She eyes me, eyebrow arched.“Nothing to say, now, huh?"
"I've butted in too much as it is.She's your daughter, and I barely know you two.I just know she's a hell of a skater.I've talked to Bill about her—before any of this—and he's honestly sorta salivating to get her on the O-line.She tends to be a bit of a showboat, so she'd need to learn how to be a team player, how to run plays, how to pass and screen and all that, how to use her speed to her advantage without getting pasted by the bigger guys, since she'd be a girl playing with boys, and opposing teams aren't necessarily gonna play nice just because she's female."
"And nor should they," Morgan says."If a girl is gonna play on a boys’ team, she has to be able to hang at their level.She can't expect them to hold back.And that's one of my biggest worries.Yes, she's fast.Yes, she's agile.Yes, she can out-skate almost everyone in Tomlin Falls, you and me included.Only Bill, your son, andmaybethe Ryerson twins can match her.But one bad check, even a clean one, could be the end of figure skating for her."
"And I think if she were here, Mallory would say the same is true of figure skating, right?One bad fall, one bad break, and…" I hold up my hands again."I'm just saying."
Morgan nods."I know.And you're right—that'sexactlywhat she'd say.But she's not one competition season away from making the women's national team, Noah."She must see the effort on my face as I hold back my comment."Well, don't spare me now, Captain Austin.Hit me with whatever it is I can see you trying not to say."
"And here I thought I had a decent poker face," I quip.
She snorts."I hope you don't really think that."
I guffaw."Hell no.I'm the world's worst poker player."I take a slow sip, swish, and swallow."Is making the Olympics teamherdream, oryourdream for her?"
She lets out a cheek-puffing sigh."I was afraid you were going to ask that.”
"Listen, back when Noel was in…tenth grade?Eleventh?Taylor and I had to have a sit-down about this exact thing.I was pushing Noelreallyhard.I saw how good he was, how much potential he had, and I wanted him to make the most of it.His team was poised to go to nationals, and I wanted him to take them there.And even though he resisted and pushed back against me, Iknewhe loved hockey.Yet the harder I pushed, the more conflict there was between us.Eventually, Taylor sat me down and asked me why I was pushing him so hard.To make him better?Or so he'd achieve something I hadn't?"
"And?"
"My own father pushed me to the point of refusing to go where he wanted me to go in life just to prove a point.I could've gone to college on a hockey scholarship.I had offers from some D1 schools and a couple of farm teams, too.I chose the fire academy instead.And I don't regret my choice, Morgan.Not at all.I love my job, and I’m happy in my career.But I think if my dad had backed off a little when I was younger and just let me enjoy the game and figure out my passions and my path on my own, I very well may have gone a different direction.I had to think about that, back when Noel was sixteen or whatever.WhywasI pushing him so hard?It was for me.I was making the same mistake my father was.I didn't want Noel to miss out on his obvious future, and so I pushed him.Ironically, that's what made him nearly quit hockey entirely."
She frowns at this."Did he really almost quit?"
I nod."He did.Missed the whole first month of team practices because he was just sick of it all.I'd made him work so hard in the off-season that he was burned out."I feel the shame in my gut, even still."Taylor called me on it, and I realized my mistake and backed off.Told him he didn't have to play if he didn't want to, and I'd support him no matter what.That was a hard thing to say, though, I'll admit."
“He went back to hockey, obviously," Morgan says, turning to the toaster oven as it dings.
"He did.But that season, he held back.Refused to be captain, insisted on playing right wing instead of center, focused on passing more and assisting plays instead ofbeingthe play.I think in the end, that season made him a better player, but that was a by-product, not the intent.He was proving to himself and to me that he could do things his way."
Morgan grabs the loaves out of the oven with her bare hands, tossing them onto a wooden cutting board and slicing them into quarters.She moves the cutting board to the island, dishes heaping servings of stew for both of us, and then takes a seat at the island beside me.
For a few minutes, we eat in silence.
"This is damned good stew," I tell her."Thank you.Beats the hell out of Salisbury steak in the microwave.”
"I couldn't very well let you go hungry."
"It's my dream," she says eventually, between bites, so quietly I almost miss it."It was my dream."
"I'm not saying it's not hers,” I say, “I don't know.I just think, in my personal experience with a similar situation, it may be helpful for you to reflect on that question within yourself and then have an honest conversation with her about it."
She nods but doesn't say anything else right away, and I let the silence stretch as we finish our food.When I polish off the last bite, she taps the side of my bowl with her spoon."More?Got plenty."
I hesitate, because I could absolutely destroy another bowl."I, uh…"
She grins at me, scoops the last bite of her own into her mouth, and takes both bowls to the range and refills them."There's only two of us, Noah, and I made enough stew for ten people.We eat a lot of leftovers."
"So do I.Part of being a firefighter, I guess.You get used to cold food, old food, grabbing a few bites on the go."I shrug."The call always comes first."
The next fifteen or so minutes are spent in oddly companionable silence broken only by the clink of spoons.I finish first, but she's not far behind.I take her bowl and spoon as well as my own and wash them out in the sink, setting them on the drying mat.
“Thanks," she says."You didn't have to do that."
I shrug while drying my hands on the hand towel hanging on the oven handle."Longstanding habit.One of the first serious arguments Taylor and I ever got into after we moved in together was about cooking and dishes.Growing up, my mother did everything domestic, and that was just normal to me.Taylor grew up without a dad, so to her, that unconscious expectation I had was a major problem."
Morgan snorts.“I bet.God help the boy who expects Mallory to be domestic.The girl can burn water.She doesn't mind doing dishes, though."She eyes me."Taylor cooked, and you did the dishes?"
