The phone rang twice before the receptionist picked up and transferred me.
“Äiti?” I said, already standing, already pacing. “ ?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” she said, quick and practiced in English—her first language. She’d kept her American passport after marrying my father and later added a Finnish one, but English was the language she had given me. No matter how much my father forced Finnish into my mouth, she nudged me back toward English, gentle but insistent, as if reminding me where I came from mattered.
I was born in the US to an American mom. That should have been simple. But being half Finnish meant Aarni, and Aarni poisoned everything he touched. I’d tried—God, I’d tried—to love Finland. I visited every summer, loved the lakes, the quiet, the honesty of one of the most beautiful places on Earth. A country that deserved better than the way it had been used as acage for my mom by my controlling father. Now, all it was to me was the place that trapped my mother, the place Aarni’s shadow still ruled, and I hated that more than I hated him.
“Just another small flare, is all.”
I heard the tremor beneath the words, the careful spacing of her breaths, the fatigue she was trying not to give voice to.
“I wish you’d called me. I wish I were there,” I said, the words coming out rougher than I meant them to. “I want to be there.”
I wish you were here with me in the US, Mom.
“Oh, Jari,” she said softly, and I could picture her smile, the one she used when she wanted to make every awful thing feel smaller than it was. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be with your career and playing the game you love, and you'll see me in the summer.”
If only she knew the truth. I hated the game that had stolen my childhood as soon as I'd begun to understand who my father was. I hated the parts of me that were good on the ice. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the wall. Fuck the cost. Fuck the numbers, the contracts, and what my father thought he owned. It was already costing thousands a month in that private facility, and if it took more—if it took everything—I’d find a way. I always had.
“I just want to hug you,” I said quietly. “I wish you were here with me. I wish I could… hold you for a minute.”
There was a pause, filled with static and distance and everything I couldn’t fix.
“I know,” she said. “And I wish that too. But, darling, I love you, and it makes me so proud to see you with your new team. How are they? Is it better? I was worried after…”
“It’s amazing,” I lied, the word coming out too easily. “They’re welcoming. I can see myself here for a while.” I leaned into the lie because it was kinder than the truth, because she needed to hear that I was safe, that something in my life wassteady. “I met Tennant Rowe, and he said that I belonged there.” But even as I said it, doubt pressed in. I had no idea if the Railers would keep me on, no sense of how long goodwill lasted before a player became a risk, a problem, a name that stopped getting written on lineup cards. I’d felt that slide before. I knew how fast it could happen.
“That sweet man,” she murmured.
“I met someone, Mom,” I half-whispered.
“You have? Oh, darling, that is amazing, are they nice?” She used they, because outside of me and now Cam, she was the only one who knew I was gay.
Nice? Cam was more than nice, he was…
I didn’t have the words.
“I’m having fun,” I said instead, which was lame, but she chuckled.
“I’m glad.”
I snapped my watch closed, then opened it again, the small, familiar motion grounding and useless all at once. The lies sat heavy in my chest—not because they fooled her, but because I needed them to.
“You’re very quiet, Jari. Areyouokay?” she asked, turning the question back on me, the same as she always did.
“Yes, Mom,” I said, even though the word tasted like another lie. “I am. I love you.” Then I couldn’t help myself. “Mom, I want to be the primary emergency contact for you,” I blurted, and she sighed.
We'd had this conversation so many times since I was ten and first realized she was ill before she was diagnosed. I wanted to be the one to care for her. She sighed again, soft and tired, the sound wrapped in affection and resignation. She told me every time I brought this up that she still loved my father in her own way, because loving him was easier than untangling decades of habit, easier than admitting how much damage had been done.It was simpler, she said, if things stayed the same—if she didn’t fight, didn’t change the balance, didn’t give him another reason to be angry or controlling. Keeping the peace took less energy than starting a war she no longer had the strength to finish.
“I refuse to worry you, my darling,” she added gently, as though it was a promise she’d made to herself as much as me.
“Well, what if Iwantto be worried?” I snapped the words out before I could stop them. The silence that followed was immediate and heavy, and I knew I’d crossed a line. “I didn’t mean that,” I said quickly. “I’m sorry. I just?—”
“I know,” she said, and this time the sigh held no reproach, only understanding. “I know, Jari.” There was a pause, then the practical tone she used when she needed to end a call before emotion overwhelmed her. “I have therapy soon. I should go.”
“Äiti—”
“I love you too, Jari, always,” she said, and the line went quiet.
