The game goes into overtime until we finally score the winning goal. Drinks and popcorn mix all around us. I hold Owen in my arms, protecting him more than celebrating. Someone has one of those handheld horns, which I've been told are banned, and others are shouting in celebration. I catch more than a few curse words.
I follow the team and Coach back to the locker room once more. Frankie and I go to the physical therapy room, and I set Owen down in an empty chair. He's about to topple over with sleep. The excitement is leaving his body quickly. Gabe is the first to come in, along with Paul and Barry. Gabe immediately goes to Owen and scoops him up into his arms.
By the time Gabe moves to sit in the chair, Owen is passed out on his shoulder. "I'm good. All my muscles are loose, my head is good. Focus on the other guys. I've got him."
The guys come in two or three at a time. Gabe walks around the room with Owen in his arms. I don't see any signs of him hurting so I trust that he's telling me the truth that he's okay and that I don't need to make him do any post-game stretches or check him for injuries. I give some advice for a couple of them to take it easy,but I also know they're all about to go out and celebrate the first game and the first win.
Soon enough, it's just me, Gabe, and Owen. He's still fast asleep. I'm sure he'll sleep in a bit tomorrow.
"Good game," I whisper, standing next to him. I lay one hand on Owen's back and the other on Gabe's bicep. I give him a gentle squeeze. "I'm proud of you, Daddy."
I stand on my tippy toes to kiss his cheek and then take my son to head home.
"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Gabe says. "But text me so I know you made it home safely."
Chapter Twelve
“Gabriel,”Momdeclaresasshe throws the door open, then opens her arms wide, “darling, I’ve missed you.”
I’m pulled into a tight hug before I can so much as say hello. Mom is short and plump, and she always smells like cookies or whatever sweet thing she’s been baking. I inhale as best I can while having the life squeezed out of me, and I’m hit with a pang of nostalgia.
I haven’t gone to a college too far from home, but with how busy life gets between classes, looking after my nieces and nephews, hockey, and now Justin and Owen, I haven’t gotten to see my parents anywhere near as often as they’d like. Maybe not even as often as I would like, either.
“Come inside,” Mom demands once she releases me, as if she’s not the one who accosted me right at the doorway. She takes a step back and rakes her gaze over my body, her lips turning down. “You’re looking far too skinny, Gabe. Do you get a chance to eat at that school of yours? That hockey team isn’t working you to the bone, is it?”
“Mom,” I groan, but I’m cut off as she turns on her heel and heads down the hallway towards the kitchen at the back of the house.
“I’m making your favorite,” she throws over her shoulder. “Paprikás csirke. Yournagymama’srecipe.” She pauses and winks. “My mother’s, not Dad’s mom’s.”
I snort. My mom has always had a frosty relationship with her mother-in-law. Mom and Dad are first generation Americans, with their parents fleeing from Hungary during World War II. My parents grew up together in a small Hungarian community in Cleveland but moved to Tucson after they got married and Dad got a job out here. They’ve been here ever since.
My paternal grandmother has always seemed to resent my mother for taking her son so far away, even though it was Dad’s job that brought him out here. So, Mom and my dad’s mom have always had a rocky relationship. Even now, with my grandmother still in Cleveland, my mom has to get her little digs in.
“Don’t let Dad hear you dissing her,” I tease and she sighs.
“Mama’s boys…” she mutters, before turning to frown at me again. “I love you, Gabe, but you don’t need to follow in his footsteps like that, okay?”
“Well, I doubt you’re going to be a monster-in-law to my boyfriend, so—what?”
We’ve made it to the kitchen and even though I tower over her, she shoves me hard onto a kitchen stool at the island and says, “Boyfriend? This is the first I’m hearing of a boyfriend.”
“I mean,” I try to backpedal, “I was kind of talking in a hypothetical sense.”
She plants her hands on her soft hips and scowls. “Gabriel Tomas Nagy, I know all your tells when you’re not being truthful. Now, when were you going to introduce us to this boy?”
“Man,” I shift in place, uncomfortable with her coming so close to our kink roles, even though her comment waspurely innocent. “And…soon. Ish. I guess.” To be honest, I have been enjoying having Justin to myself for the most part.
“You guess?”
“It’s still new,” I explain. “And our family is pretty big and loud. He’s not used to that.”
Since we’ve been dating, I’ve learned bits and pieces of Justin’s life. His own parents thought he was throwing his life away when he had his son, and Owen’s maternal grandparents seem more interested in looking after Owen than in Justin’s well-being. I’m not entirely sure what the dynamic there is all about: he’s been a bit vague on the details, and I haven’t wanted to push. As long as it’s working for him, I’m not going to be too nosy.
But, all-in-all, Justin is clearly used to a more solitary existence. I think bombarding him with my family would be cruel, even if he has met one of my sisters at Owen’s school.
“Who’s not used to what?” Dad’s voice cuts into our conversation and I smile in greeting as he strides up beside Mom and wraps his arm around her shoulders.
At 5’10”, he’s taller than her, but not as tall as me. I’ve inherited his more olive-toned skin, Mom’s darker hair and Dad’s brown eyes. I do look more like Dad than I do Mom, but, like my mother, my dad is…cuddly. I guess a lifetime of being fed Mom’s rich cooking would do that to anyone.
