I knew they’d found the one I asked them to search for when Dad threw his head back and barked out a laugh.
Mom was slower on the draw, still frowning at the screen. “Wait. I don’t get it. Is the moose swearing at the beaver?”
“Yes,” Dad and I chorused.
“But why does he have candles on his antlers? Oh, no. I get it. Oh, that is sowrong.” But then, looking for all the world like she didn’t want to, she grinned. And then started to chuckle. “This still doesn’t prove that you know her,” she said when her laughter subsided. “You could have seen something in the local newspaper about her, for all we know.”
My frustration with her came roaring back.
I am a grown-ass man. I will not scream at my mother over the phone.
“When have I ever lied to you?” I asked her.
Her expression darkened. “Seriously? You want to play that game with me, Mr. I-don’t-know-where-those-beer-cans-came-from?”
“I was sixteen!”
“The point stands.”
“Fine. I’ll send you a picture of us the next time we hang out.” Anything to get her to back off.
“When will that be?”
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Why. Did. I. Say. That? Years of pressure on the playing field, and I faced it like the pro I was. A little harassment from my mother, and I caved like a house of cards. I really should have known better. She was like a dog with a bone when she worried about a loved one. She would not let this go. If I didn’t send her a picture tomorrow, she’d probably get on an airplane.
She grinned at me through the phone like a Cheshire cat. Like I’d played right into her hand. “Okay. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you!”
“Love you, Ben,” Dad said.
“Love youguys too.”
I started texting Dad the moment we hung up.Please, you gotta help me out here. Mom’s stressing me out. I came here to unwind. I need this break. REALLY need it.
God, if only they knew how much.
I know, Ben,Dad answered. I’ll do what I can. Go easy on your mom, though. We’re all she has left, and she’s terrified of losing either of us. Every day you’re away is a day something could happen to you without her being close enough to help.
Great. Now I felt like an asshole.
I strode into the kitchen and tossed my phone on the unfinished island. I was mad, at both myself and them. Nothing good ever comes from speaking from a place of anger. Better to cool down before responding. But seriously, I came out here forme.And now it was somehow more about my mother’s mental health than my own. She wasn’t the one who had to live with CTE.
I braced my knuckles on the plywood that currently served as my kitchen counter, bowed my head, and counted to ten. That last thought wasn’t entirely fair or accurate. Mom had already lost one son to CTE. If I was diagnosed, she’d have to watch me suffer from whatever symptoms manifested, all while knowing that she and Dad were the ones to put us in football at an early age. She had just lost a son and was worried about losing another. I understood her grief. Her fear. Not a day went by that I didn’t miss my brother. Not a day went by that I didn’t worry about sharing his fate.
But this goddamn temper of mine was getting harder and harder to control.
After several deep breaths, I picked up my phone.
I’ll try to be more understanding,I told my father.
It was the best I could manage.
I flicked the phone to silent and went upstairs. My bedroom was on the second floor, a big behemoth of a corner room, complete with adjoining sitting room and an en suite bathroom that now, thanks to my plumber, had a functioning toilet and shower.
The day he showed up was awkward as hell. I donned another disguise, which consisted of an oversized, ill-fitting, padded sweater that masked my muscle and made it look more like lumpy bulk. A pair of dark contacts and huge, owlish glasses helped. Then there was the grand finale, my hair, which I attempted to comb smooth and pull back into a low, hippyish ponytail.
I could admit that I might have gone too deep into my assumed identity, like an undercover cop that loses sight of where the line is. At one point, I even uttered, “Far out, man” in response to something the plumber said.
