Page 19 of Line Change

“How about two hundred dollars a month?”

I’ll open a savings account and put the money in it, and when she moves out, I’ll insist she take it all back or find a way to gift it to her so she can’t say no.

“That’s too little. The mortgage on your place must be …”

“Sutton, I’m a professional hockey player. No offense, love, but I don’t need your money. The condo is paid for.” I bought it in cash with the signing bonus I got from the Storm. Because of where it’s located, close to downtown, I knew I’d be able to sell it easily, and if I can’t, I can always rent it out.

“Ugh.” She groans. “Fine, point taken.”

“Good.”

“I think we should have a contract drawn up with an end date—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You can live with me for however long you want.”

“I-I …”

“Will it make you feel better if we have a contract?”

“Yes.” Her voice is shaky. What’s that all about?

“Alright, I’ll call my lawyer and have him draft something up.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me.” She scoffs. “I should let you go. Call or text me if you need me.”

We say our goodbyes, and now I’ve talked to her, I hope I can stop worrying about her nonstop, especially now that she’s going to live with me. Maybe I can actually sleep. After I call my mum. I haven’t talked to her in a few weeks.

“Hiya, Bash,” she answers on the second ring, sounding groggy.

“Hi, Mum. Did I wake you? We can talk another time.”

“No, I was just resting my eyes.” I can picture her curled up on the sofa in front of the TV, under the blanket my grandmother knit her, and I instantly miss her. I miss home.

“Mmhmmm. How are you feeling?” I ask, thinking back to the last time we talked when she was sick with a cold.

“Just the usual aches and pains that come with old age coupled with running a farm.”

“I’m sorry.” I sit up. “Maybe I should come home. Help you. My contract is up at the end of the season.”

“No. You’ll do no such thing. Your father and I sacrificed a lot for you to make it to where you are, and you’ve worked so hard.”

“Mum.”

I made a promise to my dad before he died that I’d take care of my mum, my sisters, and the farm, and clearly, I haven’t been doing a good job.

“We’ve been over this before. You’re not giving up hockey to come home and be a farmer. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

We’ve had this argument almost every time I’ve talked to her in the past few months. And multiple times when I was home over the summer. “You should be able to retire. Enjoy yourself. I’ll come home and take over.”

It’s the least I can do after all she and Dad did to get me to where I am today. The money they paid for private coaches, for me to spend summers in Canada attending elite hockey camps, the tutoring to keep up with my studies, and then for me to go to Michigan State. If it wasn’t for my grandmother leaving my mum a substantial inheritance, I know I wouldn’t have been able to have the opportunities I did, nor would I be playing professional hockey now. The same way my youngest sister, Charlotte, is able to go to culinary school, and Harriet, my middle sister, got to spend a year in Australia.

Now it’s my turn to sacrifice for her, the way she sacrificed for me and my sisters. I know my parents could have used the money for many things around the farm—new equipment, more help, or whatever—but instead, they chose to spend it on us.

“Bash, you’ll be miserable.”

She’s not wrong, but also, it’s my responsibility as the oldest.