“Yeah, that one’s a real mystery…” It’s not like I didn’t try to like the guy at first. But whenever anyone disagreed with him, he immediately shifted into defensive mode where he had to name-drop the Ivy League school he went to and count off how many of his uncles ran hedge funds in the city. My mom and I both have an ongoing bet on how long Monroe will tolerate his bullshit and for all our sakes (and my $100 on the line), I hope she calls it quits soon (like in the next month).
“The city misses you. I found this hole-in-the-wall deli in midtown that hasthebest everything bagel. I’m also like ten-ish minutes away from work before I have to go, so what’s up?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Violet was at Westchester?”
“Violet…” Monroe trailed off as if the name was foreign to her. As ifshehad been the one Violet blocked out of her life.
“Violet. Violet Amin. Practically lived with us growing up. Your best friend. Hasn’t talked to me in like two years.”
“I actually think it’s closer to three, but I suppose math was never your strong suit?—”
“How come no one told me she was a grad student at Westchester?”
“I thought she told you she would be in Boston.”
“Yeah, and there are at least ten different schools in Boston.Last we talked she chose Bolton. Now suddenly I see her at Westchester and am so dumbstruck I can’t even process what is happening before she’s running away.”
“In all fairness, you never asked mewhichschool she decided to go to. Besides, Westchester has a massive campus. How was I supposed to know you would run into her the onetime you went back to visit your old coach? Evidently, the universe has jokes.” Her faint laugh comes through the speaker.
“A heads up would’ve still been nice.”
“What does it matter? It’s not like you’ll be seeing her every day.”
“I might.”
“Mason. Stalking is illegal in the state of Massachusetts,” Monroe warns.
“That’s not what I meant.” I bite my lip debating if I should tell her the news. “Coach Jameson offered me an assistant coach position here. I accepted.”
If you had asked me four years ago where I thought I would be today, my answer would’ve been something along the lines of, ‘gearing up for another great season with the Rangers coming off a Stanley Cup win’ or even ‘riding out another year on my multimillion-dollar NHL contract.’Instead, I spent the morning begging my former coach for a job because I had somehow managed to blow through all the money I earned before I was forced to retire, and these medical bills weren’t paying themselves.
“Mase, that’s amazing. I’m so glad you’re back on your feet again.” Monroe’s voice is laced with relief.
“It’s a provisional position for now. I have until the end of the season to prove I can handle this, or I’ll have to figure out a Plan B. Or I guess Plan C. This is my Plan B.”
Maybe I should’ve cared more about school when I was still a student here, or maybe I should’ve listened to my doctors more when they warned me to take it easy before my last concussion that left me permanently benched, but alas here I was.
“Well, if anyone can get that team into shape, it’s you. I know it.”
“I appreciate it ‘Roe. Now…how do I handle this Violet situation?”
“Not sure.”
“Monroe.” The frustration coated my voice and hopefully clued her into how desperate I was to get an answer. “I went from talking to Violet almost every day for fifteen years, to her not even acknowledging my existence over night.”
“Well, maybe if you had come home a few months ago for the Summer Festival, you could’ve seen her. You know it’s her favorite time of year.”
The last week in June featured Castle Harbor’s annual three-day Summer Festival — created to pay tribute to Castle Harbor’s longstanding history as one of America’s first fishermen’s towns. The spectacle involved everyone in the small town and was also a major tourist attraction. Many of them came in not quite knowing what they walked into and left wanting to come back every year. Crowds flock to the beach early Saturday morning to see which family will get the honor of placing first in the boat races. Violet’s favorite event (to spectate) followed the boat racing, which featured a 50-foot telephone pole covered in grease and suspended 10 feet above the harbor. By Saturday afternoon, every male between the ages of 18 and 25, brave and drunk enough, lined up for a chance to catch the flag at the end of the pole and secure bragging rights for the rest of the year. I’d managed to sneak in when I was 17 and nearly broke my neck falling off that pole. The glee on Violet’s face, mixed with the subtle hint of concern as she and Monroe fished me out of the water, had all been worth it.
“Coming home wasn’t an option. And no, I don't want to talk about it. Just…tell me how I can fix things with her. Or at the very least, not make things worse.”
She paused for a second. “Honestly Mason, Violet never really told me what happened. She just said some things wentdown between you two that night in Chicago, and she needed some space. She kept insisting that I didn’t need to worry about it, and I didn’t want to push so…”
“Alright well, thanks I guess…I miss you, by the way.”
Monroe snorts at that, her tone turned teasing. “Yeah, yeah, I miss you too. Do me a favor? Don’t back down okay? Keep working until things can at least go back to normal, ya know, before Chicago. I feel like a child of divorce having to decide who I want to spend my holidays with and it’s exhausting.”
“I would if I could, ‘Roe.”
