Page 58 of Leo and His Love Bunny

“I bet. He’s not that old.”

“No, just in his late fifties. And he’s healthy.”

Nora wouldn’t know; she’s never met him. But she is craning her head, looking around like she might be able to see him, and I suppose she could recognize my stepmother and stepbrothers.

My step mother is so much younger than Dad is, which is one of the reasons why I have such a hard time with her, other than the fact that no one can take my mom’s place.

“That must be really hard for your stepmother and boys. They’re going to lose their father figure.” She’s looking up at me with those big eyes, and she’s making me feel like...maybe there’s more I can do. My first thought when I heard about my dad’s diagnosis, after of course thinking about my dad, was the fact that she really wouldn’t be my stepmother anymore, and they would fade off into the sunset. But with Nora looking atme like that, I can almost guess what the next words out of her mouth are going to be.

I’m not wrong.

“You could become a father figure to them.”

She’s looking at me like that again. Like she believes I’m more than what I actually am. Like she thinks that I probably had already thought of that and was working toward it, when in reality I was working on washing my hands of them. I don’t know why she thinks the best of me like she does, and I’m not sure why that always makes me want to be better.

I don’t want her to continue to be under the mistaken impression that I’m better than what I am.

“I wasn’t thinking that at all. But I guess I should have been.” My words are kind of dejected. And the food I have in my mouth tastes like sawdust. I’m not nearly the man I want to be. And who am I to even think that Nora should be hanging out with someone like me? She needs someone who actually is who she thinks he is. Instead of me, who is so much less.

“No. Of course not. It’s your dad. You’re probably way too worried about him to have even considered what might happen if he doesn’t make it.”

“The kind of cancer that they suspect he has only has a five-year survival rate of around five percent. I think that’s part of why the diagnosis has been so difficult for him. He’s staring death in the face.” And I’m facing the fact that I might lose both of my parents.

“Wow. That’s hard.” Her words are soft, and then she adds, “for you.” And I want to hug her right there. This is hard for my dad, it’s hard for my stepmother, it’s hard for the boys. No one’s really thinking that it’s hard for me. I had a lot of other things I was doing, retiring, playing one last year in the league, starting a speaking and writing business, and now this. It feels like my life has taken a sharp right-hand turn, and I fell off the boat.

“Yeah. It’s been really tough.” I find myself being as honest as I can.

We sit there for a little bit and slowly start eating again. I appreciate the fact that she doesn’t offer a lot of platitudes, promises that she can’t keep, or empty words that really don’t mean anything. I guess I don’t know what I want, but just having her quietly beside me is exactly right.

After a bit, I say, “I don’t know who cooked these hamburgers, but they’re cooked perfectly.” Just a little bit pink in the middle, and juicy as all get out. I don’t think I’ve ever had better.

“My brother is a bit of a chef. I think he’d like to quit his day job, but it takes a certain amount of bravery to step out from a guaranteed income and put your talent on the line, especially when you have a family to support.”

I nod, although I don’t really know what she’s talking about. I don’t have a family, and while my income has never been guaranteed, I’ve never worked a nine-to-five either. I suppose it would be hard to give up all the benefits and everything to take a chance on something that I loved.

“You kind of did that, with hockey.”

I laugh. “I just decided that I had never done that.”

“Your entire income is based on playing hockey, which is what you love and where your talent is. You banked on that, and it paid off.”

“I suppose, but hockey is a little different than becoming a chef.”

“Yeah. Being a chef is a lot easier.”

I laugh again. “I was thinking the opposite.”

“Really? You don’t think you worked your butt off to be where you are?”

“I did, but—”

“All right then. That’s what it takes. Hard work. And you put in more than most.”

She acts like she admires that. It is true. I worked really hard on being a good hockey player. But... “I love it. It doesn’t feel like work when you’re doing what you love.”

“Anything you like becomes a job after a while when you have to do it.” She lifted a hand. “Take me. I love making cupcakes, but sometimes I don’t like the work that’s involved in doing it. Cleaning up the kitchen, for one. And sometimes it just feels like a job, rather than something I love.”

I realize she’s done the same thing. She’s taken something she’s good at and made a living with it. Not as good of a living as I have, but that’s not because she’s worked any less.

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