“You’re not staying at a hotel, Walks. My guest room is free.” I inform my best friend the morning after my meeting with the Wolves. His flight’s already booked, and I’m sure he’s thrilled to be leaving New York. He always intended to come back and play for Colorado if he could make it happen. So, no surprise, he leaped at the chance. The Ravens never seemed like the right fit for him anyway. I’ve been hearing for years about how he never seems to get in sync with his wingers the same way could when we played together in college.
“Don’t want to impose, besides, it’s already booked.”
“Cancel it. You’re family, man. No hotel.” I’ve got an extra unused bedroom, and it even has its own bathroom, so we won’t need to share. I’m a neat freak, and Walker doesn’t know the meaning of the word neat. We’ve shared a bathroom before, and it almost ended our friendship.
“Fine,” but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Fight lands at 2, Right?”
We spend a few minutes discussing logistics before picking a place to meet. He’s leaving for the airport soon, so I let him goto finish packing while I finish setting up my guest room. Thank goodness my cleaning crew was here yesterday, so it’s not too bad. Although it’s weird, I never see them. Mom must schedule them for when I’m out of the house because she’s the only one I ever see. She’s been acting as my PA since my first year with the Wolves. It’s nice because at my level, having someone you can trust is important. She always makes sure everything in my life moves smoothly so I can focus on hockey. My phone rings, and it’s my dad. I answer on autopilot.
“Hey, Pop. How’s it going?”
“Hi, son. Good, good.” He seems distracted. He gets that way occasionally.
“Something on your mind?” I ask, hoping to prod the conversation on a bit.
“Oh, yeah. You have any free time today? Your mom and I would like to discuss a few things with you. Maybe stop by for dinner?”
“I can’t tonight. I’m picking up Walker later this afternoon, and we’re having dinner with Kenji and Madison. Can I come by right now? I’m free for a few hours before I have to leave for the airport.”
My dad’s voice brightens.
“That works. Come on over when you’re ready.”
I glance back, making sure the guest room looks presentable before grabbing my keys and water bottle. The season is starting soon, and I’ve been ramping up my water intake. The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve had to pay closer attention to the care of my body. It’s weird to be saying that at 28 years old, but that’s considered old in hockey years.
Thirty minutes later, I pull up in front of their two-story red brick house in Arvada. This is home. I grew up in this house, and knowing my parents, they’ll never move. I paid it off for them when I got my first rookie bonus. It was the least I could do. Mymom devoted most of her life to my hockey career while my dad worked his ass off as an insurance agent to pay all the bills. They thought I didn’t know how hard it was for them financially, but I saw it.
I hope everything is okay. Dad retired last year, and it’s been an adjustment for Mom. She was used to having her space. I’m sure they’re working it all out though. Their marriage has always been solid.
Pop is in the garage as usual. I try not to chuckle. I’m sure that’s Mom’s idea of a compromise to get him out of the house. He looks good, though. The deep worry lines are easing, without all the stress from his job. His face has a healthier glow, and he’s got some pep in his step as he walks out to meet me. It’s nice to see. I tried to help them out with more of my hockey money, but they wouldn’t take it. Said the house was enough. I wouldn’t have even gotten to do that if I hadn’t gone directly to the bank. I wanted it to be a surprise, plus I was pretty sure that Dad would fight me. He’s got a lot of pride, but I was determined.
As Dad goes to hug me, I falter. He’s never been big on hugs, so it’s really nice when you get one. I breathe in the comforting scent of sawdust, Old Spice, and home. We should do this more often. Maybe I need to be the one to initiate it more since it seems to be hard for him.
“Good to see you, son.” He says with a smile as he releases me, still patting my back.
There’s something so stable and reassuring about my dad. He’s the kind of guy you can always rely on. He wasn’t a screamer when I was growing up. Sure, he could mete out some discipline when needed, but he didn’t yell. He was solid. Explained what you did wrong, helped you figure out what you should have done, and then it was over. He didn’t hold it against you later, even if you screwed up again. And I did. Often.
“You too, Pop.”
“Come on in. Your mom made some of her oatmeal raisin cookies.”
“Oh, it’s that kind of talk.” I raise my eyebrows at him.
Whenever my dad and I had to have a hard talk about something upsetting, Mom would make my favorite cookies. Like that would somehow make an unpleasant conversation more palatable. It didn’t, but I’m not turning down cookies. Who does that?
Mom’s already got them on the table with a couple of glasses of milk, but I want a hug first. Mom’s hugs smell like sugar cookies and feel like coming home. It’s as if everything will be okay, no matter the issue. I’ll never be too old for one, although I appreciate them a lot more now than I did as a teenager.
“Remember, we love you.” She whispers in my ear before I pull away and head for the old wooden kitchen table. Mom’s comment increases my apprehension. I rack my brain trying to figure out what I might have done to earn me a lecture. I’ve got nothing.
We’ve had this table since I was a kid. I can’t even count how many times Dad and I sanded it down and re-stained it together. Pop was all about renew and reuse. He hates buying something brand new. I still remember him trying to fix the coffee maker for a week before my mom put her foot down and bought a Keurig. You don’t mess with that woman’s coffee.
Pop sits down and grabs a few cookies off the serving plate before offering one to me.
“These look delicious, honey.” His comment reminds me of my manners.
“Thanks for the cookies, Mom.” I add as I grab a handful. I hope she made some extra for me to take home. Walker loves them. Well, he loves anything she cooks, but these are his favorite.
