Sasquatch to the Moon

22: Big Milo, Little Milo

ROCKET

Swedish. I don't know Swedish. It's throwing a wrench in my plans as I help Håkon and his family assemble the last bits of the venue. I meet Leo's parents and his older brother who's in his 30's with an adorable toddler who thought I was insane and couldn't communicate with me because I don't know Swedish and he didn't know english. So we babbled at each other for a few moments and I scooped him up onto my shoulders so he could touch the ceiling and he babbled at me and I made noises back and I caught Håkon staring at me from across the room, ears all red, cheeks flushed, stupid little smile on his face.

I kept the toddler busy while they finished setting up a few last things, they deemed me almost useless rather fast because I couldn't read the seating chart (Swedish instructions).

"Hi!" I set him down on the floor and then sit.

He waves back at me. "Hej,"

"Is that how you say hi in Swedish?"

He tips his head at me.

I clear my throat, completely unable to think of the five Swedish words I've learned in a the last two weeks.

I point at the toy truck he's got in his chubby little hand. "Truck." I say.

"Lastbil," he responds.

"Lastbil." I repeat.

"Truck." He says.

Oh boy.

I run my hand through my newly shorter hair. It actually does look really good on me compared to the longer cut I had before but I miss my safety curtain. Håkon looks blindingly sexy in his haircut and trimmed down beard. Astrid took length off and cleaned him up, leaving the sides all long and hot just how I've grown to adore on him, but it's just so perfectly in his casual professional style that I physically can't get enough of staring at him. He just looks so fucking ethereal just standing there all pale skin and shock white hair with those damn eyes god I'm in love with every breath he takes.

"Sko," the toddler says, smacking my converse.

I smile. "Shoe."

"Shoe." He repeats, heavy Swedish accent and a tiny little lisp.

"Sko." I say.

He reaches up and tugs at my jeans. "Byxor."

"Pants, kalhoty." I respond, throwing Czech in too.

"Pants, kalhoty" He struggles with the vowel sounds in kalhoty.

"Byxor."

I tap myself in the chest. "Milo."

He frowns, then: "Milo." he taps his own chest.

I shake my head. "No, I'm Milo."

"Jag heter Milo." he argues.

I shake my head again. "Nej, mitt namn är Milo."

He crosses his arms. I cross mine back. "inte vi båda" he says. I recognize 'vi' as we and 'båda' as both.

Inte must be some sort of negation. "Ja, vi båda." I think that might be right but honestly who knows at this point. I could ramble up a storm at him in czech and we could have just as much fun.

He frowns. "Nej."

"Ja." I argue.

He raises a little fist and starts in on me. Luckily, my large adorable but incredibly stunning Swedish boyfriend sits down next to me.

"Hej, Milo, det här är också Milo," Håkon reaches out his hand for little Milo and stops halfway there. Little Milo glares at me and schooches toward Håkon. He looks to me. "Just found out from his dad that his name is also Milo, thought it would be fun to interrupt your little linguistically challenged playtime."

I'm stuck in a staring contest with little Milo. "evil little one," I start off in Czech, knowing nobody knows what I'm saying. "Fucking completely adorable for someone so purely evil."

"Miloš," Håkon raises his eyebrows. "What are you on about now?"

I'm still staring at the toddler who's just staring back. He's now working his way closer and closer to Håkon before he makes it to his knee, then in one flop and arm-cross maneuver, he sits down in Håkon's criss crossed lap, still staring at me.

After Håkon slowly explains in Swedish that having the same name as someone is actually not the end of the world, little Milo and I are completely and totally linguistically impaired but inseparable for the next three hours while everyone waits with bated breath for the first look photography session that's supposed to happen in like an hour. Everyone's freaking out.

I'm rolling around in the grass and goofing off with a toddler named the same as me. The language barrier is still bad but we're able to scrape by with yes, no, maybe, like Håkon and I and the tap system.

He shows me the toys he's brought along, pointing them all out and making me learn the Swedish words before yammering and begging that I teach him the english words.

"Alright," Milo's dad, Oscar, walks over to the two of us. "I can't thank you enough for keeping track of him, I've been back and forth with Leo over the phone trying to calm him down for an hour now and I don't know if I could've done it without you."

"Oh, no problem." I gesture at his toddler. "I love this kid. The language barrier is a little funky but he's great."

Oscar is clearly relieved. "You're a miracle, really, Milo doesn't particularly like being around strangers."

"I guess it helped that I'm also named Milo." I shrug. "He thought that was cool."

"Really, now, that's interesting." Oscar bends over and picks up his son.

"I'm technically Milos, it's Czech, but Milo is the nickname."

He nods. "How did you end up all the way out here?"

I shrug. "I haven't lived in the Czech Republic since I was a kid. I play pro with Håkon, Isa and I are friends and she told me to tag along with her brother to make him look less 'estranged'" I put air quotes around it, laughing. "I think he's fine but I'm headed back there soon and decided to extend my layover to be here."

Oscar nods. "What position are you with Håkon? He's big talk around here, you must know that, but, none of us really pay close attention to the team."

I shrug. "I would expect that, yeah, I'm one of the goalies."

"I played goalie when I was little, I played soccer mostly through high school, but I was a hockey goalie when I was involved. You must be flexible to keep up with all that. I don't think my body could handle it even if I was that athletic."

I shrug. "Yeah, I've always had a medical hyperflexibility thing so a chunk of it is a biological advantage. Same with Håk, big 'ol biological advantage with a body structure like that. Throws his weight well."

"Mhmm, well, Milo and I are off, this boy's gotta take a nap and eat a little lunch before we tire him out the rest of the way."

"Of course." I nod. "And I've gotta get dressed up for this ordeal."

"Right," Oscar laughs. "I'll see you later."

"You too." I respond, then wander back toward Håkon, on his phone, all broad shoulders and thin waist and the best thighs in the room.

I snap my fingers four times at him and he taps the desk four times in response.

"Lunch?" I ask.

"Then suits, then go time." He responds. I feel a little trill go through my heart. Nothing but excitement. 

***

 anyway i have no idea what happens at a wedding i've never been to one so this is gonna be guesswork for the next few chapters, tell me if there's any really funky mistakes

-rabid