Chapter 6
Nolan
I swirl the whiskey in the tumbler that came with it. The snowflake cut into the crystal catches the light in a really cool way. Yeah, I have to admit this is a cool gift. Whoever got me did a good job. I sip the whiskey and close my eyes to the soothing burn as it goes down my throat. I walk over to the couch where Max is waiting for me so we can watch Netflix together. My left hip aches. A lot. I’ve been ignoring it for about a month, but it’s not going away. I’m nervous to tell our trainer the ache is getting worse. It means I’ll have to get an MRI and then… it might mean I need time off.
Max watches me with his one, big, blue eye. I gingerly drop down next to him and give him a couple of scratches under his chin. He starts purring immediately. “Yeah. I got you buddy. If only you could make me purr after a hard day.”
His blue eye blinks at me and I chuckle. “I don’t mean it that way. No one loves a pervy cat, Max.”
He closes his eye and goes back to purring. I think about the last time someone made me purr… that way. And it takes me a full minute to remember.
My phone rings and I lean forward, place my glass on the coffee table, and pick it up. It’s either that or stop petting Max, and I’d rather give up the booze than have Max stop purring.
The Moms is the name on my call display. “Hey Moms.”
“Hi Nolan!” They sing in unison. And then Mom D adds. “Just calling to check in.”
“Congrats on your win the other night!” Mom Z says, and I can hear the excitement in her voice. Mom Z was always the hockey fan. She’s the one who bought me my first set of skates and convinced Mom D to let me go live in Minnesota when I was fifteen and needed to play for a better team than our home state of Alaska offered.
I call them Mom D and Mom Z because I’m too old to call them Mommy and Mama, which is how I used to differentiate them when I was growing up. But as a grown-ass man, “Mommy and Mama” aren’t coming out of my mouth so Diane Duggan and Zola Arbuckle-Duggan are now Mom D and Mom Z. Uptight, bigoted politicians will tell you that there are a multitude of problems for children adopted by gay parents, but honestly, that’s been my only hurdle. Well, that and other people’s homophobia.
“So what are you up to, kitten?” Mom D wants to know because childhood monikers are not a problem for her. I had to ask — beg really — for her not to drop that kitten thing in front of the guys on the last parents road trip. “Did you eat dinner? Did it have vegetables? You know you can’t just eat your greens in powder form in those milkshakes you love.”
I smirk. “They’re called protein shakes and don’t worry. My dinner was a steak and a kale and spinach salad with a big, double-baked potato.”
“Nice,” Mom Z says appreciatively.
“And did you have someone nice to eat that meal with?” Mom D is literally Cupid’s disciple.
“Yeah. Max, my squatter cat,” I reply without missing a beat. “I even let him lick my plate. I’m easy like that.”
“Nolan,” Mom D chastises but I can hear them both chuckling. And then Mom D adds. “You should try sharing a meal with someone other than a cat you claim isn’t yours.”
And we’re off. There isn’t a phone call lately where Mom D isn’t subtly and not so subtly telling me to find a girl. I frown and let out a disgruntled growl, which they know all too well because I developed the sound as a teen. Mom Z steps in as she usually does.
“I know that you’re so busy during the hockey season,” Mom Z says. “And this season is particularly…grueling.”
“Yeah, it’s a bitch,” I tell them frankly. But I don’t mention my hip issue because no need for them to worry, and they would. “I admit it’s been a while since I had a girlfriend, but I’m not lonely. I have a lot of friends and this cat I’m trying to offload.”
I run a hand over Max’s fluffy head again. He’s stopped purring and is basically dead asleep now, his head happily on my thigh. I try not to think about how much I will miss this if… when the agency finds him a real home. But Max deserves better than me. Someone who has the time to dedicate to him.
I had an on-and-off girlfriend for the first five years of my career. Cheryl was a great girl, but I was too focused on my job. She was annoyed, and we used to have huge fights. Eventually, one of our ‘breaks’ was unending. We just ghosted each other entirely. I don’t want Max to be annoyed. Or for him to ghost me. Run out the door or something and find somewhere else to live because I’m on the road a lot and at practice and stuff. So I’ll find him a better home before he can do that.
“I’m sure you have…ways to keep yourself fulfilled,” Mom D says, crossing the line of appropriate mother-son conversations.
“I am not doing this with you guys. Ugh. Gross,” I mutter. “But for the record, I don’t even have time or energy for that right now.”
Since Cheryl and I blew up, I’ve had a few dates, some amounted to second dates, a couple to thirds. All involved sex, but none were ever more than casual. Feeling like I have to justify myself further, I add, “I’m not complaining. I like my own company, and I know I get hyper-focused on work when the season is on, which makes me impossible. And I don’t expect anyone to get that. Maybe one day when my career ends, I’ll have time to focus on someone else.”
Mom D sighs. “You might be happier if you have more in your life than the ice now, honey.”
And Mom Z turns on me too, which is unexpected. “One day you’re going to find someone who you can’t help but think about as much as you think about hockey. That’s when you’ll know you’ve found the one.”
“Okay then. I’ll be sure to let you know when that happens.” I try not to roll my eyes because I know they’ll somehow hear that through the phone. “How’s work?”
“Fine. Same.”
“How’s the guys you work with?” I ask more pointedly.
