“Hi! Mrs. Canton?”
“It’s O’Connell, actually. Miss O’Connell. How can I help you?”
“Oh.” I could almost hear the woman on the other end’s brain computer chips beep-booping into place. “Well, your son got into trouble with Harper. We need you and Harper’s parents to come in immediately to meet with Serena’s parents.”
Since when did Harper and Aspen get into trouble? Aspen had always been a sensitive, sweet kid, and Harper didn’t seem like she was out starting wars over nothing. Harper’s mom was a bit of a piece of work, and I’d only ever seen her dad in passing.
Maybe I should have pulled Aspen out of hockey when Bryce left. Bryce played when we were in college in Boulder, so he was the first to encourage Aspen to follow in his footsteps. I didn’tparticularly want him to because of the more obvious downsides of the sport: violence, head trauma, and you know, turning out like Bryce where you’re constantly obsessing about a goal you never achieved.
But mom guilt made me keep Aspen in hockey, not wanting to change too much of his routine when his dad decided his spiritual awakening was more important than being a father. Was I now reaping the consequences of that decision?
I glanced at my calendar. Mr. Walnut Bar was the sixth in a series of category review meetings I had that day. This was a marathon day of vetting vendors and products, deciding which ones ended up on our grocery store’s shelves. Some of these vendors had been counting on these meetings for months. I turned in my desk chair, peering out onto my office’s scenic parking lot view. “Oh. Um. Now?”
“Yes. The other parents have been notified.”
“I’m sorry. Is Aspen hurt?” I asked.
“No blood, no bones,” the woman deadpanned.
I blinked hard, struggling to stifle my temper that wanted to both reach through the phone and bop that woman and also sucker punch Mr. Walnut Bar still sitting behind me. Wait, was I the one with the violence problem? “And I have to be there now?”
“Well, someone does. He’s going to be suspended.”
I coughed, the air itself seeming toxic. “Suspended?”
“Yes, and his girlfriend too.”
“She’s not his girlfriend,” I said, grinding my teeth. I hated when people tried to “ship” opposite-sex child friends. Why did people insist on sexualizing children? Couldn’t they just be kids who are friends? They’re in kindergarten. Let them be kids.
“So, are you coming to get him?”
“Wh-what? Uh, yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I rose slowly, a necessary precaution with my combination of ailments.I scooped my keys off the desk and bid adieu to Mr. Walnut Bar. “Just leave your samples and sell sheet and we’ll get back to you!”
TWO
JACK
SEPTEMBER
My phone buzzedin my shorts pocket while I was on the physical therapist’s table. Jeff was laying what felt like his entire body weight into the place where my leg meets my ass cheek. How I strained that particular muscle, I’m not sure, but it was making me sweat like a motherfucker. I hadn’t pulled a hammy in a good few years and was pretty proud of my flexibility, but I guess injury was possible any time I stepped on the ice.
“Do you need to take that?” Jeff asked.
“Probably not,” I said, then saw who was calling.
My least favorite call to get: my ex-wife, Sydney. “No, I don’t need to take it.”
I pocketed my phone again and rested my sweat-beaded face back into the face cradle. Funny how someone sinking a single finger into one sensitive spot can light up your whole body. Seconds later, my phone rang again.
I had two choices, and one of them wasn’t blocking her number. I unfortunately still had to communicate with her so she could take the kids when I was playing out of town. Ourdivorce had only finalized in August, just in time to solidify Syd keeping them when I was out of town.
If I didn’t answer, she’d call again in another ten seconds.
What was Choice #2? Throwing my phone in the ice tub to temporarily delay the inevitable. That wouldn’t do me any good in the long haul anyway. I’d still have to talk to her at some point.
“Hello?”
“Jack, thank God. Why didn’t you answer?”
