Sharks and Minnows
Eight
-30 Weeks, May 19th-
Noemi is restless and irritable. When she isn’t exhausted she’s trying desperately to get the room ready for the boys, even though the guys and I have painted and set up all of the furniture already. We constantly keep a bag by the door, just in case she goes early. The doctors said that its always a risk with multiples.
“Gdelistov ?” (Where are the sheets?) she calls from the nursery. I walk in and take the sheets down from the closet shelf.
“Eti dobrye?” (These good?) I ask, handing her the blue sheets.
“Da, spasibo,” (Yes, thank you) she smiles, unfolding them and putting them around each of the crib mattresses. I’m glad that we’ve gotten a big house, because the nursery is cramped with three cribs and a changing table. There are 6 bedrooms in the house, which means that the boys will have a lot of breathing room when they get older. The backyard is spacious, there is a nice basement, and Noemi is happy here. I hug her tightly and kiss the top of her head.
“You look beautiful today,” I mutter, causing her to blush.
“What are you talking about? I’m huge and pregnant,” she chuckles. I place a hand on her stomach and kiss her neck.
“Yeah, well that’s part of it,” I admit. It’s true. She was always beautiful to me, but when she finally started showing her beauty changed. She was carrying my children. Our family. It made me nervous, but I melted every time I looked at her.
“Shut up and go get ready for the game babe. You guys better flatten the Pens tonight. I want our babies baptized in the Stanley Cup,” Noemi chuckled, and I shook my head before going to get ready for the game.
We destroy the Penguins 6-2, and with that win we’re heading to the Finals. My heart beats a mile a minute as I think of what’s to come. The Blackhawks are putting up the fight of a lifetime to beat the Red Wings and become our opponents, and I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. We went 6 games, but they’re going to go 7. We’ll get a few days of rest before the most stressful games of our lives come up. Noemi goes to every home game, cheering me on in her usual game day best. Her belly makes even my big away jersey look tight, and she spends most of her time sitting in the box. She says that the babies kick harder when she’s at a game, which makes me smile. Maybe they’ll be hockey players after all.
-Week 31, May 26th-
Game 3. The series is tied 1-1. It’s the Stanley Cup Finals. I’m sitting on the bench, sweat pouring down my face, my breath catching in my chest. I’ve never played so hard in my life. It’s not just for the Cup, although that’s a huge incentive. I’ve decided that I’m going to win the Cup for my family; Noemi and the boys. I want the boys to be able to say “my dad won the Stanley Cup” one day. I want Noemi and our sons to be proud of my career. So in a way, it is all about the Cup, but not just for me. Almost 20,000 fans are sitting in the stands cheering for us, and I want to win it for them too. The score is tied 3-3, it’s the third period, and everyone is getting tired. 5 minutes left, and the Blackhawks coach calls a time-out. The other guys skate over to the bench, and Coach gives us a good pep talk.
“Zharkov, get out there,” he demands.
“But it’s not my line,” I say quietly. Then I see Danius limp onto the bench and I groan inwardly before hopping onto the ice.
“Hey D, ice that up. We need you man,” I say before skating off to join my new line-mates. Jonathan Toews scores with 22.3 seconds left in the third period, and we all cringe. It’s now 2-1 Chicago, and Danius is definitely hurt.
-May 28th, Chicago, IL-
Noemi flew out for this game; she knew that I needed her to be there for me, even if I hadn’t said anything. She’s 32 weeks now, and we’re on edge about her being put on bed-rest again. But on the ice, I have to concentrate on the game. It’s nerve wracking, playing in Chicago. Their fans are dedicated; the whole place shakes whenever something good happens. I’m filling in Danius Zubrus’ spot now because he’s broken his ankle. He’s pissed about the injury, but he’s cheering me on as I get ready to play. We take the lead quickly, and by the end of the game the score is 4-1 in our favor. The Blackhawks fans are pissed, but we’re in high spirits as we shower and go out to greet our families. Noemi runs and kisses me on the cheek, even though I’ve got a bushy beard now. I kiss her back, and wrap an arm around her waist.
“Did you enjoy the game?” I ask.
“I enjoy every game you guys win,” she says quietly. We celebrate the win with a quiet dinner in a little restaurant before I have to return to my room. I hate going back to the hotel without her. I don’t like the hotel rule during the playoffs. I want nothing more than to go home and see Noemi every night, but instead I’m stuck in a hotel room with Volchenkov, wondering how Noemi is handling being alone every night.
-July 1st-
The crowd in Newark is going berserk. Its game 5 and the Devils are leading the series 3-2. We can all see the Cup in our hands now, but we keep level heads. We know that comebacks do happen, but we don’t want to let it happen for Chicago. We’ve gone into overtime, but my body doesn’t seem to mind. I keep my mind on the Cup, and that gives me a little bit of energy. Parise carries the puck into the Blackhawks’ end, and I position myself just right. I can see the ‘Hawks shifting to the left, and I notice that I’m positioned perfectly. I slap my stick against the ice, and Parise notices it too. The puck hits my stick, and right before the defense closes in on me I rifle off a shot. I hear the metallic ping of the puck rocketing off of the crossbar, but instead of flying back onto the ice, it drops behind Crawford. Time seems to slow down, and the stadium is filled with an eerie hush before the goal horn goes off, the crowd erupts into screams, and I’m tackled by my teammates. I can’t help but let out a celebratory scream, pumping my fist as I celebrate my goal. Crawford hands me the puck, and we all line up to shake hands. Congratulations are the only thing I seem to be able to hear, and I can’t stop smiling. Soon enough, the Cup makes its way onto the ice. Bettman hands it off to Kovalchuk, and it makes its way to a few more players before Zajac turns to hand it to me.
“Thank you,” he says before placing the Cup in my hands. I know it should feel heavy, it weighs over 35 pounds, but in that moment, it’s weightless. I raise the cup into the air and the crowd’s screams become even louder.
“Mr. Zharkov, what are you going to do now that you’ve won the Cup?” a reporter asks me, but I look up and see Noemi standing there, and practically knock him over in my rush to get to her. Tears are filling her eyes, and we kiss each other lovingly before I hug her to my chest. A few “awws” fill the air, and I simply hug her even more tightly.
And then all hell breaks loose. A gush of water is the only sign that we need to begin freaking out. Some of the guys exchange knowing glances, while the younger guys stare in horror. I think I even see one of the rookies wretch, but all I can think about is getting Noemi out of there. I scoop her up in my arms and sprint from the locker room.
Four hours of nightmarish labor later, Noemi and I welcome our first child into the world. Noemi is pale and gasping, soaked in sweat, but smiling. I stare with wide eyes at the screaming little baby, and something inside of me snaps. Tears fill my eyes, and I squeeze Noemi’s hand tightly. Suddenly, Noemi’s grip tightens painfully, and our second baby comes rushing into the world. The third one is almost easy for Noemi, and the nurses applaud Noemi on how well she did.
“Congratulations,” the nurse says, handing Noemi one baby, and then another. The nurse turns to me, and as I reach out to take the little bundle, a few tears spill onto my cheeks. The baby’s cheeks are red, his skin is wrinkled, and he looks like a little old man, but he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. All three of them are. We are left uninterrupted for an hour, trading babies, kissing and cuddling all three bundles before the nurses come back in. The babies are whisked away for examinations, but the nurse comes back shortly to tell us that the boys are perfectly healthy.
“Going early with multiples is quite normal. They’re only three weeks early, but they’re completely developed, their weight is good, and they are all pretty feisty. The first born was at 2:37 AM on July second, the second born was at 2:40, and the last baby was born at 2:43. Do you have names picked out?” the nurse asked as the babies are brought back into the room. We both nod, and the nurse hands me the first born baby.
“His name is Jani Miklos Zharkov,” I say quietly, and Noemi’s eyes fill with tears. I picked a Hungarian name to honor her heritage, and I can see that it’s made her happy.
“The second born?” the nurse asks as she hands the baby to Noemi.
“Mikhail Lorand Zharkov,” we say in unison before smiling.
“And the last born?” the nurse asks, handing Noemi our youngest son.
“Sergei Anton Zharkov,” she smiles. A Russian name. My heart swells with joy as I take in the sight of our little family. It’s me, Noemi, Jani, Mikhail, and Sergei. My life is perfect.
Noemi is restless and irritable. When she isn’t exhausted she’s trying desperately to get the room ready for the boys, even though the guys and I have painted and set up all of the furniture already. We constantly keep a bag by the door, just in case she goes early. The doctors said that its always a risk with multiples.
“Gdelistov ?” (Where are the sheets?) she calls from the nursery. I walk in and take the sheets down from the closet shelf.
“Eti dobrye?” (These good?) I ask, handing her the blue sheets.
“Da, spasibo,” (Yes, thank you) she smiles, unfolding them and putting them around each of the crib mattresses. I’m glad that we’ve gotten a big house, because the nursery is cramped with three cribs and a changing table. There are 6 bedrooms in the house, which means that the boys will have a lot of breathing room when they get older. The backyard is spacious, there is a nice basement, and Noemi is happy here. I hug her tightly and kiss the top of her head.
“You look beautiful today,” I mutter, causing her to blush.
“What are you talking about? I’m huge and pregnant,” she chuckles. I place a hand on her stomach and kiss her neck.
“Yeah, well that’s part of it,” I admit. It’s true. She was always beautiful to me, but when she finally started showing her beauty changed. She was carrying my children. Our family. It made me nervous, but I melted every time I looked at her.
“Shut up and go get ready for the game babe. You guys better flatten the Pens tonight. I want our babies baptized in the Stanley Cup,” Noemi chuckled, and I shook my head before going to get ready for the game.
We destroy the Penguins 6-2, and with that win we’re heading to the Finals. My heart beats a mile a minute as I think of what’s to come. The Blackhawks are putting up the fight of a lifetime to beat the Red Wings and become our opponents, and I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. We went 6 games, but they’re going to go 7. We’ll get a few days of rest before the most stressful games of our lives come up. Noemi goes to every home game, cheering me on in her usual game day best. Her belly makes even my big away jersey look tight, and she spends most of her time sitting in the box. She says that the babies kick harder when she’s at a game, which makes me smile. Maybe they’ll be hockey players after all.
-Week 31, May 26th-
Game 3. The series is tied 1-1. It’s the Stanley Cup Finals. I’m sitting on the bench, sweat pouring down my face, my breath catching in my chest. I’ve never played so hard in my life. It’s not just for the Cup, although that’s a huge incentive. I’ve decided that I’m going to win the Cup for my family; Noemi and the boys. I want the boys to be able to say “my dad won the Stanley Cup” one day. I want Noemi and our sons to be proud of my career. So in a way, it is all about the Cup, but not just for me. Almost 20,000 fans are sitting in the stands cheering for us, and I want to win it for them too. The score is tied 3-3, it’s the third period, and everyone is getting tired. 5 minutes left, and the Blackhawks coach calls a time-out. The other guys skate over to the bench, and Coach gives us a good pep talk.
“Zharkov, get out there,” he demands.
“But it’s not my line,” I say quietly. Then I see Danius limp onto the bench and I groan inwardly before hopping onto the ice.
“Hey D, ice that up. We need you man,” I say before skating off to join my new line-mates. Jonathan Toews scores with 22.3 seconds left in the third period, and we all cringe. It’s now 2-1 Chicago, and Danius is definitely hurt.
-May 28th, Chicago, IL-
Noemi flew out for this game; she knew that I needed her to be there for me, even if I hadn’t said anything. She’s 32 weeks now, and we’re on edge about her being put on bed-rest again. But on the ice, I have to concentrate on the game. It’s nerve wracking, playing in Chicago. Their fans are dedicated; the whole place shakes whenever something good happens. I’m filling in Danius Zubrus’ spot now because he’s broken his ankle. He’s pissed about the injury, but he’s cheering me on as I get ready to play. We take the lead quickly, and by the end of the game the score is 4-1 in our favor. The Blackhawks fans are pissed, but we’re in high spirits as we shower and go out to greet our families. Noemi runs and kisses me on the cheek, even though I’ve got a bushy beard now. I kiss her back, and wrap an arm around her waist.
“Did you enjoy the game?” I ask.
“I enjoy every game you guys win,” she says quietly. We celebrate the win with a quiet dinner in a little restaurant before I have to return to my room. I hate going back to the hotel without her. I don’t like the hotel rule during the playoffs. I want nothing more than to go home and see Noemi every night, but instead I’m stuck in a hotel room with Volchenkov, wondering how Noemi is handling being alone every night.
-July 1st-
The crowd in Newark is going berserk. Its game 5 and the Devils are leading the series 3-2. We can all see the Cup in our hands now, but we keep level heads. We know that comebacks do happen, but we don’t want to let it happen for Chicago. We’ve gone into overtime, but my body doesn’t seem to mind. I keep my mind on the Cup, and that gives me a little bit of energy. Parise carries the puck into the Blackhawks’ end, and I position myself just right. I can see the ‘Hawks shifting to the left, and I notice that I’m positioned perfectly. I slap my stick against the ice, and Parise notices it too. The puck hits my stick, and right before the defense closes in on me I rifle off a shot. I hear the metallic ping of the puck rocketing off of the crossbar, but instead of flying back onto the ice, it drops behind Crawford. Time seems to slow down, and the stadium is filled with an eerie hush before the goal horn goes off, the crowd erupts into screams, and I’m tackled by my teammates. I can’t help but let out a celebratory scream, pumping my fist as I celebrate my goal. Crawford hands me the puck, and we all line up to shake hands. Congratulations are the only thing I seem to be able to hear, and I can’t stop smiling. Soon enough, the Cup makes its way onto the ice. Bettman hands it off to Kovalchuk, and it makes its way to a few more players before Zajac turns to hand it to me.
“Thank you,” he says before placing the Cup in my hands. I know it should feel heavy, it weighs over 35 pounds, but in that moment, it’s weightless. I raise the cup into the air and the crowd’s screams become even louder.
“Mr. Zharkov, what are you going to do now that you’ve won the Cup?” a reporter asks me, but I look up and see Noemi standing there, and practically knock him over in my rush to get to her. Tears are filling her eyes, and we kiss each other lovingly before I hug her to my chest. A few “awws” fill the air, and I simply hug her even more tightly.
And then all hell breaks loose. A gush of water is the only sign that we need to begin freaking out. Some of the guys exchange knowing glances, while the younger guys stare in horror. I think I even see one of the rookies wretch, but all I can think about is getting Noemi out of there. I scoop her up in my arms and sprint from the locker room.
Four hours of nightmarish labor later, Noemi and I welcome our first child into the world. Noemi is pale and gasping, soaked in sweat, but smiling. I stare with wide eyes at the screaming little baby, and something inside of me snaps. Tears fill my eyes, and I squeeze Noemi’s hand tightly. Suddenly, Noemi’s grip tightens painfully, and our second baby comes rushing into the world. The third one is almost easy for Noemi, and the nurses applaud Noemi on how well she did.
“Congratulations,” the nurse says, handing Noemi one baby, and then another. The nurse turns to me, and as I reach out to take the little bundle, a few tears spill onto my cheeks. The baby’s cheeks are red, his skin is wrinkled, and he looks like a little old man, but he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. All three of them are. We are left uninterrupted for an hour, trading babies, kissing and cuddling all three bundles before the nurses come back in. The babies are whisked away for examinations, but the nurse comes back shortly to tell us that the boys are perfectly healthy.
“Going early with multiples is quite normal. They’re only three weeks early, but they’re completely developed, their weight is good, and they are all pretty feisty. The first born was at 2:37 AM on July second, the second born was at 2:40, and the last baby was born at 2:43. Do you have names picked out?” the nurse asked as the babies are brought back into the room. We both nod, and the nurse hands me the first born baby.
“His name is Jani Miklos Zharkov,” I say quietly, and Noemi’s eyes fill with tears. I picked a Hungarian name to honor her heritage, and I can see that it’s made her happy.
“The second born?” the nurse asks as she hands the baby to Noemi.
“Mikhail Lorand Zharkov,” we say in unison before smiling.
“And the last born?” the nurse asks, handing Noemi our youngest son.
“Sergei Anton Zharkov,” she smiles. A Russian name. My heart swells with joy as I take in the sight of our little family. It’s me, Noemi, Jani, Mikhail, and Sergei. My life is perfect.