gourmet meals when you're ready. Good way to impress a woman," he jokes, patting his stomach.
Ilya's melting some butter in a saucepan. Steam rises from the colander in the sink. "Five-minute warning!" he calls out to the den, where the sounds of Bluey are drifting up.
Shane's putting away the cold groceries from the cooler. Itâs a tight space for two six-foot-tall men, but after nearly 17 years, he and Ilya are used to weaving seamlessly around each other here.
Ilya unceremoniously dumps a packet of orange powder into the pan and stirs, frowning. "Shane, is not the right thickness. What am I missing?"
Shane rests his chin over Ilya's shoulder. "Oh. Nothing, you followed the directions right. But I just add some Greek yogurt at the end. Makes it creamier.â
Ilya pretends to gag. "Knew you were sneaking healthy food in there."
Shane laughs and hands him the tub of yogurt. Ilya reluctantly plops some in, but the sauce is soon thicker and creamy, coating the macaroni in a velvety blanket.
"Is good thing I asked. The discerning customers would have sent it back." He spoons a helping of mac and cheese into two silicone kids' bowls, then a bigger helping into his own. "You want some?"
Ilya grabs a small spoon and feeds Shane a bite. Itâs good, pleasantly tangy from the yogurt. A little cheese sauce drips onto the corner of his mouth, and Ilya kisses it off.
"Mmm. Good food, cute staff. Five stars. Would eat here again," Shane purrs, looking up at Ilya through his lashes. He sucks one of Ilyaâs fingers into his mouth.
Ilya swallows. "Later," he promises.
The project manager leads them down a small set of stairs to the two guest rooms and guest bath with a walk-in shower. The architect had inquired if he might consider a tub ("Increases the resale value; some people might want to set up kids down here"), but Shane had wanted the shower, thinking his aging parents might stay here on Christmas mornings.Â
"The rooms are small, but you'd never know it, with all this natural light," Leblanc remarks.Â
Shane lays out folded towels and washcloths for the girls on their twin beds. He smoothes the bedspreads with his hand- a wildflower print for Elena, loons for Hana. The late afternoon light is streaming in, casting a golden hue to the room.Â
Shane closes his eyes, a memory:
Ilya, cradling an infant in his arms, gently rocking and swaying. "Spi, moya radost', usni," he coos.* He catches Shane staring from the door frame and winks. The pink and amber hues of the sky create a halo effect around him. He has purple shadows under his eyes, and his face is greasy, with a patchwork beard coming in, but Shane thinks: gorgeous.
"She asleep?" Shane whispers.
Ilya nods. "We had to take a little bath, after her blowout. Think the warm water helps her tummy."
Shane kisses Ilyaâs shoulder. He smells like musk and baby and sour spit up. "I can take over, let you rest a little."
Ilya looks down at Hana, swipes his thumb across her cheek. "Just a few more minutes."
*âSleep, my joy, sleep.â
"Well, that's all the items on the list. Sign here, and I'll have a copy sent to your realtor," Leblanc says, handing the paperwork and pen to Shane. "You have a girlfriend? Kids? Dog?"
Shane blinks and rubs his eyelashes absently. "Um, no. None of those things yet." Stupidly, he thinks of his last text to Lily, sitting on "read" in his phone.Â
"Well, that's alright. You're so young, you've got time. But a place like this, don't let it be your Fortress of Solitude, eh? A house this beautiful, itâs where your life is supposed to happen." Leblanc winks.
Shane reaches out to shake his hand. "Thank you."
Shane circles back to the den. He pauses at the top of the step, lets his gaze sweep over the cozy scene before him. Ilya is seated on the blue sectional sofa, a child under each arm burrowing into him. His t-shirt has a damp spot on the chest (he likes to scoop up both girls in their towels and carry them around, despite his chronic lumbar strain), and his curls are frizzy from the bathroom steam. The girls' hair is wet and combed, cheeks pink from the bath. A dogeared copy of Corduroy- Shane's very own when he was a boy- is balanced on his knee.Â
"Hey, you," Ilya says softly, looking at Shane delicately. "You ok?"
Shane's eyes are stinging a little. "Yeah," he says hoarsely, then clears his throat. "Perfect." He feels...god, a lot of things: raw, tender, grateful. Incredulous, that this life, the one he hadn't even allowed himself to want, is his. That the cottage only became a home the day Ilya first set foot in it.
He goes to join them on the sofa, tucking Elena to his side. She smells like lavender soap and oatmeal lotion, and her skin is warm from an afternoon of swimming in the lake. Ilya leans over to press a kiss to Shane's temple, then continues reading the story.
"Corduroy blinked. There was a chair and a chest of drawers, and alongside a girl-sized bed stood a little bed just the right size for him. The room was small, nothing like that enormous palace in the department store. "This must be home," he said. "I know I've always wanted a home.â
