Jamie side-eyes the omelet I set next to his high-protein yogurt parfait and a peeled orange.
“Spinach?” he asks warily as he stumbles to a stool at the kitchen island.
“Yep. But enough ham and cheese to drown it out.”
I get half a smile. When was the last time I got a full one? A real one from my twelve-year old?
We’re as close as can be, as close as I can imagine, but middle school is rough.
Jamie’s not a morning person—never has been. Maybe that comes with a coffee addiction later in life. Still, he digs in, and I let out a quiet breath. It’s taken years of negotiating over mac and cheese and chicken nuggets that his friends ate, and politely declining the kids’ menu at restaurants to get him to embrace salads and veggies, but he’s come around. Almost.
These days there’s a different problem. Is it even possible for a twelve-year-old boy to eat enough when he plays competitive hockey? I toss an extra sandwich into his lunch bag. Just in case.
While he eats breakfast, I glance over at the pile of hockey gear by the hall tree I built back when Jamie started Kindergarten. The cherry wood used to loom over his tiny backpack and rubber boots that looked so alone on their hook and shelf. Now that same piece of furniture barely holds his hockey bag and pads. Gear threatens to break out of the confines of the cubby shelf, and it looks like three players live here and not just one.
I gulp my coffee to push down the lump in my throat and start steeping some green tea for him to drink on our morning drive to school.
“I’ve got practice after school,” Jamie says around a mouthful. “I’ll walk over with Arch.”
“Will you be done by six?”
He nods, taps his foot, and chews too much food at once. I hold back from etiquette criticisms this early in the day.
“Just be there by six-thirty if you can,” he says, voice a little off. Guarded. Not unlike how he’s been the past few weeks when I pick him up.
Ever since I found him running drills with that new coach I don’t know. The smirky one with the full lips and piercing blue eyes. Montana-sky blue. The one who is too damn handsome to be a hockey player.
Something in Jamie’s tone makes me pause and pulls me from my wayward thoughts. “Alright. We’ve got town council after, so you’ll need to shower at The Keep. We’ll grab dinner somewhere in town.”
He nods again, still chewing, still quiet. I wipe down the counters and load the dishwasher.
“I’m finishing the staircase at the Fox River Falls Inn—the Calloways’ place. You’ll like it.”
Jamie hops up, plate in hand. He’s still chewing when he cuts me off. “Can I see it this weekend? Their brunch is really good,” he asks, with a suggestion, and I nod a yes back to all of it as he keeps talking. “And I know. Don’t get up until I’m done chewing. Sorry, Dad.”
He comes in for a hug, and I squeeze him tight, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as I kiss the top of his head.
“Go brush your teeth. I’ll be in the car.”
Later, when I’m sanding down the banister’s final edge at the Inn, I realize I’ve spent the entire day thinking about Jamie’s cagey tone at breakfast. He’s been cagey for a couple of weeks now. Staying late at practice too.
I tried—last night, actually—to ask him what was up, but he blew me off, as if there was nothing wrong.
My hands move by instinct, as the repetitive rhythm of the final touches lets my mind wander to Jamie.
Is there something up with this new coach?
My gut clenches at the thought of needing to interfere with Jamie’s hockey. I’ll do it, of course, because it’s for Jamie. But I sure as hell would rather not.
“Thatch?” Marge Calloway’s voice calls down the hallway.
“I’m finishing the banister,” I call back.
She pokes her head into the doorway, giving me that trademark smile. “This looks so good, Thatch. You know Gregg and I couldn’t have done it without you.”
I smile, wiping down the curve of the finished piece. It’s one of those solid wood banisters that feels like it’ll last a hundred more years. The kind of work that stays long after you’re gone. I feel proud of it. Really proud.
“You two needed a retirement project, I guess. Restoring this grand old place has been an honor.”
