Would You Rather

27 - WYR: return his socks or admit you want to see him again

FINLEY

THE HOCKEY MOM: Wolves Forward Fidan Koskinen's Mother, Esma Koskinen, Puts on Challenge for Translators and Relatable Show for Hockey Moms Everywhere.

The Regina Wolves have kicked off their parents and mentors trip at home against the LA Kings and our favorites have made a striking return, but it's the new trades for this year that have all of our hearts. Wolves forward Fidan Koskinen's mother, Esma, was seen racing back and forth through the reserved section of the stands for the whole game, watching her son with a hand pressed to her chest (or over her eyes, depending on the checks) for the full sixty minutes.

Fidan Koskinen, half brother to Nashville Predator's Kasper Koskinen, was raised in a trilingual household, switching between his mother's Turkish, the Finnish of his father (Retired NHL defenseman Aato Koskinen) and English, which is taught to most young Finns.

Our exhausted translator has painstakingly gone through a highlight reel of clips of the game, including our favorite lines: "oh, baby, that's the wrong direction!" and many, many yells of "be careful!"

Video linked below.

***

I haven't heard from Fidan since the drink at Casey's. Granted, I haven't reached out either. I had two interviews this week for two of my four favorite picks for med school, sixteen hours scheduled to collect data at the hospital, as well as the final crunch week for the conference my lab attends every year, and I didn't really have time to think about him or about anything other than school. Sleeping, eating, exercising, studying for my other classes, and sex all sort of went out the window in preparation for two thirty minute blocks that I spent sweating, stuttering, and panicking on a video call and preparing to do the exact same thing in front of a crowd next Wednesday.

Friday afternoon, right before I leave for a shift on the ambulance, I pack together Fidan's socks that he left in my room the last time he was over. It's a good excuse and if he wants me to stay, I'll stay. Otherwise, it can just be a quick drop off. So, instead of going out with my friends after my shift on the ambulance, a high-risk job that has a little something something that's mysteriously calming due to how in-the-moment it all is, I take the bus in the wrong direction, headed toward the newish apartment complex that I've frequented in the last two months.

His apartment is a second floor unit with its own door and staircase. I huddle into the entryway area, away from the wind, and ring his doorbell. It still has the name of the previous tenant above it. A certain M.Watson. I know it's the right unit, but it irks me for just a moment. This is the first time he hasn't met me at the bottom.

When the door swings wide, I'm looking up. I should've been looking down at the little flurry in front of me. She's petite. Itty-bitty, really. And she's wearing a floral headscarf of some type. I can't tell if it's religious or not. She's also wearing an outdoor jacket very much inside Fidan's apartment. Or now I'm doubting that. Maybe I dreamt that his apartment had the M.Watson label?

"Um, I'm sorry," I wave over my shoulder like I wasn't standing here fully on purpose. "Hi, I'm Fidan's friend. I have a pair of his socks that he left at mine a few days ago, I'm just here to drop them off."

She kicks into a rather long flurry of words that include come in, come in and sweetheart.

I let her usher me into the apartment which smells overwhelmingly like home cooked food. I connect some dots, as quick as I can while she shuts the door behind me, looking down at her for just a split second, then breathing in another lungful of what smells like simmering something. This is Fidan's mother. Fidan's mother is an itty-bitty and rather beautiful woman who seems a bit cold in the weather out here.