“A minute,” Mom says to her sister and then. “Seriously Cal. Give me a second.”
"Mom, don't be freaking out. Don't let Auntie C freak out. This is not some kind of crisis." I open my eyes and stare at the cream-colored ceiling. I realize Dylan must stare at the ceilings a lot. It’s just plain old white in the guest room. I should change that. “Can’t a guy just have an adult moment of clarity without everyone freaking out?”
"I'm outside the donut shop now. Alone," Mom tells me. "Did you know we got another foot of snow yesterday? It's all white and pretty but it's way too cold. I could use some warmth and vitamin D. I think maybe your dad and I should come to LA."
“No!” I say it so loud and forcefully that even I realize it’s a red flag. Fuck. “I mean, I’m not even there, Mom. Road trip. And with playoffs looming Coach already has us on lockdown so I can’t do much outside of workout, play, and sleep.”
“Ah yeah, lockdown.” She lets out a small sigh. “I don’t miss the slog of the playoffs, being a player’s wife. It was like being a single parent who lived with a grumpy, distracted polar bear.”
“So Dad wasn’t exactly a hands-on parent when he was a player?” I mean, I sort of remember. My dad retired when I was twelve. But his last few years his team didn’t make the playoffs and before that, well, I was too busy being a kid to notice who was tucking me in at night or reading me a story. I remember Dad doing things, though, but maybe they stick out in my head because it was so rare.
“He was there for the big stuff,” Mom replies. “He even blew off a practice the morning of a Game 7 when Tenley spiked a fever and needed to go to the emergency room. The coach was not sympathetic because it was just an ear infection, and we kind of guessed it at the time too, but Tenley was just inconsolable and I had you to handle too. You used to cry when she cried, over anything. It was the cutest thing. It was like you were trying to back her up or had sympathy pains or something.”
I bite back a smile at that. It’s hard to believe I ever felt that close to Tenley. I mean, I love my sister, but we are so different and tend to bicker a lot now. Mom keeps reminiscing. “He got benched for two whole periods for that, but he never bitched to me or the coach. But yeah, for the most part, in playoffs your dad kept his own schedule. Slept in the guest room so he wasn't disturbed by me or you guys. If they went deep into the playoffs the coach put the team in a hotel, like every day was a road trip, to keep them in the right mindset. That pissed me off, but even when he was home he ate his own meals because his diet got so strict. He kept his own hours. You kids would see him maybe two hours a day. Sometimes I took you to the practices with the other wives and kids just so you could have a glimpse of him. It was tough, but I knew what I signed on for when I married him and I regret none of it."
“But how do single parents handle it?”
“You know any single dads in the league?” she asks.
“Mmm… I don’t know any single parent players personally but there’re divorced players who have a kid or two.”
“And I would bet it all that they aren’t the primary custodian,” Mom replies. “Which means the ex does all the heavy lifting when they’re on the road or in playoffs or whatever. Ask your ex-Aunt Ashleigh. She divorced your Uncle Devin but she couldn’t divorce the lifestyle. Even after Devin married Callie, Ashleigh had to stay in New York because of the shared custody agreement. Before Devin married Callie, Ashleigh took Conner every road trip. You can leave the player but not the lifestyle. Not if there’s a baby involved.”
“Right,” I sigh. “So you basically just can’t be a single dad and a professional hockey player. At all. It’s impossible.”
“I mean, you can. You can do anything but…” Mom pauses and it sends the fear of God into me. She’s thinking about what I’m saying and trying to figure out why I’m saying it. “Why are we talking about single dads and hockey?”
"A guy on my team might be…" Oh God, here we go with the lies again. "Might be having a kid with someone who… he thinks won't stick around so he'd have to do it on his own."
"As a hockey player?" Mom sounds skeptical. "Then he needs to get himself a very good nanny because, for nine months of the year, his kid is going to be raised by one, sadly. Unless he has family close by."
He doesn’t. Except a sister even younger than him. But he does have a great nanny, for now.
“Is this fellow player young like you?” Mom asks and I hear wind rustling into the phone mic. I know Silver Bay wind in spring can be bitingly cold. “I don’t envy a young single parent. Babies are not for the faint of heart. Now, why did you call? For real. Be honest. I am starting to freak out a little with this conversation.”
“I’m fine,” I lie and try to sound bright and chipper, which is probably another red flag because I’m not a bright chipper person. I’m more of an even-toned, snarky person. “I just really want to break Dad’s record and I haven’t been playing my best lately so it might not happen. And we have playoffs coming and we could actually win the Cup and I’m…”
“Upset about Diana Hutchens?”
“What?”
“I heard she was in an accident in London and died,” Mom informs me. “I know you must know. And I don’t know how close you two really were, but I do know you spent enough time together that this should be a little upsetting, to say the least.”
“Yeah. It is,” I admit. “More than I care to admit.”
“Did you have deeper feelings for her than you thought, Tater?”
“Not like… nothing heavy or anything,” I admit and that wave of guilt washes over me again. Because I wish I had been madly in love with her, for Dylan’s sake. “But I liked her as a person. We were friends above all else. I just… it shouldn’t have happened.”
“I know. That’s why they call it an accident,” Mom replies and then I hear Aunt C again.
“Get your butt in here before you freeze!”
Right. My mom is outside in the cold in Silver Bay, Maine. “Mom, thanks for the talk, but go inside and get warm. I’ll be fine.”
“You call me anytime, for any reason Tate,” she says and the worry in her voice is amplified by the fact she said my real name and not my nickname.
“I always do, Mom.”
