“Aleksandr,” my mom says, coming around the island to hug me. She’s already enlisted Josie to babysit the sauce while she comes to greet me. “How are you, love?” She gives me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and before I get a chance to answer, she turns back around and says something to Christine before disappearing into the large pantry. Christine slides off her barstool and grabs a stick of butter that’s sitting on the counter to soften and tossing it into a bowl before going in search of spices for the garlic bread.
My mom’s family is originally from Russia, but she doesn’t have many fond memories of living there. They moved to Italy when she was very small, so when she cooks, which isn’t terribly often, it’s usually Italian food. I’ll give her credit though; her spaghetti sauce and her lasagna are top-notch. I imagine she’s whipped up this special dinner because Brad’s here. Mostly during the hockey season, our family gatherings involve takeout.
“So, where’s your man today?” I ask Christine. Her boyfriend, Thomas, is usually here for family dinners, although I know my mom stresses him out when she starts hinting that he needs to propose to my sister. Honestly, I’m not sure Christine wants to marry Thomas. He’s a nice guy, but they don’t seem to have much in common.
"He’s in LA this week. Said to tell everyone hello,” she replies without looking up from the buttery garlic mixture.
My mom comes back into the kitchen, and the four of us make boring small talk until Josie appears beside me and pinches my arm.
“Ow!” I exclaim, rubbing the sore spot and glaring at her.
“It’s time. Let’s go talk to your dad,” she says with an arched eyebrow.
Both Chrissy and my mom give me curious looks, but I wave them off. “I need to talk to Dad, but I’ll fill you in after,” I say, taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders as I head down the hall with Jo right behind me.
We step into the big den with wood-paneled walls and french doors that open onto a huge stone patio facing the lake, and I immediately feel small, as I always do in this room. A giant TV takes up most of one wall, and comfortable chairs and couches are scattered around the room. A different wall is taken up with hockey memorabilia, including his two Stanley Cup rings and various other trophies and framed jerseys, et cetera. Dad is sitting on one couch while Brad is lying on another, tossing a ball in the air and catching it as he keeps one eye on the football game. They’re discussing something about Brad’s team, but when we enter the room, they stop talking.
“Aleks, good to see you, son,” Dad says, but his eyes light up when Josie comes into the room after me.
“Josie!” he exclaims, getting out of his chair and wrapping Jo in a huge hug. Even though my dad and I aren’t close and he drives me crazy a lot of the time, I know he’s a good person, simply because of how he is with Josie. My parents both love her as much as they love any of their biological kids, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that because love was something Jo never had before she became part of our lives.
After Dad’s caught up with Jo a bit, he turns to me. “How are things at the rink these days, son?”
“Yeah, you taking good care of all the jockstraps?” Brad snorts. “Making sure they’re all hand-washed and shined up nice?”
I shoot him a dirty look. “Fuck off, asshole.” I shouldn’t even respond. Of course, everyone in this room knows full well that cleaning players’ jock straps is not part of my job. But for some reason, my thirty-six-year-old brother seems to think it’s hilarious to tease me about having to clean the players’ underwear.
“Things are good, Dad,” I say, not bothering to look at Brad. “Actually, I’ve got some good news.” I swallow.May as well jump in with both feet.
“Great!” he says enthusiastically, and a little spark of hope flares to life in my chest. Maybe this won’t be too bad.
“So, I was at a fundraiser last night with a bunch of guys from the Sasquatch, and Carson Wells was there.”
“Is that right?” Dad says. “Good, I’m glad they’re inviting you to some of that frou-frou fundraising shit. Good to get your name in front of people who make decisions.”
“Right. Anyway, Carson pulled me aside to tell me about a new project the Sasquatch is going to be involved in. He asked me to come over and manage it for them.”
This gets my dad’s attention, as I knew it would. “Really?” he asks. “What’s the project?”
“Well, it’s still not official yet, so I can’t tell you everything, but it’s going to be gathering data for a doctor who’s researching CTE. I’m really excited about it.”
“Wait a minute. You mean to tell me the Sasquatch are actually encouraging one of these whack-job doctors to come in and mess around with shit? In the middle of the season? The GM wants this to happen?” he barks rapid-fire questions at me.
“Well, yeah, Dad. There are a lot of people who feel like the game could be—and should be—a lot safer. I know you don’t agree, but maybe the league is starting to realize the science is pretty undeniable.
“Sure, sure, but I still don’t see the point of it. It’s not like there’s any solid proof that hits in hockey are directly related to this CTS or whatever they’re calling it these days. I’m very curious to see how Sasquatch coach feels about you guys fucking around with his players’ equipment.”My father, ladies and gentlemen. Challenging scientific fact with toxic masculinity wherever he can find it.
I fight not to roll my eyes. “It’s CTE, Dad, and I don’t know how the coach feels about it, but Wells is pumped, and apparently, the ownership group is as well.”
“Seems like a waste of fuckin’ resources if you ask me. The Sasquatch are on top of their division in their first fuckin’ year. I swear, if this so-called ‘safety project’ fucks up their game, the shit’ll hit the fan.” He uses air quotes around “safety project,” and I have to bite my lip to keep my mouth shut. This ridiculous idea of CTE being some kind of devious plot has been part of my dad’s belief system for as long as people have known about it. Josie and I exchange glances.
“Dad, I don’t know what back-channel conversations have been happening, but I assume Carson got whatever go-ahead he needed from the league. Can you at least admit this is a great opportunity for me? I mean, I’m getting pulled up from the Eagles to handle this for him. It’s kind of a big deal.”
Fucking fuckity fuck.Why, why,whyam I constantly seeking this man’s approval?I should just let this damn conversation die. I know this job is a big deal. I’m a grown-ass man I should not need his validation to feel proud of myself.
“Sure, son, it sounds like a good project for you. You’ll do well with the nerd herd. You always have.” He gets up and walks over to where Brad is now standing by the door, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
“Personally, I think it’s best to leave all that kind of crap to the nerds, right, son?” he says to Brad. “You got games to win, and I wanna see some big plays from you tomorrow night, you hear me?” he says, guiding my brother out of the room.
