Laura brought a fork and gave Amaya a big hug before sitting down next to them. "So, how's that hockey camp of yours going?"
Ryan turned, trying to muster a smile as Amaya dug into the cake. "It's good. Really good, actually. We've got a solid group of kids coming in this summer."
Laura clasped her hands on the table. "That's wonderful. You must be thrilled to share your love for the sport with the next generation."
“I get to go,” Amaya said with her mouthful.
Laura’s jaw dropped. “No way! You’re dad’s letting you get on the ice?”
“About damn time.” Ryan grinned, and Amaya beamed at him.
He chuckled, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Tell her about the poetry contest.”
Amaya didn’t need much prompting. She dove into the story of her submitting a poem to the teacher and it getting lost and not being entered, so they had to do the judging all over again.
“I came in second place. In the whole school.” Amaya licked frosting off her fork.
Laura clapped her hands. “Well, of course, you did. You know English was my favourite subject to teach, right?”
Amaya nodded and took one last bite before pushing her plate away from her. Ryan raised an eyebrow, then stole her fork and finished the last strip of barely any cake with mostly frosting. Not the worst.
When he finished, Amaya took the plate and fork to the trash and walked to the water dispenser.
Laura shifted, her eyes flicking to his. "And what are you doing for yourself these days?"
Ryan shrugged. "Prepping for the camp keeps me pretty busy.”
Laura shook her head. "You know that’s not what I’m asking."
Ryan opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. His days were a blur of work, taking care of Amaya, running the house, and trying to be there for Kara as much as he could. "I’m still playing hockey." He’d thought about quitting the Snowballs, but sometimes getting out on the ice was the one thing keeping him going. Summers were the hardest with no games and only one practice a week.
“You remember we’re taking Amaya next Saturday night?”
Ryan nodded. He loved that they wanted time with her even if he suspected they specifically planned sleepovers for Saturdays so they could take her to church in the morning.
Laura's eyes softened, and she reached out a hand. "Ryan, it's been two years. I know you're dedicated to Amaya and Kara, but . . ." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "You're still a young man. You can't be expected to live your whole life?—"
"I'm not looking for anyone else, Laura."
Laura sighed. "I know, and I'm not suggesting that you should. But, Ryan, we love you. When you married Kara, you became like a son to us. I would never—” Her voice caught, her throat working. “You're allowed to want more for yourself. You're allowed to have a life, too."
Ryan's jaw clenched. He stared out the window, watching an ambulance pull into the parking lot below. "In sickness and health. I'm not going to abandon her."
Laura pulled out a manila folder from her purse. “I expected as much, and I love you so much for loving her.” She set it on the table between them, her eyes glassy. “I prepared everything. You’ve lived apart for over a year. The lawyer says it should only take two to four months to be approved?—”
“Laura—”
“Don’t decide right now.” She caught his hand, placing it on the envelope. “I want you to seriously consider this, Ryan.” She glanced up at Amaya walking their way with a cup of water. “Kara is only one out of three.”
Chapter
Six
Saturday morning Ryansat at the kitchen table in his sweats and T-shirt, his hair still wet from the shower. He stared at the paperwork in front of him. Even though they were entering the last week and a half of school, Amaya’s school counsellor had recommended an assessment for ADHD and dyslexia.
He’d already entered in her personal history, and now the cursor hovered over the first box of the questionnaire. Provokes others: frequently, somewhat often, sometimes, never or not at all. How was he supposed to know the difference between “sometimes” and “somewhat often?”Fails to follow instructions. Excessive use of video games or TV.He probably should’ve chosen a day to fill it out when he hadn’t heard her making music videos in her room until one a.m. the night before.
“Dad! Are you ready?” Amaya bounded into the kitchen, her ponytail bouncing. She was already dressed in a pair of bright pink shorts and a tank top, her sandals set by the front door.
